#At absolute worst its cringe and maybe a little rude but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fweasleyswhore · 4 years

Text

F.W. Who We Are

Chapter Two: Your Least Favorite Color

Chapter One

a/n chapter two my lovlies!! i rlly wanted to pump this out p fast bc ive been having so much fun with it and i hope you are too!

summary: fred and george tell you their plan for their prank. fluff with a pinch of angst.

word count: 3k

warnings: some touching??? uncomfy situation??

tags: @you-make-children-cry @levylovegood @bohemianspacebabe

comment a request to be added to my taglist !

“Snape’s least favorite color?” I laughed out. “I think you mean, like, any color. I mean has he ever worn anything that isn’t black?”

I was now seated in a small semblance of a circle on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, Fred and George in front of me. It was most definitely past curfew but because tomorrow was Saturday I really didn’t care, the time was the last thing on my mind. The most present thought I had was how the hell Fred and George were going to change the color of all the cauldrons in Snape's room and get away with it.

“Well, now that you bring it up, I do believe I saw him in robes that looked rather navy instead of black.” George pondered, looking up to the ceiling and tapping his chin as if he was deep in thought.

“Oh bug off!” I laughed and smacked him on the arm. He looked at his arm with wide eyes, his smile gone. Before I could ask if I was too forceful he was pretending to cry, a little too loud than he should’ve considering it was well past 12 and I am technically trespassing. None of us cared though or even thought to care as we watched George grasp onto his brother’s arms like it was the last thing he would ever do.

“I-I don’t want to die Freddie.” He whispered. His grip tightened onto his brother as he spoke again. “Freddie, I…” He then let out a loud, fake sob. “There’s so much I haven’t done.” He dropped his head and shook it. I rolled my eyes, how long was he going to keep this up?

Fred brought his hands up to cradle his brother’s head. “It’s ok George, you can let go, it’s ok.” He looked into his brother’s eyes tearfully, “I’ll help you…”

Before George could react Fred lifted one of his hands and swiftly flicked him on the forehead. George let out a loud groan and spasmed a bit in Fred’s arms, I watched with narrowed eyes as he seized up and shook.

“You look more like a fish out of water than a dying man,” I said smugly. George rose up and fixed his hair. He looked over to me with a glare and his tongue out. I laughed fully, the situation and everything, as well as some sleep deprivation, catching up on me. I threw my head back, clutched my stomach, and rolled around for what felt like hours. Once I had started I couldn’t stop.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” George whispered to Fred. “Maybe we have finally broken her?”

“Maybe…” Was all Fred was able to say back, too caught up with the beautiful girl in front of her to even fully process George's words.

Finally calming down due to the sharp pain building up in my stomach from laughing so hard, I painfully pushed myself to sit up straight. Leaning on the couch behind me I tried to catch my breath while gripping my stomach. I could feel my face was flushed, my hair was a mess but I couldn’t care. Although the pain that coursed through my body, I was still smiling, looking at the two boys in front of me. Focusing on George I saw that he looked at me with a look of disbelief and amusement, rolling my eyes at him I focussed on Fred ready to be met with the same expression.

What I was met with nearly made me roll over again.

The way he looked at me made the rest of the world evaporate. I lost my breath. He smiled at me, but it wasn’t amused or disbelieving like George, he smiled at me with pure content, like watching me writhing around on the floor was the best use of his time. His eyes flickered with something, his usual gleam of mischief no longer evident but what was currently being held I couldn’t decipher. My whole face flushed even more if that was possible, I was praying in my head he didn’t notice it. I diverted my eyes from his gaze, trying to hide my red face as I adjusted into the position I held before I broke out in laughter.

“Maybe red?” I tried to steer the conversation back to its previous topic, my voice quivered, making me cringe and I hope that the boys didn’t notice or just wrote it off.

“If we make them red he will know a Gryffindor did it, that’s the equivalent of a murderer leaving a ransom note with his name on it.” George retorted. I sighed, relieved he didn’t say anything. Bringing my gaze up to meet theirs I looked between them, they were both staring at the floor, obviously lost in thought. I brought my gaze to the fire behind them. I pulled my lip in between my teeth trying to focus on a specific color that would make the blood drain from Snape’s face.

Snape was the head of the Slytherin house, and though that relation, I absolutely despised him. He was terribly rude to Gryffindors for no bloody reason, being that my friends mostly consisted of Gryffindors, he was terribly rude to me as well. He never took points away from me specifically, knowing it would reflect badly on him, but he took the absolute piss out of any Gryffindor around, often even subjected me to long detentions for minor offenses. I have to watch my step around him, even my breathing could set him off, send a nasty glare, or even grade my way. Being a Slytherin though, there was not much I could do about it except accept it, and that made my blood boil under the surface.

“Perhaps,” I started, my gaze was still trained on the dancing fire behind the boy. “Hot pink would suffice?”

Lifting my gaze from the fire I glanced between the two.

“Wicked.” They said in unison. They had these stupid grins on their faces that made me giggle.

The rest of the night was spent actually completing the plan, or trying to and getting distracted. The day before we leave for Christmas break we would sneak into his room, Fred and George would hide in the back of the room while I waited for Snape to arrive. I would ask him to help me find a book in the library about potion making because “I had really been struggling this past year in his class”. Total lie, I knew what I was doing Snape just hated to give me the grade I deserved.

Considering Mrs. Pince was on maternity leave he would have no option but to say yes. The boys would hex the cauldrons then run back to the Gryffindor common room where Harry and Ron were ready to provide an alibi. It flowed well, the potions section of the library was in the back and far up, Ron and Harry were more than happy to take the piss out of Snape, and Snape knew that because I was in his house I would never do anything directly against him for fear of being expelled.

Although I knew there would be no evidence for Snape to use against me I was still quite nervous but the thought of the shit eating grins it would provide the twins gave me enough courage to agree. They always made me happy, it was only fair I do the same for them.

Once it was mildly solidified in our brains we let the conversation drift, topics from quidditch to the worst animal to transfigure as filled up what should’ve been a quite common room at that hour, and never once did I feel bored.

The feeling of someone shaking my shoulders brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes to a rather bright and blurry mess of red around me, quickly shutting them again I groaned, swatting at my attacker. My lazy attempts fell short never actually hitting anyone.

“That was lame.” Hermione laughed.

I opened one eye to glare at her. “Considering I was blind I think they were ferocious.” I shot back.

She laughed again. “Well I don’t know how late you stayed up, but it’s quarter to 9. Breakfast ends at 10.”

“I have so much time, why must you hurt me ‘Mione?” I huffed running a hand down my face.

“Because Saturday is blueberry pancake day!” She said half singing. “Also I figured you would want to shower and get ready before we go to Hogsmede.” I groaned again but I knew she was right. I threw my hands over my face and rubbed my eyes before opening them, this time the brightness nor the redness of the room affected me.

“What would I do without you?” I asked sitting up. Now in a seated position I could see my surroundings. I was laying longways on the couch, a robe sprawled over me like a makeshift blanket. Hermione stood behind me, her hands rested on the armrest that my head was just against.

“Probably dead, due to these two.” I couldn’t see her but I knew she was talking about the twins. I turned my head around and smiled at her.

Squinting around the common room I could see George curled up in a loveseat by the fireplace, he sat sideways, his head against the back of the chair while his arms hugged one of his legs tightly to his chest, his other leg was thrown over the armrest. I giggled at the sight of him in such an unnatural position, it could not be comfortable with his long limbs. I searched the room for Fred. He wasn't in the other seats by the fireplace or the other couch pushed against the wall.

My heart plunged into my stomach at the thought that he went up to his dorm, I wasn’t completely sure why it hurt me so much. It made sense for him to have left, but part of me just felt pained at the fact that George stayed and not him. Of course I liked George but not in the way I liked Fred. George was like a brother to me, he was a best friend. Fred was something more than that, not that he knew, I would never admit it to him much less our friends, but that didn’t stop the longing I felt for him, hoping that he felt the same way too.

Finally I found him and all the doubts I had before were void upon seeing him. He laid on his stomach on the floor next to the couch. One arm under the pillow supporting his head that was facing me and the other thrown across the floor. He didn’t have a blanket on him and his robe wasn’t in sight. His hair was slightly brushed in his face and I had to refrain from leaning down and brushing it out of his eyes. I let out a small laugh realizing he was using the pillow that I threw at George the night before.

Turning around again to Hermione I spoke again. “You’re completely right.” She rolled her eyes with a smile before exiting the common room muttering something about the work she needed to do that day.

I stretched and readjusted, pulling my legs to my chest while figuring the best way to get up without disturbing Fred. I balled up the robe that was laid across me, still trying to figure out how to navigate my way out of the common room.

There was a small space near his arm on the floor, taking it as my best shot to then jump around him. I carefully placed my foot down, making sure not to step on him. Shifting my weight onto that foot I began to move my other leg to go around his back.

Slowly crouching to get some momentum I jumped, but before my foot could even leave the ground a strong arm grabbed my ankle. Taken by surprise I let out a small shriek before falling onto the couch and then sliding onto the floor.

I was met with Fred, smirking at me with half lidded eyes.

“Trying to sneak off with my robe are you?” He said smugly. His voice was deeper and raspier than it usually was and had an immediate effect on my body, my legs weakened and my face burned. I was thanking Merlin I was already sitting and flushed from the fall.

“What are you on about Weasley.” I whisper-yell at him.

He released my ankle, something I hadn’t even noticed he was still holding until I felt uncharacteristically cold where his touch had been only moments ago. He used his now free hand to point at the balled up robes in my arms.

“You did not just make me fall on my arse only to accuse me of stealing my robes!” I whisper yelled again, although a tad louder than last time.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Your robes? I wasn’t aware we had joint custody over my clothing Y/L/N, but since you want them so bad I suppose you can keep them, red looks good on you by the way.” He shot me a wink at the end of his remark. His confidence and cockiness just upset me further. Although he was unnervingly annoying I couldn’t help the grin that split onto my face at his own stupidity.

I rolled my eyes and unbunched the robes to show him the green that adorned them, but once they were unrolled I saw the red fabric. My eyes shot wide open, I could feel my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“But…” I couldn’t even form a whole sentence, this didn’t make sense. “You hexxed my robes!” I shot at him. It was the only logical conclusion I had come up to that he had planned this.

The laugh he was holding back erupted from his mouth. His morning voice made it much deeper than his actual laugh. The rings of his laughter normally made my body hot but this was a whole new level.

He didn’t say anything, just brought his hand up to my collar and tugged. Looking down I saw that I was still wearing my robes. Never took them off.

I groaned and threw my face into my hands which only made him laugh harder. He peeled my hands away from my face and held them in his much larger ones. “I would never hex your clothes,” I could feel my face heat up at his words, the genuine tone and the lower octave of his voice sent shockwaves through my whole system. “At least not red, I’d make them purple!” He stuck his tongue out at me and I playfully swatted his shoulder. He knew that was my least favorite color.

I stood up and threw his robes at his face. “See you in the Great Hall.” And with that I grabbed my shoes and walked out as quickly as possible. I could hear him still laughing as I got to the portrait hole but kept going trying to calm down and get the flush off my face, both from our proximity and embarrassment.

I had thrown on my favorite muggle outfit. Going to Hogsmede was a tradition but the excitement was still there which qualified for a little dressing up. It wasn’t anything special, just plain light wash jeans, a white turtleneck and an oversized orange button up I managed to steal from the twins. All pulled together with a little accessorizing I thought I looked rather good.

Walking out of my dorm and into the Slytherin common room there was an evident pep in my step. I was happy but a fool wouldn’t be. Stepping towards the exit of the common room someone just had to ruin my fun.

“Not going out with the Weasels again are you Y/L/N?” Draco drawls. Turning I see him snickering with Crabbe and Goyle before standing and waltzing up to me, arrogant as ever.

“What is it to you Malfoy?” I spit at him. I was not going to let him ruin today.

“Well you got so pretty today, Weasleys do not know how to appreciate such expensive things, they can’t afford them, how would they know how to? You deserve someone who knows how and can express their appreciation in equally expensive ways.” He laughed out. He lifted his hand to caress my cheek. His touch made me cringe, his hands were cold and his demeanor was uninviting. Everything about him made me recoil.

I grabbed his wrist and threw his hand down. “I hope you don’t mean someone like yourself Malfoy. I’m not sure how you even know how to use a hand like that, it looks as though it hasn’t done a day of work in its life. Is that something you are really proud of?” I threw my words at him like daggers. Steam rolling off of me. I could see him change under my glare, his confidence shrank and his anger grew, his relaxed expression was soon replaced by his snarl he adorned everywhere Harry was near, his back stiffened and his fists balled up.

“Never, touch me again Malfoy.” I turned on my heel and stormed out. Before reaching the exit I thought of something though.

“Future advice,” I turned again so I was facing him. He hadn’t moved and still looked at me venomously as before. He lifted an eyebrow at my comment, urging me to go on. “Money can’t buy consent.”

His face darkened and I had to turn quickly to stop myself from all out laughing at him. I’m sure that if I stayed I could have watched him have his temper tantrum but frankly I wasn’t interested. My interest laid with the redhead waiting for me at the doors of the Great Hall. The same one who smiled at me as I walked up to him and poured my juice for me when we sat down. Fred Weasley had me totally, inconceivably, and utterly smitten, and I was completely ok with it. The harder I fell the sweeter it would feel when he caught me.

Or I hoped.

#fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #weasleys wizard wheezes #george weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction #the weasly twins #fred weasley fluff #fred wealsey fic #harry potter characters #harry potter fanfiction

194 notes · View notes

modernpaw · 3 years

Text

Endorphins

Dan Jones x Female Reader

Summary: While running around The Capitol one morning, you chance upon Dan from work.

CW: Mentions of sex, a little swearing, implied unsafe sex, AFAB reader

Words: 1.8k

This day is not going well, and it's barely even begun. You sigh as you hobble over to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, keeping most of your weight on one ankle. You came here at the break of dawn to get some exercise, to stimulate the production of those elusive endorphins, which you were then hoping would help you manage the mounting stress at work. But because you're not an active person in general, and because you're still getting used to your new running shoes, you ended up landing awkwardly on your left foot and twisting your ankle. So much for stress relief.

Maybe it's just slightly sprained, you think as you carefully lower yourself on the steps. You try to rotate the affected ankle and wince when you feel a twinge of pain.

Okay, definitely sprained.

You're not sure how you're going to walk back to your car, much less drive back home. The worst part of it all is that you haven't even been running long enough to make the injury worth it.

The view of the Washington Memorial looks beautiful though.

You lean back on both hands, deciding to enjoy the peace and quiet, before you allow yourself to continue worrying. After all, it's not like you can change anything. What was that quote you saved on your Pinterest board just the other day? The only thing you can control is how you react to things out of your control.

At 5:30 in the morning, and on a Saturday at that, the entire area is devoid of the usual tourist crowd. There are a few early birds, but because they know how not to hurt themselves within the first 20 minutes of their run, none of them linger around in one spot for too long.

Certainly none of them are paying you any attention. Except maybe for that one person who looks like he's headed your way.

Great. Maybe if you make yourself look as nonchalant as possible, he wouldn't realize that you've twisted your ankle. The last thing you want right now is to be given unsolicited advice. You already get a lot of that from work, thankyouverymuch.

He gets closer and closer, and to your mortification, you realize that it's not a stranger at all, but someone you actually know.

Oh for heaven's sake, you think exasperatedly. You came here hoping to find a solution to your work stress, not to exacerbate it. Why the fuck is the universe sending you Dan Jones right now?

It's probably too much to hope that he hasn't seen you.

Dan is one of the staffers at the Senate office. You may have harbored a tiny bit of a crush on him when you first started working in an adjacent office, but that kindling of a spark was promptly extinguished when he challenged you to rethink your stance on an environment policy and basically implied that you were naive and idealistic. The thing is, he wasn't even rude or obnoxious about it. He was just right.

And you didn't like that. Well, not specifically the fact that he was right, but that you were wrong. You still don't. You worked your ass your entire life just to avoid being in that situation, and it took Dan all but one minute to dismantle all your hard work. Okay, that's a bit melodramatic, but he did shake your self-confidence a bit. I mean, it was your first week at work!

Had he been mean or awful about it, your ego might have forgiven him more, might have found solace in the fact that there are one or two things that are deplorable about him, but he wasn't and there aren't. And so you tamped down on that crush hard. Made sure it never reared its ugly head again and worked your ass even harder to make up for that initial embarrassment.

Now, though, it looks like you're being served another slice of humble pie.

"Hey," he greets out in a friendly tone. "I thought that was you."

"Hi, Dan," you greet back. "Er, fancy meeting you here."

You try not to cringe at the response you just gave. It sounds like lazily written dialogue in a spy movie, or worse, the first 20 seconds of a cheap porno.

Dan is, of course, unaware of your private turmoil. "Oh yeah, I come here most mornings," he answers, casually pulling his right leg up from behind with his opposite hand to stretch his quads. "I didn't know you run as well."

You try not to stare at his thighs, but you can't help it when they're right in your line of sight.

"Oh I don't run often," you say. And then not knowing what possessed you, you add, "To be honest, I don't run at all. This is probably my first time running in, I don't know, five or six years."

Dan does the same quick quad stretch with his other leg before settling down next to you with his knees to his chest. As he interlocks his hands over them casually, you turn your head to look back at the Washington Monument, so that you don't accidentally get caught staring.

Jesus, does this man ever not look good? Anyone can look dapper in a properly fitting blazer, but Dan is just wearing a nondescript hoodie and running shorts.

He says something, but it doesn't register, so you ask him to repeat it again.

"I said would you like to run together?" he says. "No pressure though."

Reminded of your predicament by his choice of words, you wonder if you should just tell Dan that you sprained your ankle.

"I can't," you answer weakly.

You can tell that your own choice of words has confused him, but he doesn't press, only nods his acceptance. He moves to get up, and your brain, probably drugged up due to a belated release of endorphins, pushes you to say something.

"I twisted my ankle!" you blurt out.

A look of concern passes over his face and he moves a few steps down to sit right beside where your feet are currently stretched out.

"Which ankle?" he asks.

"The left one," you answer and you wince again as your injury makes itself known. Is it just your imagination or did the pain get worse?

"You should have said something earlier," he murmurs. Before you can react to that, he hovers his hands over your left ankle. "May I?"

Once again, your traitorous self answers and you nod your head.

Dan carefully unties your shoelaces, taking the time to loosen them all the way up before gingerly cradling your ankle with one hand and oh-so-gently removing your shoe with the other. As he proceeds to remove your sock, his fingers lightly brush against your skin, and a gasp escapes you.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs softly, mistaking your response for one of pain. "I'll be fast. I just want to see how swollen it is."

You give him the green light, and he continues to divest your foot of the white cotton. The more skin he unveils, the more the two of you realize just how serious the sprain is. Your ankle has practically doubled in size, confirming your earlier suspicion that you won't be able to drive back home.

"We should get this iced and then elevated," he says, looking back up at you.

"I don't really have anything with me," you answer.

He gently lowers your foot back down, but doesn't take his hand off it. In fact, as he takes a moment to contemplate something, you feel him caress your ankle reassuringly. The pain on your foot gradually blurs, and you barely manage to hold in a moan of pleasure, pumped up on endorphins as you are.

"I have an ice pack in my car," he volunteers. "It's not that far. I can go get it now, but I also think it's best if I drive you home, so you can rest properly."

Oh, you think to yourself, surprised. While a part of you probably knew that he wouldn't just leave you alone, you didn't expect him to go so far as to take you home. Then again, it's also the most Dan thing he can do. Your mixed reaction must have shown on your face because he quickly backtracks.

"But, uh, perhaps there's someone we can call to pick you up?'" he asks, a bit of red creeping up the sides of his ears. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to overstep."

He looks adorable like this. Dan is normally such an infallible force at work. In the last 12 months since you met him, you've never seen him appear this flustered once, and your stomach can't help but flip flop at the possibility that this is all because of you.

"No, I'm good," you say with a smile. "I did bring my car though."

He still looks a bit red, but you see some of his composure returning. "We can come back for it later. Right now, though, this foot is our priority. It's criminal how long we've allowed it to remain untreated."

Is Dan Jones flirting with you? You decide that the only way to find out is to flirt back. "That's a serious allegation, Mr. Jones," you remark coyly, not missing the way his breath hitches ever so slightly at the way you addressed him. "Perhaps this warrants an internal investigation"

"Oh I'll even lead it, ma'am," he answers, his eyes darkening as he meets your gaze. "And I'll make sure to be very thorough."

You shudder at the implication of his words. There's something about Dan that makes you think that he could be a gentle lover, but would also not hesitate to literally fuck you six ways into Sunday if you ask for it. You feel yourself getting wetter by the second. God, it feels like the endorphins are really working your body double time.

Dan turns his back to you and bends his knees slightly. "Get on," he says, tapping his shoulder with one hand, further cementing your theory that this man will absolutely ruin you in bed. "I'll give you a ride to the car."

You lick your lips and do as you're told, resisting the urge to recommend a better preposition. Once he's certain that you're secure, he extends both of his hands behind his back to hoist you up, and slowly stands back to his full height. He then tugs his elbows closer to his hips, so that not all your weight is on his arms, inadvertently making you rub your already sensitive folds against his back. A soft whimper escapes your lips, one that you're certain did not go unnoticed seeing as you practically moaned right into his ear.

You hear him swear in frustration and he gets a move on. Each step has you rubbing up against him, giving you some modicum of relief one second and then wrenching it away the next, but you bite your lip and you hold you tongue. You know it'll be absolutely worth it when you get to his car. You just hope to fucking god that he's parked it in a secluded spot.

Tagging: @paper-n-ashes

If anybody else wants to be tagged in future adcu stories, just let me know! :)

#Dan Jones x Reader #Dan Jones x Female Reader #mentions of sex #swearing #adcu #adcu fanfiction #the report movie #implied unsafe sex

41 notes · View notes

stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

What A Doll || Rio and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex and Rio have a chance meeting outside the local co-op. Only, something else meets them there, too. CONTENT: One wasted sandwich 😔

It was strange, being back in the world, so soon after something that should have made her give more pause. It was even stranger being out without someone tirelessly following behind her, making sure she was okay, that she was being safe, that she was taking care of herself. It was...a little overwhelming at times. Suffocating. Maybe not in the same way as being back home, but it still made her antsy. It was just one little trip to the store down the street for groceries. With Morgan still dealing with the anniversary of her death, and Mina bruised and broken, someone had to do it. Honestly, she’d forgotten what she originally had come to the store for, but the walk had already exhausted her. And so Bex sank onto the bench outside, instead, and leaned back, rubbing her chest, wincing with pain. The scabs were still fresh, and she always had to be so careful not to tear them open. Healing slow was literally the worst. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to motivate herself to stand back up and head into the store, but something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention instead. There was a strange doll-- rather frightening looking, actually (but then again all dolls were frightening to Bex, it was the empty eyes, probably)-- all by itself on the bench next to her. Had that always been there? It was possible, she wasn’t exactly the most attentive right now. Glancing around, all she saw was one other person loitering around. “Excuse me?” she called out to him. A rather scrawny looking boy. She didn’t judge. “Is this yours?”

Instead of buying anything resembling a responsible, normal adult at the store, Orion left the place with a bag full of snack foods and shoveling a deli sandwich in his mouth. Of course he had enough manners to refrain from eating the sub inside of the place, but out on the sidewalk anything was fair game. He had taken a pause, hooking the bags of junk food under his arm to free it enough to take bites from the food. A drink was stuffed under his arm, but he wouldn’t be able to gracefully get to it until he finished the whole sandwich. He knew he wasn’t coordinated enough to switch things around without risking dropping everything. The only people around were a girl and a creepy looking doll sitting on the bench beside her. Rio had moved away from the bench when the girl had come to sit down, it hadn’t seemed super polite to continue eating his food while hovering near her. He had just assumed she had been here before and left the doll behind. That, or a kid had forgotten it and left it behind. Either way, Rio didn’t like making eye contact with it. Instead, he mostly ate his sandwich while staring at the brick wall side of the building. That is, until the girl on the bench started talking to him. “Huh?” Rio asked on instinct, mouth still full of food. He blushed and quickly looked away to finish chewing. “Sorry uh- that was rude.” He finally swallowed the last bit and turned back towards her, “The doll thing? No uh- definitely not. It’s not yours?”

Bex frowned as she watched the boy swallow the bite of sandwich. At least he had the decency to stand away from her while he shoveled it into his mouth. But she was more perturbed by his answer. If it wasn’t his doll, and it wasn’t hers, someone must have left it behind. She scooted away from it and looked back at him. “No,” she answered back, “it’s not mine.” That meant it had to be someone else’s around, right? “Maybe it’s someone’s inside?” she asked, standing up stiffly to look around, squinting into the store. “I was supposed to pick up food for dinner, anyway, I guess I could go check around inside.” But, what if whoever’s doll it was came back and it was gone? Would they be mad at her? For taking it? But if she left it here, what if someone else came by and stole it? “Or, do you think we should just wait here to see if someone comes back for it?” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized. She didn’t even know this boy, and yet she was signing him up for doll duty. “I-- I mean, you don’t have to stay. I didn’t mean to imply that you had to! I just am, you know, worried. What if some child left it behind?” She went to look back down at the doll, but it was gone. For a moment, she just stared, not believing. Blinked slowly as if that would make it magically reappear. “Wh...where did it-- Oh god!” she jumped when she looked up, because the doll was now sitting on the windowsill next to the boy. “How’d it get over there?”

Though a doll shouldn’t be particularly frightening, Orion didn’t like learning that it didn’t belong to the girl on the bench. There was certainly a normal and reasonable explanation. This was just any other doll, left behind by a distracted kid. That made sense. Automatically jumping to the theory that this was somehow ill intentioned or supernatural was probably a stretch. Right? Regardless, Rio’s mouth settled into a worried line as he stared at the thing and the girl spoke. Soon she had basically suggested that the two foster the thing until its owner came back around. “Oh no! It’s fine. I don’t mind it’s just- do you really think that anybody is going to come back for that thing?” Rio asked, pointing at the thing and cringing at it. It wasn’t particularly well kept. It seemed like something that a parent wouldn’t exactly cry at the idea of losing. And if they were anything like his parents, they probably would have refused to go back for it anyways. For many reasons, Rio hoped that there weren’t many parents in the world like his. Not that it mattered, Rio had always hated dolls growing up. He didn’t like waking up and making eye contact with them. In spite of having no real reason to stay, Rio had his sandwich to finish anyways. He might as well hang around while he finished his lunch. He glanced down at the sandwich to take another bite, only looking back up when he heard the girl freaking out. “Wha-” Rio started to question, freezing mid chew when he realized that the doll wasn’t there anymore. How had she moved it so quickly? He had only been looking down for a second. His head swiveled when he saw what the girl was looking at, jumping when he realized how close the doll sat near him. The drink slipped from his arm and hit the ground, as did a chunk of the lettuce from his sub. But Rio was already jumping backward and sliding closer to the bench and farther from the doll. “Um- so uh- I really don’t like that Is this a bad time to mention I never liked dolls?”

“Oh, yeah, m-me neither,” Bex said, backing away as well. All she’d wanted to do was go to the store on her own for once, and of course White Crest was pulling out some stupid, strange, weird bullshit. She should’ve stayed home. But Mina was hurt as well, and Morgan was being-- well, not Morgan, and Deirdre was at work, and Bex wanted to just be able to do something for them. Like pick up damn groceries. She shook her head, glancing sideways at the boy again as he shoveled more sandwich into his mouth. How could he eat at a time like this? “Well, what should we do with it? Just leave it? What if it--” But when Bex turned to look back at the doll again, it was gone. Her eyes searched frantically until she saw it sitting behind the window of the store. It’s creaky head turned to look at the two of them and one of its little wooden hands raised up in a wave. Bex jumped, stumbling into the boy. “Did you see that? Did that thing just-- you saw that, right? I’m not going crazy, right?”

He shouldn’t have even been surprised that haunted dolls were added to the long list of horrible things that happened in this town. Despite how unsettled and afraid he was of a teleporting doll that had chosen a spot next to him to land, Rio found it oddly calming to keep himself busy by slowly taking bites from his sub. Something about still moving his hands kept him grounded from spiraling completely. The girl asked exactly what he was wondering. Did they leave the thing? The obvious answer was yes, they absolutely turned and ran for the hills and hoped that the thing lost interest in them. But the part of him that clung onto the idea of being a scribe hesitated. Perhaps Rio didn’t know what to do about this, but didn’t his basic knowledge of the supernatural make him uniquely qualified to try to help? That tiny bit of confidence he had was tested even further when the thing disappeared again, reappearing behind a window seconds later and turning to make eye contact with them. To prove that it definitely wasn’t a misunderstanding, the arm began an almost mechanical wave at them. “Definitely saw that. Definitely hate that.” The girl stumbled into him and he just caught himself before steadying the two of them. With no other ideas, Rio raised his arm in a small wave back to the doll. He looked back over to the girl and shrugged, “I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe it’s a… friendly creepy doll?”

The nonchalance with which this boy was regarding the situation was stressing Bex out. Maybe she was just overreacting. If he wasn’t so worried, then she didn’t need to be either. But how was she supposed to not be? The doll was moving on its own! And smiling! And waving! She grabbed his arm when he went to wave back at it. “Don’t do that! What if you make it mad? What if it notices us?” Well, that was silly-- it had clearly already noticed them, hence the waving. She backed away a little further. “Maybe we should just...leave? We should just leave. It was really nice meeting you, I-- I think. But we should just g--” she started, but a thumping stopped her. She looked back at the window and watched as the doll smashed its head against the glass. The window cracked, Bex jumped. “It-- what is it doing?” It smacked its head against the glass again and Bex jumped, again. She moved behind the boy. “D-do something! Make it stop! O-or--” she looked left, right-- no one. When had the street gotten so deserted? “Make it go away!”

Orion wasn’t sure if it was because this girl was freaking out that Rio was forcing himself to maintain some semblance of calm or if this creepy doll had finally been his breaking point. He always figured he would stop being surprised by the crazy things in this town eventually. He just figured it would be… bigger. “Sorry! I just thought maybe not waving would make it mad too!” He wasn’t up to date on the morality and ethics of possessed dolls. Finally, the girl suggested the same thing that Rio had been considering. Leaving. Of course it was the most logical thing to do in this situation, if Rio wasn’t so dead set on making sure nobody else got hurt by this thing either. Though a quick glance around showed him that besides the two of them the area was mostly deserted. That helped ease Rio’s conscience at least a fraction. “Yeah uh, maybe you’re right.” Rio agreed, still not taking his eyes off the doll as he answered the girl. As he was watching, the waving arm froze in place. Rio tilted his head, wondering what had caused it to stop, only to let out a scream when the thing twitched back alive and started slamming its head against the glass over and over again. Apparently that had been the breaking point for Rio, who began jumping back and forth from one foot to the other as he muttered, “Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!” over and over again. “I-I don’t know what to do! I have no idea what it's doing!” Or why it hadn’t just teleported again. Clearly it had a flare for dramatics. The window gave out eventually, shattering as the doll paused from the victory before slowly tipping forward to stand up right between the broken glass. “I’ve decided that waving at it was definitely the wrong choice. I think it hates us.”

The glass shattered and Bex leapt a few feet in the air, scrambling behind the boy. Her chest was pounding and she was ready to simply turn around and go home, no groceries in hand. But then the doll was standing up and looking straight at them-- perhaps through them?-- and she tapped urgently on the boy’s shoulder as he began jumping from foot to foot. “D-do something!” she said, “can’t you do something? What-- where’s the shop owner!?” The alarm began to blare and someone inside began shouting. They ran towards the front and saw the shattered window, glaring the two of them down. “I-it wasn’t us! It was the doll! It was--” she pointed urgently at where the doll was, except...it wasn’t there anymore. “What? No. No! It wasn’t--” but the man didn’t believe them, simply yelled at them to stay put as he went to grab the phone to call the police. Oh no. Bex could not get in trouble with the cops. Her parents would be notified, then. She couldn’t let that happen. She yanked on the boy’s arm. “We have to go!” she said, dragging him away from the bench and down the street. Taking an alley would’ve been the ideal thing to do, but as soon as Bex’s eyes scanned the entrance, she saw the illusion of a wolf standing there, hunched back, eager to pounce. She blinked it away and turned to look back at the other boy. “Hide, we need to hide!” she announced, shoving him towards an abandoned building just as she heard the store manager shouting. She turned to look back at him once they were inside and said, “We’ll be safe in--” but shrieked once again as the doll came into view, hovering behind the boy’s shoulder. “Watch out!”

Of course the store manager wouldn’t believe their story about an evil doll breaking the glass. The doll sure knew when to disappear, but Orion wasn’t as convinced until the girl was physically pulling him away from the bench and away from the store. Added onto being haunted by a doll, now he was a suspected criminal. Though he supposed a broken window wasn’t exactly the worst crime he had committed. He let the girl lead the way, jogging along behind her as she pulled him down the sidewalk. She turned towards the alley, but cut away from it quickly and opted to hide out in an abandoned building instead. Odd choice. He wasn’t sure what about this scenario screamed safe to her, but if they could at least get away from the deal he supposed he could worry about getting an updated tetanus shot later. “Why is this thing so interested in us?” Rio questioned, bending over to catch his breath. He didn’t consider himself special enough for evil dolls to take a liking to him. The girls warning made him jump and spin around. The doll had abandoned physics altogether at this point, floating above the ground at eye level with Rio just feet away from him. Rio fell backwards, his back smacking against the dirty concrete floor as he tried to slide away from the thing. “Please don’t hurt us. I have no beef with dolls!”

The boy tripped and fell over almost the instant he turned to see the floating doll. Bex didn’t know what kind of magic or other was responsible for a floating doll that was stalking them, but she wasn’t about to let it kill them and steal their souls, or whatever possessed dolls did. So she took her purse and swung it as hard as she could, strangely reminding herself of the first time she’d met Mina, whacking the cockatrice her purse then as well. The doll went careening away and slammed into a wall, flopping to the ground. She turned and yanked the boy up. “C’mon, move!” she said, shoving him yet again towards the back of the house now. Floorboards creaked beneath their feet as they ran but Bex was pretty sure they’d managed to escape the thing for now. The back of the house was eerie and cold and she shivered, rubbing her chest as it gave a throb of pain. “D-do dolls usually get possessed here? What do you think we d-did to it?” She couldn’t think of anything. A sudden thumping sounded and she jumped again, slapping a hand over her mouth to not make so much noise. She motioned for the boy to shush himself too if he needed to, backing them up against the wall. God, what would she tell Morgan and Mina if she came home all gashed up from a doll? She wasn’t going to let that happen. She could be strong, right? She could be strong. She gave him the hush motion before leaning to peak around the corner.

Bad idea. The doll appeared right in front of her and Bex screamed again, leaping back as it flew straight at her. She tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her back, bones rattling as she did. The doll turned and flashed red eyes at the two of them, before its jaw dropped open like a nutcracker and it bellowed a screech. “YOU SAT ON MY BENCH! YOU GOT CRUMBS ON MY BENCH!”

Orion had no idea what this doll was actually capable of, but he took the opportunity that the girl gave when she whacked the thing across the room. Rio scurried to his feet and followed her again, this day turning into more of a scooby doo chase scene than Rio had originally intended. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a possessed doll.” Rio shrugged, but he couldn’t say that it didn’t happen either. A lot happened in this town that he didn’t know about.

The two stayed there for just a moment before the girl peaked around the corner and was assaulted by the doll. When the thing screamed, Rio could do nothing but cover his ears and flinch in pain. It had been so loud and guttural, sending shivers down Rio’s body. “You’re mad about the bench?!” Rio questioned when he could finally force himself to speak, “Can’t we just clean the bench?” But the doll didn’t seem like the particularly forgiving type. He owed it to the girl to help her out the same way that she had helped him. He used the only weapon that he had, the remaining bit of his sandwich and chucked the thing at the doll with as much force as he could. The sandwich could never do much damage, but the hunter strength at least added a bit of power behind it. The sandwich exploded on contact with the doll, sending lettuce, deli meat and bread flying all over the place and sending the doll flying back. Rio bent down to pull the girl onto her feet and did a quick once over to make sure she was fine. “Don’t think that’s going to keep her occupied for long. You got any ideas?”

Bex had never expected a deli sandwich to work as a weapon, but she’d also never expected to be chased by a haunted doll into an abandoned house on the side of the street-- so, really, that was her bad. Anything was possible in this place, wasn’t it? Bex had an idea. She watched the doll careen back to the floor as sandwich garnishes exploded all over. She bit her lip and struggled to her feet, looking at the boy. Make sure you trust someone before you expose yourself. Morgan had warned her very specifically, and so had Nell, but she didn’t much think the doll was going to stop chasing them, and she had to do something. “Can-- can you hold it still for a second? I just n-need a few seconds!” she said to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time. God, he was scrawny. He had bright blue eyes, shaggy hair. She was pretty sure she had more muscle than him. This wasn’t going to end well, was it? “Just a few seconds. Trust me, okay?” The doll was groaning with its effort to stand back up, wooden limbs creaking like the floorboards had under their feet. Bex scooted behind him and put a broken piece of wall between her and the doll before closing her eyes and gathering her energy in the pit of her stomach. If she could make birds and pots explode, she could make dolls explode, too.

“Hold it still. Got it.” Orion gave the girl a thumbs up, but he was anything except confident. He had absolutely no interest in getting close enough to that thing to keep it still, less than no interest actually. A negative interest. But, perhaps if this girl had an idea than it was worth taking a risk. With a sigh, Rio glanced back at the doll, creaking its creepy little doll body as he twisted and turned to get itself back up. “I just wanted a sandwich” Rio mumbled to himself, shrugging off his denim jacket. He was thankful that he had worn a long sleeve under it today. He crossed over to the thing with an equal sense of purpose and apprehension, haphazardly tossing the jacket out toward the thing. The doll did not like that. As soon as it landed on top of her, the thing lifted into the air. Rio jumped forward, grabbing onto the sleeves of the jacket and slamming it back into the ground, wrapping it up and weighing it down. “Got it!” Rio yelled at the girl, who was now out of view. If he couldn’t hear her he would be afraid she had left him. Though the doll wasn’t particularly strong, it was tenacious and loud. The thing continued to scream as it bounced back and forth under his jacket. Rio wished that he could cover his ears, but instead squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on other noises to drown out the sound. Whatever idea this girl had, he hoped that she was almost ready.

Concentrate. She needed to focus. She needed to gather all her energy in one place and then focus on what she wanted to do. And what she wanted to do was destroy that doll. If it was in pieces, it couldn’t hurt them, right? Bex opened her eyes and turned around the corner sharply when she heard the other boy yelling that he had it. It was struggling mercilessly under his jacket. She tried to remember what it looked like under there, sending the energy in her stomach out. She thought about the bird exploding and the pot smashing and the sidewalk groaning under Mina’s feet. She thought about the grass she’d decayed and the windows she’d shattered in her own home. The doll began to howl, screaming as if in pain. For a moment, she wondered if she should stop. Could ghosts feel pain? But then it burst from the boys jacket, fissures of cracks all along its wooden body. It was working. Bex bit down on her tongue so hard she felt it splitting. The doll screamed and thrashed, banging into beams, knocking through walls. With one final push, Bex threw everything she had at the doll-- and watched as it shattered into a million little wooden splinters. But so did the beam beside it, and the ceiling and the stairs collapsed. The house groaned around them. Bex fell to her knees, suddenly weak and exhausted. She looked at the boy. A piece of ceiling collapsed between them. “We have to--” she tried to say, her voice horse, “--get o-out of he--” The walls buckled. The house was caving in. Bex shoved herself up and ran towards the boy, grabbing onto him, tripping over pieces of wood, just as the walls came down, and everything else in the house with it.

The first tearing noise was only slightly worrisome. Orion didn’t start actually freaking out into he saw the seam of his jacket pulling from each other. “Uh- Might want to hurry it up there” Rio called out, but he wasn’t sure if he could be heard over the angry doll. He fell backwards when the seam finally split entirely and the doll flew up into the air. “Crap, crap, crap.” Rio repeated quietly to himself as he crawled across the floor on his back and looked up at the thing. It was all cracked. How had that happened under his jacket? He didn’t have much chance to think about it before the doll exploded entirely, along with some other parts of the house. The force pushed Rio back further, hitting a wall with a groan. He could hear everything in the place shifting. Drywall was cracking and the entire foundation shook. He pushed himself up just in time for the girl to run over and grab a hold of him so they could rush to get out. They were so close to the door, but Rio knew that time was running out. If they could get close enough, they might be able to minimize the damage. “Hold still!” Rio yelled, knowing that running at this point might actually be more dangerous. He grabbed the girl and pushed them both onto the floor, flinging himself on top of her and trying to cover as much as he could. Then he tucked his head under his hands and hoped that they had gotten clear of most of the damage.

It was so loud. Bex didn’t really expect it to be so loud, though, as it all came crashing down on them, she figured that she should’ve expected it to be. The weight on top of her pressed her into the floor-- it was the boy, shielding her from the falling debris-- and she felt her breath wheeze out of her. Black ate at her vision, and then bits of rubble filled the rest of it. Wood and brick and dry wall collapsed on top of them and Bex let out a scream, pain erupting in her body. Her chest was killing her, the world was spinning. She tucked her head in as much as possible and waited.

She wasn’t sure if she’d passed out, but when her eyes finally opened again, it was dark. She coughed. Dust coated her face, her body, sticking to the blood that was sticky on her forehead. The crushing weight of the was making it harder to breath. She turned as much as she could to try and see where the boy was, make sure he was okay. “We have to...move…” she groaned, shaking his shoulder gently. “Help me...move this…” It was just a doll, she’d just destroyed the doll. Why had the whole house come down? Had she done that? She pushed against the pile of rubble on top of her and heard it shift, felt the strain in her arms, and the pain in her side. Oh, that wasn’t good, was it? She turned to look. It was bleeding. Her eyes went back to the boy. It dawned on her what she had done. She had intentionally used magic and it had worked. Sure, a house had collapsed on them, but she’d done it. She’d used magic. She couldn’t help the grin that spread on her face, despite the weariness in her body. “C’mon,” she said again, shoving against the piece of wall that was blocking them, “let’s get out here.”

As far as crumbling buildings went, Orion was pretty sure that they got lucky with this house. It had clearly been abandoned for a while, no furniture or other added heavy objects to add to the debris. That didn’t stop the pain as each pieces struck his back and legs. He could feel himself being crushed further and further into the girl beneath him. But he kept his knees firmly against the ground and his back arched to try to give her some breathing room. When the sounds finally stopped, Rio let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding the entire time. His entire body screamed at him. His head felt like it was swimming and he found it increasingly hard to focus on the pile of debris resting on top of him. But the girl finally shook him back to reality. He tried to ignore the pain and instead pushed upward, lifting remnants of the house with him. “You’re bleeding. Crap” Rio noticed it quickly, the smell adding to the mixture of nausea that he was starting to feel. But it helped motivate him more, pushing his strength into shoving larger pieces away. The girl was working on a piece of drywall and Rio shifted his direction to add his strength, pushing the piece aside and finally opening up a path for them to get out. “Yeah. Getting out of here is good. Do you need a hospital?” Rio asked, slowly pulling himself onto his feet and offering a hand to her. He wasn’t quite ready to take stock of his own injuries yet.

Bex shook her head furiously. Bad idea, though. The world tilted on its side and she felt a wave of nausea take over her. She clutched her head, holding still for a moment. A path finally broke open and she crawled out, taking his hand. Her legs shook visibly as she stood, but she was still smiling. Blood smeared across the side of her face, her hair sticking to it. “Did you see that?” she said in an exasperated voice. “I did that! I did it!” she turned to look back at the collapsed bit of the house. In the distance, she heard sirens wailing. Someone must’ve called 911 when they heard the noise. She pushed against him again. “Crap, we gotta go--” she started, but her voice, and her legs, gave out mid sentence as she fell against him, gripping tightly to not fall all the way down. They were both covered in soot and bits of dry wall debris, they looked a mess, they couldn’t be caught like this. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m a little-- tired.” Exhausted. She’d used too much energy. “My name’s Bexley, by the way,” she muttered, trying to stand herself back up. She felt like she could sleep for a million years. She really wanted to shower. “What’s yours?”

The house caving in had almost distracted Orion from the fact that the house hadn't just fallen randomly. It had been blown to pieces beforehand. Before he thought it had was an aftereffect of whatever the doll had been doing, but the girl made him slowly realize that it hadn’t been the doll at all. She actually had had a plan when she told him to hold it still. “Wait- that was you?” Rio asked, abandoning the exhaustion and pain to actually laugh. “Holy crap!” Magic. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but some kind of spell. The sound of sirens only momentarily distracted him before turning back to her. “Besides a building falling on us, that was so freaking cool!” He was almost excited enough to forget how sore his body was. But he was reminded when the girl practically fell into him, sending a whole new wave of pain cascading throughout his body when he caught her. He resituated her, wrapping her arm around his shoulder to try to give her some support. It would be fine as long as he could keep his own footing. “Orion. Or Rio, really. Most people call me Rio. It’s nice to meet you.”

Bex laughed, too. It hurt, but she laughed. Mina was gonna be so mad. Morgan, too. She’d collapsed a house on herself and she felt as if she’d been wrung through a steamroller, but she laughed. And it felt-- good? It felt strange. It felt new. And exciting. Her entire body was still buzzing with the after effects of the magic. Was this what Nell meant? When she said it made her feel connected? Bex looked over at the boy as they started limping their way out of the alley and away from the building-- and the store. And the bench. The stupid bench that had gotten them into this whole mess. Because of a haunted doll. Bex laughed again. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She leaned into him enough to support herself, but he looked just as banged up as her, and the back of his shirt was bloody with cuts from using his own body to protect her. “You were pretty good back there, too, you know,” she told him, giving a crooked smile, “are you-- do you like, know about all the weird stuff here, too?”

Orion really wanted a shower, but he would focus on making sure that Bexley was safe first. She hadn’t taken to the idea of a hospital, so he supposed he’d have to settle on taking her home instead. He couldn’t exactly argue against it when he had no intentions of going to the hospital himself. There was no point in him getting checked out for wounds that would heal in a couple of weeks anyways. In the meantime, he would just be a bit sore. “I mostly just screamed and lost my sandwich.” Rio shrugged, uncomfortable with taking credit for any part in the eradication of that terrifying, bench loving doll. There was probably more that he could have done. “Yeah I uh- I’m familiar. A bit.” A bit of an understatement, but right now it was a start.

Bex hung on Rio like a lifeline. She was really grateful for him. Honest. She’d probably be a lot more banged up right now if he hadn’t blocked most of the rubble. “No, no. You helped a lot, trust me,” she said with a nod. “Thank you.” And she meant it. It was strange, though. Most of her experiences in White Crest so far had been horrifying. The vampire, the wolf, her own magic. But that-- well, that had felt different. Had been different. She’d been able to do something. To fight back. She didn’t know how, but she’d done it. She’d blown up the doll just like the cockatrice and she’d helped someone. Saved someone. Maybe that meant she could save Mina, too. Next time, she could do something for her. She pressed her hand to her chest and felt the bandages rub on something wet. “Fuck,” she muttered, looking down. Red stains were dripping through her blue-- now brown and black and red-- dress. She frowned and looked over at Rio. “Yeah,” she chuckled softly, “me, too.”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: rio #what a doll #rio

10 notes · View notes

minkufu · 3 years

Note

Curious to know what your favorite romance tropes are? And some that your not a fan of (for example, I dont like one-sided pining/crush trope)

Hmmm might be a little hard for me to give a brief answer because I don't actually know very many trope names when it comes to romance stuff, or honestly what all qualifies as a trope. I tend to not search by tropes, I only search for content involving characters I like, and if the results are not great then I just don't bother with them.

But I'll talk about my preferences sure c:

I can name some things I don't like first that parts easy. One-sided stuff I don't care for either, I wouldn't even call it romance if its not reciprocated. That and pining can be cute if there's actual payoff, but if its just angst then no.

Getting the obvious ones out of the way I don't touch any romance stuff involving themes of Incest, adult/minor, rape, stalking, shit like that all out the window. That A/B/O stuff? Nah, HATE that. And while not romance exclusive I also don't touch genderbend content of any kind because it makes me super uncomfortable.

I don't mind age-gaps as long as both characters are adults and the gap is reasonable. My preferences barely go above maybe 5 years difference anyway.

Uh....tropes that involve cheating, Possessive behavior, or jealously, like that "gets mad when their s/o talks to literally anyone" kind. That is the most annoying shit.

I've never been a romantic person. I'm very aro and get second-hand embarrassment easily when it comes to overly mushy stuff. Like, outright will close out a fic and never look back if it makes me cringe too hard. (this isn't a jab at peoples writing this is me having a very irrational response to something harmless and I really can’t help it.) The impact of a dramatic phrase like "I love you" after a long build up in fics is lost on me. Especially since I cant imagine most of the characters I like actually saying that. I prefer action over words, more casual or subtle affection.

And I guess if it's written stuff it's not really a trope thing but I don't do first or second person pov writing. Again not a romance person myself, haaaaaate being put in the position of one of the characters, super uncomfortable.

When it comes to things I like....

Enemies to lovers is the top of my list as far as tropes go, tho typically it isn't like Protaganist/Antagonist its Bastard #1/Bastard #2.

I usually only like villain characters so most of the relationship dynamics I like tend to have some rough edges. Ships that I have been into have been ones like Sasori/Deidara, Dabi/Shigaraki, and Belphegor/Fran. So I guess the vibe is kinda...mutual bickering? Rude and unpleasant characters that always have a (mostly harmless) back and forth with each other when they interact is very entertaining to me. The keyword is MUTUAL tho, both characters have to be actively annoying each other and on even grounds. That's why a ship like Bel/Fran is appealing to me yet I cant vibe with one like Bakugo/Deku. I don't like one-sided hostility, it just loses the fun.

I’m not big on angst for the sake of angst but I do love hurt/comfort stuff. It’s very cathartic for a character you like to suffer terribly but still be able to make it to a point of healing. Most of my favs are unhinged and broken beyond repair so I want to put emphasis on ‘healing’ not ‘fixing’. I don’t like romance being used as a cheap way to ‘fix’ mentally ill characters.

Overall I don't really have a set in stone preference in tropes as long as it doesn't involve the ones I dislike. Most content I consume and make is pre-established relationship stuff anyway. I just go into content with a mindset of "Does it include my favs?" and "By my standards is it good?" if both are checked then that's all I need.

Spoiler tho: I don’t really dive into fanfics very often anyway because my pool of interests is too small and the things I like usually attract either the absolute worst shit or nothing at all. I've had to live off my own content for quite awhile now lol

I don’t know if this actually answered your question or not. If you want to know my thoughts about SPECIFIC tropes I could answer those easier. I get a little too wordy when questions are a bit vague. I don’t mind them I just feel bad when every response I give is a word dump ; ;

#thanks for asking #i dont interact with the romance genre outside of fics and fanart so that might be something to keep in mind #romance novel movies and anime are boring as hell to me #I need characters that are familiar that I actually like to care about romance in media #some of my preferences also heavily rely on hc so some stuff im into might not make sense to others #if theyre not people i actively share my ideas and wips with #not art

3 notes · View notes

lost-in-time-marie · 4 years

Text

Into the Shadows: Chapter One

I stared idly at the flat, gray skies waiting for Natasha by our favorite weeping willow in the courtyard, its green sweeping leaves the only splash of color in a sea of grays and browns. Whole school years had come and gone, but the two of us still met every morning in the same spot, at the same time, before the bell rang; I liked the tradition. Thick fog wound around the students filling the small, square dirt field, the grass trampled long ago. I loved the fog and the wind and the overcast, gray skies. If I breathed in just a little deeper, I swear I could smell the fall; the decaying leaves, the hint of chill forming in the air, signaling for the winter to follow close at its heels. The wind picked up my wavy, brown hair then, swirling it around my shoulders, as if to thank me for acknowledging it. I neatly tucked it back behind my ears and instinctively hugged my soft, red jacket closer to my body. It was far too early for the September sun to break through the grey yet, but I knew in a few hours the leaves would be alight with my favorite green-gold.

“Hey,” Natasha called, her freckled face cracking into a huge grin. My smile answered automatically.

“Hey,” I replied, switching my thoughts to the first day of school.

“I’m so excited! Especially for Advanced Placement Psychology,” Natasha chimed happily, her brown eyes lighting with excitement. I always teased her because her brown eyes were the exact shade of brown as the freckles that speckled her face and body. She did not particularly like such facts being pointed out to her, and I could picture the exact dark scowl she would pull her face down into at the mere mention of such subjects. Something was off about her appearance; it took me a moment to place it. Her usual long locks had been sheared off to above her shoulders, in what I knew was a last-minute decision to start off this school year different than all the others. Despite her tireless attempts at straightening the ridiculous curls every morning, the wind seemed to take great delight in ruining it her first step out the door.

“I know,” I replied with a groan, “You’ve said so at least every minute since school let out last year.”

“I know, I know, but still it’s going to be great!” she enthused, practically bouncing in place. I rolled my eyes.

“I like your haircut by the way,” I smiled. If I responded more than a few sentences before acknowledging such a crucial change, I certainly would suffer for it later.

She smiled, knowing my thoughts without me having to say them. “Thank you,” she said, touching the curls self-consciously. Shortly after catching up with our other friends in the courtyard, the bell rang. All of us seasoned citizens of this school, no one jumped, we merely begrudgingly separated off toward class, roused by the unseen compulsion.

I pulled a folded piece of paper from my jeans pocket and remembered my first period to be Acting 1 with Mrs. Robertson. Acting wasn’t particularly interesting or my cup of tea, but I couldn’t get Ceramics 1 with my schedule so I was forced to have Acting as my fine art credit. Mrs. Robertson was one of my teachers freshmen year, she loved me; this class would be a breeze.

I weaved easily through the crowd of students filing into the school and made my way up the stairs to Mrs. Robertson’s room; being petite and short had its advantages at times. Bright, sentimental posters plastering the walls and desks paired in twos greeted me upon entering Mrs. Robertson’s room. It was like something out of kindergarten. I barely concealed my cringe. Mrs. Robertson stood at the front of the classroom in a blinding yellow sundress writing “Welcome Students!” on the whiteboard in careful cursive. The few students who milled around the room I recognized, this was not surprising, our high school being small and suburban.

“Hello, Kristin, it’s nice to see you again this year,” Mrs. Robertson greeted me cheerily. She hadn’t changed at all in the three years since I last had her class last. Her blonde hair lay neatly in short layers tucked behind her ears, bright blue eyes still holding a smile for everyone, and a stature almost impossibly smaller than even mine somehow. It always bothered me how eerily happy and cheerful she was. I tried not to stare directly at her, it kind of felt like looking at the sun with her exuberant attitude and too bright dress.

“You too, Mrs. Robertson,” I replied with a smile, portraying none of my true feelings. I walked over to a desk and took a seat.

“Oh, I’m giving you seats in alphabetical order when the bell rings. Just stand at the back wall until we are ready,” Mrs. Robertson ordered me brightly. I did as she said, stifling a sigh. I watched the other students pour into the classroom and line up beside me after much prodding from Mrs. Robertson. She had almost no authority with the other students because she didn’t like to be stern, it was a rare event when a student actually listened to her.

“Alright class, please line up against the wall. I’m giving you assigned seats in alphabetical order,” Mrs. Robertson called, her cheerful voice never faltering. I leaned against the back wall, waiting for her to control the class and call my name.

“Ryder Grim, Kristin Hart,” She called several minutes later, having finally made some progress towards conducting a classroom. I walked to the pair of desks she stood beside and took the one she pointed to. The intense stares of my classmates weighed on me, heavy and palpable. I resisted the urge to bury myself right then and there. A guy sat in the other desk beside me. I didn’t recognize the name. Strange, thanks to Natasha’s insufferable curiosity I thought I knew all the seniors at this school. I peered at Ryder from the corner of my eye, using a thin veil of wavy brown hair to hide my gaze. His jet-black hair was gelled and stylishly tousled, almost long enough to hang in his eyes, which were the brightest green I had ever seen. Coupled with snow white, flawless skin and wiry muscles, he was quite a sight, even more so because I realized I really didn’t recognize him at all.

“Kristin, this is Ryder, he’s new to our school this year, please be a dear and help him out,” Mrs. Robertson instructed, standing over my desk. I nodded obediently, and with a merry smile she returned to calling out names and assigning desks. Relief swallowed me as attention gradually shifted away from us again. I guess that explained things at least. A pang of pity sliced through me unexpectedly. All my awkward, lonely past first days of school as the new kid in town suddenly flashed behind my eyes. I turned to Ryder, determined to be welcoming, despite my usual shyness.

“I’m Kristin, it’s nice to meet you,” I introduced politely.

“Ryder, pleasure,” He said curtly, his words harsh and clipped as if meeting me was absolutely the worst ordeal in the world. A flicker of surprise skipped through me, followed by an unwanted wave of rejection. I didn’t often go out of my way to reach out to others, and I certainly wasn’t expecting such a vehement response to a usually harmless gesture. He kept his stony, bright green eyes forward without even a glance in my direction. I worked to bite my sharp tongue and resist the urge to say something that would force him to turn to look at me, my instinct being to lash out with the hurt.

“Well you seem nice,” I retorted sarcastically, half to myself. Well, at least I tried.

“I do my best,” He sneered coldly. I rolled my eyes and focused on class until the bell chimed again, refusing to engage him further. Now I could have a whole new reason to dread this class every morning.

The class passed quicker than I expected; much to my delight. Most of the class period was wasted assigning seats and getting students to behave, the rest was spent just going over the syllabus, rules, and future class assignments; generic first day business. Ryder’s presence nagged at me through the entirety of the period, like a fly relishing in buzzing specifically in my ear. The bell rang. I jumped from my seat and fled to the hall, eager to retreat from my icy partner, the tangible tension between us was beginning to suffocate me towards the end.

“Your partner seems super friendly,” A breathy voice called from behind me. I turned to see a short, plump girl with short black hair and a sweet smile.

“Oh hey, Katy, I didn’t even see you, we have Acting together?” I asked, slowing my stride to wait up for her. Katy’s smiled beamed at me from her round face, as always. She was the sweetest girl, kind to everyone, it was easy to quickly become her friend.

“Yes,” She replied happily, almost childlike.

“I’m so glad we have classes together this year too. I feel like I didn’t see you nearly enough this summer,” I commented with genuine pleasure. Katy wasn’t my best friend like Natasha or anything, but she had always been kind to me when Natasha and I got in a riff or when we shared classes in past school years. She let her layered black hair fall in her face as she asked to see my schedule. I pulled my schedule from my pocket again to compare, discovering Katy and I shared only one other class.

“So who was that guy?” asked Katy, round cheeks turning bright red.

“Ryder? I don’t know, he only said two words to me the whole class. He was pretty rude, actually,” I answered with a shrug.

“That’s so weird, but he was seriously hot,” She admitted, grinning wildly and nudging my arm.

I gave her a wry smile before replying, “Do not even think about it.”

“Oh, come on! It’s been forever since you dated anyone! Eighth grade to be exact.” Katy prodded, wagging her eyebrows at me.

I laughed, “Yes and I plan to keep it that way for a while longer. Ryder is a rude jerk and I’d consider myself lucky if I never had anything to do with him again! Besides, I’m headed off to college after this year, why would I want to start a relationship now?”

“You’re so critical, maybe he’s just...shy? He is new this year” She replied, always coming to the defense of others.

“Yeah, I sincerely doubt it. If it makes you feel better, I’ll see what Natasha knows about him,” I supplied, sneakily negotiating an escape. Katy’s grin collapsed and her full, pink lips pulled down. I sighed.

“I really wish you and Natasha would just get along,” I said, shaking my head, but secretly happy for the redirection of conversation.

Katy snorted, “Unlikely.”

I rounded the corner approaching my class and Katy waved goodbye as she headed in the opposite direction to her next period. Just as I reached my next class, I noticed Ryder standing in the hall with his schedule in one hand and a map in the other. He twisted the map around and furrowed his brows; if he stared at the paper any more intently it would just spontaneously combust.

I sighed and approached him, silently cursing my better nature. “What class are you going to?” I asked, just barely attempting civility. I was a sucker for people in need, even for rude jerks that made bad first impressions. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?

He jumped and turned to me. He was even more handsome when I stared at him directly. The paleness of his skin was striking against such dark black hair and his green eyes were practically luminescent. I quickly pushed that thought from my mind, not even wanting to admit it’d skidded through.

“Look, I don’t need your help, I can get around on my own,” He replied stonily.

“What is your problem? I’m trying to help you! Why do you have to be so stubborn?!” I practically yelled, my temper flaring sharply. I snatched the schedule and map from his hand. I angled the map the right way and shoved it back at him.

“Your next class is down the hall, third door on the right,” I fumed, relinquishing the schedule to him before turning sharply on my heel and stalking angrily to class. I should have just let him wonder lost, maybe he would have left, I half wished silently.

I didn’t understand quite why I hated Ryder Grim so much already, especially when it was quite a feat to even make me angry, let alone produce hate. Perhaps it was the stubborn way he refused help or the insolent way he directed his every word in the direction of others. I liked to think I was above being hurt by his rejection at my attempt to be friendly to the new kid. It might even be jealousy at his utter perfection compared to my awkward, clumsy mannerisms. Regardless, he made my skin heat, my muscles itch to hit him, and more than anything, he made me not want to be within a ten-mile radius of him. I tried to simmer down and feign indifference, but I knew myself better.

Besides that incident, I refused to allow my mind to recollect the boiling irritation of earlier, the rest of the day passed rather easily. We did all the usual first day of school nonsense. AP Government followed into Calculus which turned into AP Literature then Lunch trailed by Teacher Assisting to AP Chemistry, and finally my long-awaited AP Psychology. A teacher named Sinclair taught AP Psychology, I had had a class of his every year since I started high school, as had Natasha; he was the best teacher on campus and everyone’s favorite.

I barely saw Ryder after first period, I let out a silent thank you to whoever was listening for that small stroke of luck. He was in my Chemistry class, but I sat as far away from him as the classroom would allow. Every time I saw him, I just got more and more steamed until even his name made me want to spit fire.

I rushed for Sinclair’s class just in time to see Natasha practically dance through the door. I had only really seen Natasha in between classes. Natasha was in my AP Government class and this class, but that was it, not including lunch. Most teachers knew well enough now to separate us, or she would talk all through class. I followed her inside and we took our usual seats beside each other. Sinclair was different, there was an unspoken expectation in his classroom that not even Natasha dared challenge. We caught up with each other and asked about how school had gone so far, both of us had good things to report and I had all but forgotten my early morning encounter with Ryder. Unfortunately, the next time I glanced up he was walking briskly across the classroom and took a seat at the very back.

I was careful to compose myself around Natasha, lest I give away my true displeasure, but she was too quick and knew me too well.

“I see you’ve met the newest addition to our campus already,” Natasha mused, seeing right through me.

“Ugh! Not him again,” I groaned, not hesitating to unleash the true force of my annoyance from this morning now that I was discovered. I hastily recapped the events of the morning for her benefit.

Natasha laughed. “Wow, you hate someone already and it’s just the first day of school, you’ve learned so well from me,” she beamed with pride.

I shook my head, “Please, he’s just another stupid, immature boy to add to the already overly healthy collection at this school,” I muttered, stealing a glance in his direction at the back of the room. He sat perfectly straight and barely moving, looking very much like a statue.

The late bell rang then, and Sinclair swept into the classroom with a brain in his hand. A fake brain, of course. Sinclair always rolled into class just as the late bell rang with some mysterious prop which our lesson for the day would focus on. It’s why everyone loved his class, he kept things interesting and didn’t waste time on stupid things like a syllabus or rules. That, and, in a lot of ways, he was kind of like a kid himself.

“My name is Sinclair. Not Mr. Sinclair, that was my father’s name, just Sinclair or sir. The rules are: no cell phones, don’t talk while I’m talking, and do as I tell you. Follow the rules and we’ll have lots of fun, break the rules and your life in this class will be hell,” Sinclair explained in a stern, booming voice. New kids would be fooled by this strict façade, although Sinclair knew how to control a classroom, he loved all his students and made everything very fun. He gave the same introduction at the beginning of every year. “I gave you all a syllabus at orientation, I’m not going to waste time going over it with you, you can all read by now I hope,” he continued, several repeat students of his, like Natasha and I, laughed, “Today, we’re going to talk about the brain.” The rest of the class he showed us diagrams and models of the brain explaining each part and its role, it was all very fascinating. Natasha ate up every word and took notes. I’d never seen her so motivated. Sinclair had that strange effect on his students, no one wanted to disappoint him because no one could be disappointed in quite the same way Sinclair could be disappointed in you. Class passed quicker than I would have liked, at the last ten minutes he had us break off into groups to become more familiar with the brain models.

“You know that guy you were talking about earlier? Ryder Grim? I heard about him earlier,” Natasha whispered to me as we broke apart models of the brain to peer inside. Natasha dealt in information. Every school had a rumor mill, but half of the information was false or misconceived. Natasha knew just about everything about everyone and all of it was one hundred percent true. I’m not particularly unpopular or popular, but Natasha hated about seventy-five percent of our school population and the other 24.5% was acquaintances, that last .5% was her real friends, like me. How she got all her information with that kind of social order astounded me, but I never asked, somehow, with Natasha, I was almost afraid to find out. Don’t be fooled though, she did spread a lot of information around school, but if I or anyone else told her a secret they didn’t want to get out, she would take it to her grave.

I sighed and chuckled, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me too well,” She answered with a devious smile, “Anyways, I heard he just moved here to live with his uncle, not too far from you actually. A lot of girls are already swooning over him, too. He’s in one of my classes.”

“How do you ever actually get work done with all this gossiping?” I joked, shaking my head.

“Work? What is this work you speak of?” Natasha asked in mock confusion, tilting her head so short, brown ringlets fell over her face.

I laughed, “I don’t even really care anymore, he’s just a jerk, and I’m not going to let him or anyone else bother me this year,” I vowed. The bell rang making us all jump, this time with eagerness to follow its prompting, as this bell released us home. I hoisted on my loaded down backpack and walked with Natasha to her white Prius.

8 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

TW: Vomit, blood, descriptions of periods, strangulation, opium

——————

Mercy wasn’t feeling good in the first place.

She groaned before her eyes were even open that morning. She cringed when she rolled over, feeling hot slickness between her thighs, and didn’t even want to look at the crime scene that she already knew was lying beneath her blankets. Remaining in the mess, however, was plain gross. It was going to be painful to stand, but if she lays in bed for too long then the fabric will stain. Mr. Putnam and Goody Putnam would certainly not appreciate that, so she has no other choice but to haul herself up and save the bedding.

As if it were that easy.

Mercy liked to describe the feeling she just went through as “the floodgates opening” because that’s exactly what it was. She was forced to kneel when the pain flares up, which only seemed to strengthen the flow when her knees parted and her vagina seemed to feel the need to open like a window during a hurricane. She prayed for her ruined undershorts, which are sticky and wet around her legs, clinging tightly to her skin like they had been glued there.

Eventually, she gets herself to stand and, with trembling hands, carefully and quietly strips the sheets of the bed, relieved to find that the blood hasn’t soaked through to the mattress. She stumbles down the stairs and out of the house, trying to keep the bloodstained part of the sheets angled forward and away from the rest of her body, but her groin was already sopping wet with what was probably twenty-five percent of her body’s blood, so hygiene didn’t really matter in the long run. On the way outside to clean, she grabs a rag and then a bucket once out of the house.

Walking is uncomfortable, lugging a bucket of water from the well isn’t any better, and the wet fabric of her undershorts chafe horribly. However, the blood is almost welcoming in a gross sort of way because it was freezing outside and the dead-baby sauce was actually pretty warm. Unfortunately, the cold seeps in through every fabric of clothing and she’s soon chilled to the bone, even with the abundance of red syrup glazing her loins. The cold only intensifies when she plunges her hands into the ever-icy water of the bucket and gets to scrubbing her bedding.

It takes nearly half an hour to clean the bed sheets, half an hour of having to stare in humiliation at a crimson mark created from her leaky vagina in her sleep, having to smell the scent of her shredded uterus juice, and having to bleed all over herself. By the time she’s finished her hands are so cold she can barely feel them, her thighs are so wet she’s sure they’re going to be permanently stained red, and she’s in absolute agony. All she wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry.

Then, she hears the front door open and someone calls her name from the porch- a high pitched, youthful voice. Mercy doesn’t answer. She’s too embarrassed by her state and she doesn’t want who she sure is Ruth to see her suffering and ruin the cool image of herself the younger girl sees her as.

Her silence is to no avail.

Fallen leaves and icy grass crunch underneath shoes.

“Mercy?”

Mercy kept her eyes shut for a long moment before forcing herself to own up to and face her situation.

“Ruth, hey,” She said, standing up, but nearly collapsing back down because of it. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ruth replied, “What are you doing?”

“Washing some sheets.”

Ruth went to ask why exactly, but then her eyes trailed downwards and she saw the small puddle that had accumulated in the grass beneath Mercy, as well as the dark red streams running down her legs.

“Your monthly blood?” Ruth said quietly.

“Clearly.” Mercy said, attempting to keep her voice from wavering. She shifted her weight to a different leg and cringed when a fresh bout of blood oozes free.

“Will you be okay?” Ruth asked, “We’re supposed to go to the forest today, but if you’re in pain...”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Mercy lied quickly. “Trust me. I’ll get a cloth to catch the blood and then I’ll be all good.”

Ruth nodded, believing her, since she has it to bleed and didn’t know the intense pain that came with it.

Mercy also believed herself, thinking that should would be fine, but when she actually went out to the woods with her friends, she proved herself to be very, very wrong.

In just a few hours, the sharp cramps in her stomach had become violent spasms and the dull aching in her back turned into an intense, radiating burn. She was both sick with hunger and too nauseous to eat. Her bladder and bowels ached. She was sweating from the pain of it all, but also shivering and weak from anemia. And, to top it all off was the gross, hot feeling of her uterus being filled to the absolute brim with blood and pressing uncomfortably up against her lower stomach with so much pressure she thought she would burst if the fluids weren’t deposited. The cloth she had bunched up to her vagina was doing its job at soaking up the blood, but it rubbed her thighs in a way that made her want to peel her skin off, which was a whole other problem in and of itself. Plus, sometimes it feels like the rag shifts a bit too high and actually goes into her bloody folds and she just about passes out from the unwanted sensation of a piece of fabric literally plugging up her vagina.

Needless to say, Mercy felt like death warmed over with an extra pinch of suffering.

Somehow, she still found herself at the usual meeting spot in the woods, despite how sick and horrible and disgusting she felt. As much as she wanted to spend the whole day curled up in bed while cuddling her pillow close to her stomach, she knew she couldn’t skip out on the outings just because it was her time to suffer Eve’s curse. Susanna, Abigail, and Mary all suffered through their own every month- hell, they could be bleeding right now as well- and they were able to function just fine, although Mary does have a tendency to not talk or move around too much, or simply not go out at all. Mercy didn’t want to be that girl, especially since Abigail didn’t like it when someone chickens out just because of a little leaky vagina and stomach pain.

Though, that sounded like an impossible feat with the way that her frame shook from the exertion of standing alone. Mercy’s whole body was as heavy as lead, everything in her entire being hurt, and it was all swirling in a kaleidoscope of pain until all she could focus on was how bad she felt. She was sure she could faint, could already feel the faintest numbness slowly creeping in on the edges of her consciousness, but she held strong until she just couldn’t anymore.

One of the worst cramps she’s ever felt in her entire life hit her when she was clambering across a thick branch to get to another tree. She and the other girls were playing a very serious match of hide-and-go-seek and she was determined to win by hiding in the dense patch of leaves and branches she saw when she had been seeker during the round before. However, her plans of victory were rudely interrupted when the ovaries at the end of her Fallopian tubes seemed to morph into claws and viciously stab her from the inside, causing her to teeter right off of the branch just as Mary, who was that round’s seeker, burst through the underbrush.

Mercy didn’t feel her body hit the forest floor- the pain in her stomach overpowered every other sensation in her body. She could, however, miraculously still see through the raging storm of black spots across her vision and saw Mary above her, looking absolutely mortified, like she could see the invisible ovary-claws goring their way out of Mercy’s abdomen. The younger girl was completely paralyzed and stark white, and her mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, which would have made Mercy laugh if it weren’t for the fact that laughing pulled the muscles in her stomach tighter until it felt like they would snap.

Mary wasn’t doing anything to help, too stunned to get her head on straight, and, if she had the strength, Mercy would be griping at her to do something. Luckily, someone more capable of functioning properly in dire situations came to the rescue.

“What happened?!”

Abigail, who must have been hiding somewhere nearby or maybe was just trying to sneak around, leapt from the thicket like a jungle cat, startling Mary into awareness. Mary looked from Abigail, to Mercy, then back to Abigail, stammering and sputtering over her words and clenching the rims of her cowl like she does when she was anxious. It was honestly quite pitiful, and Mercy felt kind of bad for the kid.

Abigail, however, felt the opposite.

“What did you do?” Abigail snarled, stalking towards Mary, whose eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. Her own were smoldering like hot coals. “What have you done to her, Mary Warren?”

“N-nothing!” Mary squeaked, “I haven’t touched her!” She backs away, but Abigail advances on her, seizing her by the throat. “Abby...-!!”

“You are a liar!” Abigail roared, shaking Mary slightly, “What did you do to her?!” She could so easily wring Mary’s neck like a towel. She grips tighter in her fit of rage. “TELL ME!”

“Abby...”

Abigail pauses her process of strangling the younger girl to glance over her shoulder. When she realizes it was Mercy who had called her name, she releases her prey and darts down to her side. Carefully, she lifts Mercy’s head into her lap.

“Mercy? It’s Abby. I’m right here. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” She sets a hand on Mercy’s back, “Your muscles are so tight... What happened? What did that little mouse do to you?”

“Hurts...” Mercy rasps out, so soft Abigail nearly missed it.

“What hurts, Mercy? Where does it hurt?”

Mercy couldn’t answer when the cramps return with just as much power as before and render her uselessly silent. She can only grit her teeth to the point where they may shatter and hold onto Abigail’s dress like it was her only anchor to consciousness.

“What’s going on?”

Susanna, Betty, and Ruth all emerge from the tree line, having been alerted by Abigail’s yelling. They don’t miss the way the leader of the group protectively holds Mercy closer to her.

“Is she okay?” Susanna, who had spoken before, asked, glancing at the blue-clad girl.

“I don’t know.” Abigail answered. First she shoots a momentary glare at Mary, then looks back down at Mercy, who seems to have settled slightly. “But she’s trembling and is really flush.” She said, feeling her friend’s cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Wait,” Ruth piped up, “Is this because of her monthly blood?”

Silence.

Abigail feels Mercy tense in her lap.

“Oh, Mercy,” She murmured, “You should have told us.”

Her eyes then glance at Mary, who was on her hands and knees, silent as she paws tentatively at her neck. Abigail wanted to send the other girls away, give Mercy privacy so she wouldn’t be anymore embarrassed than she already was, but she knew she had to settle things with Mary first.

“Mary Warren.” She said, not missing the way the younger girl flinched when her name was spoken. “Come here.”

Mary doesn’t move, like she was now being immobilized by cramps.

“I will not ask you again.”

That does it.

The smaller girl awkwardly skitters over, still very much shrunk in on herself. It doesn’t help when Abigail makes contact by cupping one of her cheeks, keeping the other hand on Mercy’s waist, and lifting her chin to make her meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Abigail whispers, thumbing away a stray fearful tear that managed to escape Mary’s sparkling eyes. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Are you okay?”

Mary nodded feebly. She tried to break eye contact while doing so, but Abigail taps her cheek with a finger and she’s too scared to not look back up at her.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod, although this one is definitely weaker and more unsure. However, Mary knows she shouldn’t be fretted over, Mercy is clearly the one in a lot more pain, not her.

“Alright,” Abigail said. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Mary’s forehead. “Go home.” Her voice raised to address the others, “All of you. Go home.”

Like that, they disperse. The others knew not to cross Abigail, especially when she was protective like this, so they all obey and head back to town. Only for a moment does Mary hang around. Her hand hovered over Mercy’s shoulder, but she pulls back at the last second. She mutters a tiny “Feel better soon” and “I’m sorry” before scampering away through the trees.

Abigail waited until the footsteps of the fawn-like girl receded to do something. She wasn’t really all that guilty about what she did to Mary- Mercy was her best friend and if she’s hurt and someone is around, then that makes them a possible culprit and she was going to attack! Mary had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time and her poor neck was the victim of Abigail’s chosen assault method via strangulation. Abigail made a mental note to go check on the younger girl later that day, just to make sure she was completely alright.

Right now, however, she had someone else to tend to.

“Do you have anything?” Abigail asked once the sound of footsteps completely died off in the distance.

Knowing what she meant, Mercy nodded.

“That’s good, at least,” Abigail hummed. “Wanna go home?”

“I don’t- I don’t think I can-I can stand.” Mercy panted, “Can I-” She swallowed thickly, “-can I lay here for a little longer? Please?”

“Of course,” Abigail said. She cards her hand through Mercy’s hair to calm her. “We can stay here as long as you need, okay? Just try to relax.”

“Thank you,” Mercy whispered. She closes her eyes and nuzzles closer to Abigail.

For a long time, they just sat there in silence, relaxing and listening to the sounds of the woods. That would soon be broken by Mercy whimpering and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Mercy?” Abigail looked down at her. She set a hand on her shoulder as she writhes in her lap, “Mercy, sweetie, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“...hurts...” Mercy gurgles, holding tighter. Acid curls in the back of her throat.

“I know, sweetie. I know.” Abigail said, threading her fingers through her hair.

The acid curls higher, burns more.

“No, no, Abby-”

Mercy jerked upwards and began to vomit, just barely missing her dress. Through her coughing and heaving, she heard Abigail cuss and then pull any stray fringes of hair that may have escaped her bonnet out of the way.

“Get it out, sweetie. It’s okay. Just get it out.” Abigail murmured, holding Mercy upright so she wouldn’t completely crumple in on herself.

Eventually, Mercy stopped ejecting her internal organs through her mouth and collapsed against Abigail, panting heavily. The cloth Abigail kept her in her pocket wiped away the bile dribbling down the sides of her mouth, but she can’t find the voice to thank her friend. All she could do was make a miserable keening noise.

“Shh, shh,” Abigail hushed her. She wrapped an arm around Mercy’s waist and leaned back so Mercy would be slightly laying on her, hoping that position would be more comfortable. It must not have been, because Mercy began pushing herself up with shaking arms.

“I’m sorry,” Mercy mumbled, deep shame burning on her cheeks. “I think- I think I can go home now.”

“Are you sure?” Abigail asked, worry glinting in her eyes. “Maybe we should wait a moment longer. Let you get your bearings.”

“Please,” Mercy said softly, “I just want to-” She swallowed thickly, “-go lay in my bed and sleep.”

Abigail pursed her lips, but agreed and helped Mercy stand up. Her friend didn’t lean on her to walk, she seemed to be able to do that on her own, but Abigail would still reach out to steady her every one and awhile.

“Where were you hiding?” Mercy asked, trying to distract herself. The conversation was much needed, especially when blood squirted free onto the rag and reminding of just why she felt so miserable.

“In a log,” Abigail answered with a small laugh, “It was kind of hidden in the bushes, so I thought it would be a good hiding spot.”

“If Susanna was seeking, maybe,” Mercy comments, “You know how thorough Mary Warren is when she’s seeker.”

“True,” Abigail agreed. Whatever she said after that was completely drowned out by ringing in Mercy’s ears when a powerful wave of dizziness washed over her.

Mercy couldn’t help but doubled over, wrapping both arms around her aching middle. She grits her teeth tightly, but the cramps last longer than usual and tears start to well up in her eyes.

“Abby-” She gasped, “Abby-!”

Abigail looked over her shoulder and her eyes widen. She darts to Mercy’s side and the girl just about crumples in her arms.

“Abby-” Mercy rasps out, “Can I-” It’s punctuated with a wince, “Can I sit down- for a moment? Please?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Abigail helped lower Mercy to the ground, and her friend instantly curls around her stomach. She lifted her head into her lap.

“Shh, shh,” Abigail murmured. She untied Mercy’s bonnet and let her hair down. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Despite her calming tone, Mercy still writhes. She squirms like she’s trying to wriggle our of her own skin, and wept silently, unable to hold back the tears any longer. The pain was too much- it felt as if someone was reaching in and pulling out her small intestines.

“It hurts,” Mercy sobbed, digging her face against Abigail’s thighs. “It feels like I’m being stabbed, Abby- I’m being stabbed!”

“No, no, you’re not.” Abigail said. She picked up one of Mercy’s hands and makes her feel her lower stomach. “See, sweetie? There’s nothing there. No knife, no arrow, no nothing.”

The dagger was inside of Mercy, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing away at everything within her. Abigail couldn’t see it, of course, so all Mercy could really do was make a tiny noise and curl up tighter. She clung to her best friend’s dress, digging her nails in. If it hurts when they hook on Abigail’s skin, she doesn’t show it.

“Abby...” Mercy moaned softly.

“I’m right here, sweetie. I’m right here.” Abigail assured her. She used one hand to caress her friend’s tear-stained cheek while the other remained on her waist for a sense of grounding. “You’re going to be okay, my sweet. I promise.”

Mercy shook her head. When she looked up at Abigail, her eyes are glazed and unfocused.

“It hurts so much, Abby...” She whimpered.

“Where does it hurt?” Abigail asked, slightly taking Mercy by surprise.

Mercy didn’t answer immediately, instead hissed air in through her teeth and waited for her Fallopian tubes to stop using her ovaries as projectiles against every other organ in her body.

“L-lower stomach,” She stammered, clearly shy about this. “...And my back.”

Abigail nodded and carefully placed a hand on her friend’s lower stomach.

“Here?”

Mercy nodded. She gasped softly when Abigail began to rub her stomach in slow, tentative circular motions, but then eased up beneath her touch.

“Does this help?” Abigail asked.

“Yes,” Mercy said softly, “A lot.” She sighed quietly, relaxing as Abigail massaged her abdomen gently, moving in careful circles against her dress.

After a few minutes, Mercy’s breathing no longer hiccuped, and her arms weren't squeezed at her front anymore. Abigail’s fingers were still soothing the cramps as best as they could. She’d always been affectionate with her girls, but she’d never done anything like this before. However, she assumed she was on the right track, as Mercy seemed about ready to fall asleep against her, with her hands working easy patterns on her body. She couldn’t help but chuckle lovingly and use her other hand to stroke back sweaty hair from Mercy’s face.

“Thank you,” Mercy mumbled, dozing.

“You’re welcome,” Abigail replied, just as quiet as to not hurt Mercy’s ears.

“I think...I think I can walk again.” Mercy said. “Can I try?”

Abigail nodded and helped Mercy to her feet, despite the hiss of pain that was elicited immediately after. She kept an arm around her friend’s waist, letting her lean on her when needed. She kept glancing down at the hand over Mercy’s stomach, which would sometimes clench tightly during a cramp.

Finally, they got to the edge of the Putnam’s property and Mercy untangled herself from Abigail’s tender embrace.

“Thanks, Abby,” Mercy said, completely coiling an arm around her middle.

“I can walk you to the house.” Abigail said, but Mercy shook her head.

“Go check on Mary Warren.”

“...Alright.” Abigail agreed. Before she left, however, she tied Mercy’s hair back up, put her bonnet back on, and then kissed her forehead. “I’ll come by and check on you tomorrow, okay?” Mercy nods in her hand when she’s cupping her cheek, “Feel better soon, sweetie.”

With that, she begrudgingly leaves, starting down the dirt road that led to the Proctor’s house.

Mercy stands there for a moment, just breathing through vice grip-like cramps, before turning around and walking to the house.

The short trek proves to be hellish without Abigail’s tender, protective presence, what with the dizziness and the increasingly wet slickness between her legs. The rag was completely soaked through by this point, turning her thighs into a sticky, sopping wet mess. Every step made the soggy cloth shift and rub, smearing against her skin to dirty it further. She knew she would have to exchange it for a clean cloth, so she grabbed two new rags and two buckets, one filled with water and the other empty, before heading inside.

She manages to get up to her room without being seen or called and quickly closed the door. The first thing she did was strip from her dress and then undergarments.

As expected, the cloth was soaked. In fact, there wasn’t a single speck of white left anywhere on it. The sickeningly sweet, fishy aroma the uterus blood gave off made Mercy’s stomach churn and she quickly dropped the fabric into the empty bucket. With one of the clean rags, she uses it to wash off her thighs and paw water on her messy vagina to try and flush it out of blood, despite knowing it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

Once she was cleaned up, she scrubbed her hands in the water, put a new rag in her undergarments, threw on soft trousers and a tunic to sleep in, disposed of the buckets, and then finally collapsed into bed. Just in time, too, because her stomach twists again and she whimpers into her pillow.

For awhile, she just writhes and thrashes in her bed, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep due to the intense pain. She began to hear Goody Putnam calling for her, but she just couldn’t get up, so she lied there, weeping softly and wishing she hadn’t sent Abigail to the Proctor’s.

Footsteps walked up the steps and approached her room. Mercy braced herself for a storm.

“Young lady, I have been calling you for-”

Ann’s scolding died on her tongue when she saw the state her servant was in- face very grey and drenched in sweat, cheeks stained with tears, panting heavily, hair falling out of her crinkled bonnet, curled up into a tight ball, clutching her stomach. Mercy is rocking herself ever so slightly and Ann watches for a half second before going to her bedside.

“Mercy?” She brushes the girl’s bangs out of her eyes and felt her forehead. “You’re so hot... What’s wrong?”

“Monthly...monthly blood.” Mercy panted, her voice tight with pain, “It’s my monthly blood.”

Ann hummed in sympathy, knowing exactly what the teenager was going through. She began untying Mercy’s bonnet and then her hair as the girl started to talk again. Her worry grew as she did so.

“It- it hurts so bad, Goody Putnam. It’s never lasted this long before. Nothing helps.” Mercy screwed her eyes shut and hugged her stomach tighter. An audible sob accidentally slipped from her lips and she felt her ears burn hot with embarrassment.

“Oh, my poor dear,” Ann murmured, stroking Mercy’s cheek with a finger. “Take deep breaths, darling. I’ll be back.”

“Wait-”

But Ann was already out the door.

Mercy stared at the empty doorway, hand outstretched, mouth half open in a cry, and tears brimming in her eyes. Her delirium-riddled mind began to hiss horrible words of abandonment and she started to weep much harder than before, flipping onto her other side and burying her face into a pillow.

That’s how Ann found her about half an hour later and she gasped softly, rushing over to comfort the crying child.

“Mercy, Mercy, sweetheart,” She gently shook the teenager to rouse her. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Mercy’s glossy eyes widen and she launches herself into her mistress’ arms, not caring about how unprofessional it may have seemed. When she was vulnerable like this, she desperately needed to be held by someone, consequences be damned.

“Shh, shh,” Ann soothed, stroking her servant’s messy hair. “I’m right here, darling. You’re alright.”

“No, no-” One hand moves to grip back at her stomach as Mercy shook her head. “It hurts too much, Goody Putnam. I think I’m dying...”

“Don’t be daft,” Ann said. “Eve’s curse is a terrible one. Unfortunately, it seems to be bewitching you pretty horribly right now.” She notices Mercy grimace and quickly went on, “But I have something for that.”

Mercy hadn’t even realized Ann had brought a few things in- a steaming cup of liquid and an equally steaming pot of hot water.

Ann props Mercy up and brings the cup to her lips. She urges her to drink with encouraging words and the girl eventually relents.

“Good girl,” Ann cooed and it makes Mercy’s heart leap in her chest. “Ah, ah.” She tuts when her servant tried to pull back. “You need to drink all of it, sweetheart.” She puts the cup back to Mercy’s lips, who has no other choice but to down the bittersweet liquid.

When Mercy pulls back, taking deep breaths, she realizes how lightheaded she feels. She lifts both hands to grip at either sides of her skull and doesn’t even notice how she was swaying in her bed. Ann’s chuckle alerts her to look up.

“Someone’s feeling the effects already,” Ann mused, stroking back some sweaty hair from Mercy’s face.

Mercy’s tongue feels swollen and numb in her mouth for some reason. She blinked several times, but it won’t clear up she vision. That combined with how she struggled to speak made her panic slightly.

“Shh, shh,” Ann hushed when her servant began to freak out. She rubbed comforting circles against the girl’s back to relax her. “It’s just laudanum tea, sweetheart. It’s pain relief. You only feel dizzy because of the opium in it.”

Mercy stared at her mistress in shock. She had just been given liquid opium. Although, she wasn’t going to complain if it was a pain relief.

“Now, lay back for me, sweet girl.” Ann helped Mercy lie back down. She lifts her servant’s shirt slightly and pulls a damp rag out of the pot of water, placing the hot cloth on Mercy’s stomach.

At first, it was way too hot, but Mercy’s hiss of pain turned into a sigh of pleasure when the warmth soaked into her skin and began untangling the knots in her stomach. She rests her head back into the pillows, letting her eyelids droop close. With the nice, hot compress, added with the pain relief and Ann’s hand stroking at her hair, she found herself being pulled closer and closer to sleep.

“Goody Putnam?” She croaked, managing to find her voice.

“Yes, Mercy?”

“Thank...thank you...”

Ann smiled at the dazed, loopy girl.

“You’re welcome. Now rest, sweetheart. I shall stay here until you have fallen asleep.”

Mercy liked the sound of that.

She relaxed her body and let herself think she was rolling in molten gold, because that’s exactly what it felt like. For the first time all day, she felt the closest thing to relaxation.

#the crucible #the crucible fanfiction #mercy lewis #abigail williams #ann putnam #mary warren #ruth putnam #susanna walcott #betty parris #tw: vomit #tw: emetophobia #tw: blood #tw: strangulation

11 notes · View notes

silver-chasm · 5 years

Text

One Room at a Time

Not too long ago (I think about a month), a friend of mine introduced me to a little game called Celeste. Four days later, I had watched an LP of the game and started this story. It’s about what happened to Mr Oshiro in between finishing the third level and the epilogue. Obviously, there are spoilers for the game.

Hope you like it! :D

She was gone, the red-haired adventurer. Disappeared into the light of the early morning sun. Scared away, never to be seen again.

Mr Oshiro closed the back door with heavy dejection. It had been so long since anyone came to the hotel. A precious patron. And yet, he snapped, lost control and chased her out.

Then again, that purple-haired girl was so rude, the one who appeared from the adventurer’s reflection. He offered the hotel’s finest room (at half the price, no less) and she destroyed it, not before calling the hotel a dump and him delusional. Then she had the nerve to say that he was pathetic! How dare she!

Unfortunately, she did have a point. The place was a mess. Leaky plumbing, a gaping hole in the roof, a library in disarray. There were even cracks in the walls and dust everywhere, things the old hotel owner only just started to notice in Ms Madeline’s absence. Not mentioning the amount of clutter that still remained, even after the adventurer’s kind gesture. So, the beloved hotel was closed until something could be done about these problems.

How humiliating.

However, there was still someone at the hotel. What was his name? Theo! Yes, that young gentleman said he would stay the night (although he phrased it a bit differently to that). He’ll have to be warned about the closure, about the clean-up. Of course, he was welcome to stay for as long as he liked. The customer always came first, after all.

Perking up, Mr Oshiro set off to find Mr Theo, navigating the labyrinth-like layout of the hotel seamlessly. He floated to the room where he left the gentleman. He knocked on the door to wake him up, but it creaked opened after the second knock.

Empty.

Mr Oshiro’s smile disappeared.

“Gone?” he muttered nervously, “Perhaps, he’s already up. Surely, he wouldn’t leave without a goodbye.”

Part of him feared the worst. He shook that dark thought out of his head. He had to stay positive. He couldn’t afford to lose another guest. Not now.

He zipped off, to look for the gentleman, jumping from room to room. He scoured high and low. Alas, all he could find were the large piles of dust bunnies that had built up over years.

It felt like they watched him fail miserably at this simple task of finding someone.

He took a breath before continuing the hunt. It brought him to the laundry room, one of the last places he considered searching. Everything seemed normal, albeit a bit run down from years of disuse.

But the ventilation shaft cover was on the floor.

Mr Oshiro got onto his knees and picked it up. He gazed down the shadowy shaft. A cool draft blew from it. The cover dropped from his hands as his heart sank from the realisation.

Theo never stayed the night. He lied.

“But…I welcomed him…I gave him everything I could…”

He closed his eyes, caving in slightly as he felt the deep sting of the betrayal eradiate from his chest.

“What did I do wrong this time?”

He gritted his teeth.

“Oshiro, you idiot! It clearly wasn’t enough for him to stay! How could you be so hopeless!”

He began to rub his eyes but wiped tears away instead.

“Why did he run away? I thought I did everything perfectly. He was my last –“

His throat clammed up from the horrible thought. He began to weep. Tears ran down his hands, falling to the ground, as he was overflowing with despair. He opened his eyes and looked at his damp hands. He couldn’t do this all day. He needed to keep himself together, no matter how hurt he was.

There was no draft anymore. How odd.

He glanced up, into the ventilation shaft. A pair of red eyes in the darkness were staring at him.

“WAH!” he jumped back with fright, landing on his backside.

He shuffled away from the shaft as more and more eyes appeared in the darkness. Cloudlike blobs began to crawl from the tunnel, spreading to the surrounding wall. Soon, half the wall was covered in the strange gunk.

Several dozen pairs of eyes were watching him.

Mr Oshiro cringed, turning his body away from the mass before him.

“E-excuse me,” he stammered, “but I-I would like to be l-left alone at this m-moment.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek. They were still watching him.

He berated the mass, “Don’t you know? I-it’s rather rude to stare!”

Suddenly, the globs began to move as more spilled from the ventilation shaft. They began to cover the entire wall.

Oshiro’s eyes widened as he was struck with terror. He scrambled to the door. He swung it open and slammed it behind him. His back pressed against it, taking a moment to restabilise.

What were those things?

He floated away from the door and looked back at it. It seemed those things weren’t leaving that room, at least.

“Nothing to worry about,” he reassured himself as he wandered away.

He turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. From one of the rooms down the corridor, a massive mound of the terrible monsters spewed from it, sticking to everything it touched, spreading across the roof. There must have been hundreds of them among that mass, almost indistinguishable from each other.

There was a creak of a door opening. Oshiro glanced to the side, then did a double take.

The laundry door was open, and the blackened clumps were crawling from it.

He looked back down the hallway. Hundreds of vermillion dots were staring at him. He had been spotted.

The mass accelerated across the roof, charging towards him.

“AAAAAAAH!”

He fled as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He zoomed around corners. The large mass of monsters stampeded after him.

Oh, he had to hide.

He rushed into a dark room, quickly closing the door behind him. A hand held his heaving chest.

He whispered, “Surely, that would have lost them.”

He gazed into the room. He could make out the silhouette of messy stacks of books and papers. They were piled against the walls. No doubt were there books spread across the floor.

The ceiling, however, was completely coated with dozens upon dozens of crimson specks. Looking at him.

He laughed sheepishly, “…Hello…and goodbye.”

He grabbed the doorknob and flung himself out of the room. To his horror, half of the hallway had been engulfed by the monsters. He scrambled. The mass of darkness and eyes soon followed, with new blobs joining it from each room passed.

No matter how fast he was, the mass seemed to never be far behind. And every time he looked over his shoulder, it kept growing bigger and bigger, becoming more like a flood. A very persistent flood.

Mr Oshiro dived behind a wall and pressed himself against it as tightly as he could. A tumultuous wave of dusty black thundered past him, hitting him with a gust of wind from its speed. He shielded himself from it.

And then, they were gone. Yet, the hotel owner didn’t feel the slightest amount of relief.

He clutched his head, “Oh Oshiro, you absolute fool! No wonder no one wants to stay here: it’s completely overrun!” he closed his eyes, “It was so obvious that there was an infestation problem. How could you not see it sooner?! How could you let the hotel reach this state, you useless, blind, deplorable excuse of a man!”

He opened his now watery eyes. His breaths were shallow. Something loomed over him. He could see its shadow.

The monsters had found him and completely covered the wall in front of him, the ceiling above and blocked the pathway of the corner they came from.

He slammed himself back onto the wall, gasping. They had spread to it and the floor, creeping closer and closer. He shrunk from it. The path to the other side of the corridor was slowly being sealed from the roof down.

He was suffocating.

He glanced at the shrinking hole.

He lunged towards it, wriggling through before it closed. He scurried away, daring to not look behind him again. He knew that gigantic mass of eyes was chasing him, and he knew they were never far away.

He kept running and running and running. No matter where he tried to hide, he kept finding more of them.

Eventually, he took refuge in one of the bedrooms’ wardrobes. He was huddled at the bottom of it, completely in the dark, hoping he wasn’t found by those monsters. He tried to not think about it, that he was being hunted. At least he could catch his breath in there, even if it was difficult to do so.

He was finally alone.

Wait, was he really alone?

The idea filled him with dread, but now he had to check. He gently poked the door with his finger, opening it a crack. He leaned forwards, peeking through.

A third of the room, the third with the door, was now pitch black and festering.

He pulled the door closed with a trembling hand and curled up into a ball. Maybe if he was silent, they would stop and leave. He shut his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose, to be quieter. He focused on the rise and fall of his chest in the little space that it could move. In, out, in, out.

He calmed down a little bit.

He wondered where those dusty monsters came from and why they decided to stay in his hotel. His mind then drifted to thoughts about his beloved hotel, his home. Oh, what a frail thing it had become. He tried hard to take care of it, but it still slowly deteriorated. He was only one person and the hotel was huge. He was always so busy tending to the (admittedly dwindling amount of) customers who visited. Nobody wanted to stay, not since its decline. It was too messy, too cluttered, too claustrophobic. Cleaning all of that? A gargantuan task. Hopeless to even consider it feasible.

And now, there was this plague of terrible blobs that consumed whole rooms to contest with. The hotel was never going to be reopened!

Mr Oshiro became curious again and peered through the crack of the wardrobe door. The darkness had moved closer. It had almost swallowed up the room. A thousand eyes were gazing back.

He hid again, curling tighter. What did these awful creatures want?! They kept appearing everywhere, popping up whenever his guard was down. When doubt crept in. It was as if they were psychic. Somehow.

And now, they were finally going to catch him. He couldn’t begin to conceive the awful things they would do to him. He braced himself and waited.

But nothing happened.

He peeked through the door once more. The darkness was still there, but it hadn’t budged since he last looked. The thousand eyes of the mass of monsters even appeared to be…concerned?

He opened the door a bit more. He crawled out of the wardrobe. Only a small patch of the wooden floor remained uncovered. The darkness had even reached the wardrobe, attaching to the top and sides of it.

They didn’t seem to want to hurt him. If they did, they could have done so already. No, they were not hostile. No less intimidating though.

“There’s…so many…of you,” his breaths were short, “So many…in my hotel.”

His eyes welled up once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I’m not normally like this. I’m just,” he sniffed, “just a little over…overwhelmed.”

He broke down, unable to hold back the tears any longer. It brought him to his hands and knees. The tears splattered the wooden planks.

“There’s so much to do…I don’t know where to begin…the clutter, the library, the hole in the roof,” he wiped the tears with his sleeve, “I’m all by myself and,” he strained the words, “I-I need help.”

His weeping intensified. He hid his face in his sleeve as it soaked up his tears. His body convulsed with every sob and sniffle. It hurt to say those words, to speak up like that. He was so used to being on top of everything, being in control. But long gone were the days of having a fleet of staff to support him. Or manageable problems. They towered over him.

The hotel wasn’t the only thing falling apart.

Mr Oshiro felt a gentle nudge against each side of his body. He glanced to one side. A dusty monster sat next to him, right underneath his armpit. Another was on the other side.

They pushed him up, first to his knees, then to his feet. His hands rested on top of them as the hovered at waist height. They were fluffy and gaseous like clouds. Then, there was a soft push from his back, encouraging him to go forwards. The dusty creatures parted away, forming a clear path for him. The ones underneath his hands guided him.

Where were they taking him? He feared the answer, but he had nothing left to lose in trusting them.

As more rooms were passed, more dust clouds drifted from the them and joined the ever-growing crowd that trailed behind the hotel owner. They travelled at a gradual pace, at his pace. He preferred this speed, down the familiar hallways. It was bizarrely calming.

The cloudlike creatures eventually lead Mr Oshiro to the largest guest room in the hotel: The Presidential Suite. The morning light illuminated every flaw in that room, cast from the tall window overlooking the mountainside. The floor was filthy. Shards of glass from the broken mirror were strewn across it. Every piece of furniture was coated in dust that had built up for years. Even the cobwebs that laced the nooks and crannies together were covered in it.

And then there was the great big hole in the ceiling near the master bed, a hole that punctured the roof. So much as a slight breeze generated a howl from the hole, blowing frigid air into the room. Splinters of wood were scattered about.

The hotel owner sighed, “Oh, what a mess. I don’t think that hole could ever be mended…”

Suddenly, the two dusty creatures that lead him floated towards the hole. Then, as if on cue, some of the mass that had gathered just outside of the room erupted inwards. They flew past him, almost engulfing him in the rush. He shielded himself, flinching and closing his eyes. When it stopped, he opened them again. His mouth fell agape.

The hole had been completely sealed by the creatures.

A small, hopeful smile appeared on his face.

“You just want to help me,” he turned to the doorway, “and here I thought that you wanted to hurt me.”

Some movement from the crowd made way for a single dusty blob that appeared to be skewered with a broom. Another soon followed, seemingly with a tuft of feathery hair. The hotel owner placed his fingers over his mouth, partially obscuring his smirk.

He approached the one with hair, “Is that my feather duster?”

It looked at him with quite innocent eyes as he pulled the hair out. He was right.

He brushed the feathers of the duster against his fingers absentmindedly, “Hmm,” he glanced at the room, “perhaps, I shall dust first.”

But there was so much dust. It had sat there for decades, touching everything in that room. He halted, suddenly feeling very insignificant. He noticed the feathers of the duster were quivering. He grabbed the wrist that held it. He exhaled slowly.

“Come on, Oshiro. It’s just a little bit of dust,” he looked up at the plug, “If that hole can be fixed, then anything is possible.”

But where could he possibly start? There were thousands of places he could choose. It froze him.

There was a sudden, rather forceful push from behind, causing him to stumble towards the bed. He was also whacked in the back of the head at the same time. He rubbed the back of his head. The starting point had been chosen for him.

He floated to the top of the canopy of the bed frame and began dusting. Small sweeps on its roof, very gradually, made way to the rich brown of the wood. It was dulled with time. However, when he first saw the frame, it was lustrous. Truly, it was a grand piece.

The clumps of dust floated off the bed frame as he worked with a delicate hand. The intricate woodwork became unburied by the feathers. Eventually, Mr Oshiro reached the bottom of the frame. He flicked off the last of the dust before stepping back from the piece of furniture. It was faded but still looked quite beautiful.

A flicker of hope sparked from within. It was possible.

But it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Just one step at a time, Oshiro,” he told himself, “One step at a time.”

He moved onto the closest piece of furniture to the bed: an elegant but humble footstool. It was choking in dust. He brushed the cushion on top first with just the right amount of force. Then the wood was slowly liberated, one sweep at a time.

Then he gravitated towards the next nearest item: a painting in an ornate frame. He flicked off the dust from the canvas, revealing the brilliant warm oranges and reds of the painting. Little by little, the image was uncovered: the sun on the horizon over water. Its grandeur was emphasised by the frame with its curling, spiral detail.

He continued this pattern of cleaning the closest thing to him, very slowly travelling across the room. Before he knew it, he had dusted every piece of furniture, even the frame of the broken mirror (it was too beautiful to get rid of). And he kept going, removing the cobwebs from the corners of the room and the dust from the window. He did pause to gaze out of the window. The mountainside seemed so peaceful and tranquil today.

He found a dust creature had settled next to him and was enjoying the view. It was the one that had the ‘hair’. The hotel owner looked at it, then at the room.

He turned to it, “I suppose I don’t need this anymore.”

It turned to him, glancing at the feather duster and him. It nuzzled the handle of the duster, sticking to it, engulfing the handle in its gaseous body. Feathers sticking out, it migrated to the top of the creature’s body. It smiled with its eyes, bobbing up and down. It seemed rather happy to get its hair back.

The hotel owner chuckled warmly, “You can hold onto it for me. I’ll call you when I need it.”

The creature nodded, seemingly understanding the instruction.

“Thank you. Speaking of which,” he turned to the other sentient cloud, the one skewered with a broom.

He went up to it. It had been patiently waiting for him near the door, looking quite ridiculous. It didn’t seem to mind its appearance.

“I would like to start sweeping,” he reached for the top of the handle, “May I?”

The handle phased through the creature’s body, releasing the broom, as Mr Oshiro grabbed it. He nodded a thanks to the cloud.

“Now,” he gazed back at the room, “where to begin?”

Thinking about the task, his smile began to fade. Hundreds of thoughts suddenly bombarded him, echoing in his skull. It was a cacophony. He glanced to the dust creature beside him. It stared back with worried eyes. A new, clearer thought popped into the man’s head: this creature was who directed him last time.

“I think I’ll start near the bed, like with the dusting.”

And so, he floated to the other side of the room and commenced sweeping. He worked systematically from the wall, brushing the wooden boards and skirting somewhat forcefully. Some dust was kicked up from the broom, floating into the air. Trying to be thorough, he went over swept sections more than once.

Everything was going well until he reached the bed. He hesitated, knowing that he needed to sweep underneath it and that it needed to be moved to do so. He decided to come back to it. There was a scraping rattle as the splinters were swept up with the dust.

Eventually, all the dust (that he could gather) in the section near the master bed had been collected in one pile. What was left was underneath the bed. The bed that Mr Oshiro had no hope in moving by himself.

“If only I was strong enough, maybe I could lift the bed,” he remarked.

Again, with their sense of timing, several dust creatures floated past the hotel owner. He watched with curiosity as they attached themselves to the pillars of the bed canopy.

The bed, very slowly, began to lift from the ground.

He gasped, “Oh, please do be careful!”

The bed stopped its ascent, hovering centimetres from the roof. There was a large enough gap to reach the dirty floor underneath. He regarded the bed for a good minute. It wasn’t falling. He gingerly swept the last of the dust in the area, adding it to his pile. When he finished, the bed was lowered to the ground.

“Oh my goodness, you are strong!” he exclaimed as the dust creatures detached from the bed and gathered around him.

“Yes, I’ll certainly need some of that strength. That will definitely come in handy. Very deceptive, aren’t you? You look like you would be knocked out by a breeze but here you are lifting furniture!”

With a renewed sense of confidence, the hotel owner continued sweeping. Whenever he needed to reach underneath a piece of furniture, it was lifted quite effortlessly by the cloudy creatures. The small shards of glass jangled across the floor as it was gathered in the new pile of dust. Before he knew it, he was done.

The room looked so much better!

Only one little problem remained: how was he going to get rid of this dust and rubbish? The simple solution was to fetch a bin. Perhaps, he could have another dust creature carry it for him.

He headed towards the door, not before giving the broom back to his dusty assistant who reskewered itself. A tiny cloud burst from the mass in the doorway and into the room. It sat at his feet, looking up at him. It nuzzled his ankle.

He was quite taken aback, “Oh, uh, um, hello. I was just about to leave to get a bin.”

It glanced at him, then at the dust piles, then back at him. It darted off to one pile, then turned to him. The hotel owner furrowed his brow, trying to guess what this little creature wanted.

Suddenly, it dived into the dust pile. It rolled around in it, growing a bit bigger as the pile disappeared. Once that was gone, it moved onto the other pile, growing more. When it was finished, it floated back, with shards of wood and glass jutting from its gaseous surface. It was almost ‘normal’ sized now.

It gravitated towards Mr Oshiro’s ankles, but he backed away. It suddenly looked quite disheartened, even appearing to droop.

The hotel owner immediately felt guilty, “Please don’t be sad,” it looked at him, “There was nothing wrong with what you were doing. You have just picked up sharp objects. I do not wish to get hurt.”

It perked up. All the spikes in its body moved away from its face, to its back. Then it tried again. It was successful. It resembled an affectionate hedgehog.

It seemed that he didn’t need the bin after all. He gazed back at the room once more, amazed that it was clean. But it was time to move onto the next room. There was still so much left to do. So many rooms…

One room at a time.

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

Time was sometimes elusive to ascertain in the old hotel. There were only so many clocks in the place. Miraculously, they all still worked, even to this day, just some had slower ticks than others. Over the years, the hotel owner had become unsure which clocks were correct as they varied quite wildly. So, it was difficult for him to say exactly how long he had been cleaning the hotel for. The last time he glanced out of a window, it was night-time (the stars were so pretty).

It had been a day, at least. The hours had blurred together. So much cleaning…so few breaks. Mr Oshiro was afraid of stopping. It was so hard for him to start the first time. Starting again a second time would be harder. Probably. Maybe.

That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. Not now.

The room he and his brethren of dust bunnies had reached was cluttered with crates and boxes. They were stacked high, almost reaching the tall ceiling. On one wall, specks of light made it through some of the gaps. Near the entryway was a lantern, lit by the hotel owner. A diligent ticking could be heard from behind the wall.

One by one, the heavy crates were carried out of the room by the cloudy creatures, slowly revealing the furniture. First, it was a grandfather clock. Then, several paintings on the wall appeared, all needing a good dusting. A desk and chair, a set reserved for a study, was uncovered, with an ancient grand piano soon following. Warm white light flooded the large room from the giant unobscured window, cold air gushing from the gaping hole. Now, even the chandelier that hung from above could be seen.

Mr Oshiro was somewhat unfazed by the amount of dust in the room, becoming a bit desensitised from the repeated encounters he found in each room. And hallway. He was still sweeping the last corridor as the dust creatures cleared the room.

He approached the cleared room, ready to tackle the filth there, when a raven flew through the hole in the window, bathed by the now amber daylight. It landed on the desk and looked at him. It had a piece of paper in its beak. Puzzled, he leant his broom on a wall and went up to the bird.

It gave him the piece of paper. Scrawled in wonky writing was the following message: “Granny is hosting a party tonight. Madeline climbed the mountain. Please come?”

“I, uh,” the hotel owner looked at the bird, “I do not believe I have met this ‘Granny’.”

The raven tilted its head. It suddenly lunged forwards and snatched the paper, to the fright of the man. It dropped it on the desk as it seemingly scanned the desk. It plucked a pencil and juggled it a bit in its beak. Then it did something quite unexpected: it began to write on the piece of paper. The hotel owner watched the bird write each letter carefully. The bird stopped, hopped back and returned the gaze.

The paper said, “She lives at the mountain’s base.”

“I see,” Mr Oshiro drifted into his thoughts, trying and failing to place a face to the individual.

A tapping brought his attention back to the raven. The note had been flipped over and the bird was pointing to the last part of the message. Reiterating the question.

The man’s hands closed loosely. He froze as a thousand voices erupted in his head, all speaking over each other, impossible to distinguish, impossible to decipher. He turned away and clutched his head. He tried to think. There was too much noise.

A caw dragged him out of his head. He jumped, cocking his head to the raven. Surely it wanted an answer.

“I’m sorry,” he spun around, “I just can’t think,” he rubbed his head, “there’s suddenly so much in my head and not enough room to think.”

He glanced around. There was space around him. The room was almost vacant.

He felt a little bit embarrassed with what he was about to do, but he needed somewhere to think.

“Er,” he rubbed his hands, “you don’t mind if I think out loud, do you?”

The raven sat down where it stood. The hotel owner interpreted this as a yes.

“I would love to attend this party, to celebrate Ms Madeline’s ascent. Truly. However,” he sighed, “I cannot possibly leave the hotel. Not now. The clean-up has only just st-“

CAW!

The raven was quite abrupt. It shocked the man into silence momentarily.

“It is true! I have only started to clean my beloved hotel up. Well, a day ago. I think,” he began to sink to the ground, “Actually, I am unsure of how long I have been cleaning for,” he landed, “it has become difficult to tell. Every hour seems the same up here.”

He pushed off the ground, back into the air, as a clearer thought entered his mind. It was something that had been said to him so many times in the past.

“I’m…overworking myself again. Oh dear,” he placed the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically, “a terrible habit of mine. I cannot seem to shake it.”

His hands came together as a memory floated to the forefront of his mind.

“I can recall the last time anyone invited me to an event. It was with the hotel staff. We were to scale the summit of the mountain as not many of us had witnessed it. I…declined,” he frowned, “I said I wanted to check that the hotel would be alright,” his shoulders slouched, “I never had the chance to climb the mountain. In fact, I completely missed my opportunity to leave.”

He went up to the desk and placed his fingers on the message, running them over the words. He looked up at the raven.

His posture straightened, “I think I would like to take the chance this time.”

A small smile appeared on his face.

The raven came to its feet and squawked once more, satisfied with his response. It leapt from the desk with a flutter and soared away, through the hole in the window. He glanced at the grandfather clock. It was 10 past 6.

Evening already? He rushed out of the room. He didn’t want to be late. Certainly not for a party. Goodness, he was going to a party! Oh, he hadn’t been to one in a very, very, long time.

Mr Oshiro made his way to the hotel lobby, passing many dust bunnies by, telling them about the party. Some followed him as a send-off. He reached the outside of the hotel. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the stone bridge to the grand building.

The bridge was engulfed the brilliant orange and gold glow of the evening, or what was left of it. After so many years, decades even, some of it had crumbled and fell into the abyss below. There were massive gaps in it now.

The hotel owner had sunk and landed on the stone bridge as the sight of it hit him. He walked up to the first of numerous holes in the path, a chasm, and peered down. Misty orange clouds partially obscured the sheer drop down the mountain, into the rock and wilderness. He didn’t want to find out how far that drop was.

He backed away from the edge, noticing his tremoring. He sensed the avalanche of thoughts about to hit him. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In, out, in, out. The shaking stopped. His mind wasn’t overwhelmed. He opened his eyes, thinking of how to get past the roadblock.

What else was down there?

He went up to the edge, this time getting onto his hands and knees, and very carefully leaned over. This time, he looked around the pieces of the bridge. Clinging onto the supports and bottom of the bridge were large clumps of dust creatures.

He had an idea.

“Hello,” he called out to them.

He caught one group’s attention, with dozens of red specks now gazing at him.

“I need to cross this bridge but, uh, there are holes I cannot traverse. Can you, er, help me, please?”

They looked at him for a moment. Then, one by one, the cloudy creatures detached from the bridge and floated upwards. They stopped when they were level with the bridge. They weren’t tightly gathered, more loosely in the same area.

Mr Oshiro came to his feet and took a deep breath. Slowly, he lifted his foot, to take a step, off the bridge. It was caught by a creature as he put more weight on it.

Then he pushed off the bridge with his other foot.

Another cloud caught him.

A grin grew on the hotel owner’s face. He began to walk to the other side, with each step being supported by a cloudy dust bunny. He bobbed as he landed, being cushioned by them. Slowly but surely, he walked on air, over the seemingly vast gap in the bridge, and made it to the other side.

He leapt off the dust bunnies and onto the solid rock, jolted with adrenaline. He looked back. Did he just cross that?

He strode to the next wide gap, trailed by the cloudy creatures he recruited. Then, when he reached it, they rushed to under his feet as he was about to step off the bridge. He moved as if he was still on the ground. It felt like he was still on the ground, on a soft surface, like earth after rain. Landing on the other side gave him another burst of adrenaline.

He ran to the last ‘impassable’ hole, the smallest. Skidding to a halt, he waited for the dust bunnies to catch up. When they did, they helped him take the final few steps needed to cross the broken bridge. He jumped off the last cloudy creature, giddy and giggling. He spun around to the dust bunnies.

“Oh, thank you!”

They smiled back. He then gazed past them, eyes setting on the hotel. It was as majestic and regal as he remembered it, soaking up the gold of the sky. It had the same energy as a castle: old but timeless and refined.

It had been too long since Mr Oshiro had seen the hotel from the outside. It brought tears to his eyes.

He wiped his cheek as one rolled down. He rose up from the ground.

“Goodbye,” he waved to the hotel, “I’ll be back. I promise.”

He dabbed away another tear with his sleeve and floated away from the bridge, starting his trek to the base of the mountain.

#celeste #fanfic #I kinda relate to Oshiro and his problems #I have anxiety and have to deal with harsh self-doubt #I'm proud of him

2 notes · View notes

j-writes-and-suffers · 7 years

Text

NaNoWriMo Day Six

Anxious for his upcoming performance, Philip had struggled to get to sleep. Nonetheless, he got up with an unusually early alarm, remembering his promise to Lucien about being on time. He downed two full cups of coffee to fight the lingering drowsiness before grabbing his bag and heading off towards campus.

By the time he reached the academic hall, Philip was bouncing off the walls. Maybe he hadn’t needed quite so much caffeine. The extra energy was sending his anxiety through the roof, and he found himself pacing nervously to kill time before the poetry slam started. Staring intently at the ground as he walked, he was too caught up in his own nerves to notice Lucien walking up behind him. The older man put a hand on Philip’s shoulder, causing the young blond to shriek in surprise.

“Fuck! How do you sneak up on people like that?”

Lucien shrugged. “Libraries are quiet. It wouldn’t suit me to be a lumbering oaf. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Philip sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just nervous to perform. I haven’t actually been in a poetry slam since high school…”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re very animated, I bet your delivery will be excellent.” The lanky brunette rested a hand on Philip’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, I’ll still make you dinner if you bomb.”

“So you think I might bomb?” The younger man asked, wringing his hands together.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “No, that’s not what I said. Stop being so pessimistic.”

Philip groaned. “I’m not trying to! I’m just scared.”

“Most of the people performing are over-dramatic undergrad hipsters that can’t actually write to save their life. I promise, you won’t be nearly the worst act.” Lucien reassured him. “Come on, everyone is gathering.” He led Philip into the lecture hall nudging him towards the front where the other performers were waiting.

The anxious blond fiddled with one of his earrings, bouncing where he stood. Dr. Samuels, the head of the English department, was currently greeting the audience, going off on some long-winded rant about the importance of poetry. When he finally shut up, he stepped aside, calling forth the first student.

About five or six people went ahead of Philip, and he started to relax as he realized most of them were pretty shit. After an absolutely awful love poem finished, he was called up, and he felt his nerves fading a little. He spied Lucien as he scanned the crowd, and shared a brief smile with the older man.

“Hello, everyone. I… I’m Philp Valentine, the new English professor. Here’s a piece I wrote a few years back. It’s… It’s called Late Nights.” He cleared his throat, taking a slow, deep breath before he began.

“There's a monster in my house. He roams the house at night. He screams, he hunts, he breaks things; The house is filled with fright.

No one steps outside their room after the midnight hour. A vicious, violent demon, the monster has the power.

One night, I kept a vigil to face the awful beast. The hour didn't phase me-- I like the dark, to say the least.

I didn't notice anything; I waited till the dawn. The monster always comes at night. Did I do something wrong?

As I went to lie down, I walked by the bedroom mirror. Thinking I saw something odd, I paused to see it clearer.

Menacing and soulless, the piercing eyes glared. Too mortified to look away, I analyzed and stared.

I saw hatred in the face, the scowl angry and bitter. Something seemed to click, so I looked a little deeper.

Somewhere beneath the malice the soul was worn and lonely. A silent plea for what once was: ‘Can't someone find the old me?’

I sank into an epiphany as I rubbed my tired eyes: the demon faced me in the mirror; the monster was inside.”

The audience was silent for a moment. Once the awe faded, a round of applause filled the room. Though Philip was no Robert Frost, it was easily the best piece at the show, and most of the students looked pretty damn impressed. He beamed to the crowd, grinning as he walked offstage. Lucien, however, didn’t seem as happy. His eyes had grown dark a few lines into the poem, and his expression was still dour in its aftermath. As Philip moved to sit down, he saw Lucien’s distaste, and his face quickly fell.

“You didn’t like it…” He sighed, sinking down in the seat Lucien had saved for him.

The older man snapped out of his morose state, turning to Philip and shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not that. It just got me thinking. You’re a good writer. Certainly better than any of the clowns before you.”

“Oh…” Philip perked back up, “It made you think? For real?”

“Of course. It was inspiring. You painted a vivid picture.” Lucien offered a smile.

The younger man blushed, the pink tone highlighting his freckles like a backlight. “Thank you! That means a lot, you know… You’re kind of an expert on literature.”

Lucien laughed, “You hold me too highly.”

“I respect your opinion, you old fart! Don’t brush off my compliment.” Philip stuck his tongue out.

“There you go calling me old again! For god’s sake, I’m maybe ten years your senior!”

“My senior citizen.”

Lucien huffed, rolling his eyes and giving Philip a playful shove. “You’re horrible.”

“Yeah,” The younger man grinned, “but you like me anyway.”

“I know.” Lucien chuckled, shaking his head and turning to listen to more mediocre poetry.

The rest of the slam went well, considering the quality of the poetry being read. Everyone seemed proud of their stuff, even the ones that definitely shouldn’t have been, and afterwards, the head of the English department passed out punch and cookies. The kids got to chattering, some asking questions of the teachers as well. Philip made friendly small talk, basking in the praise the students gave him for his poem. Once the kids were bored of him, he got distracted eating, too busy sucking down cookies to notice Lucien slip away. He turned to make a rude joke, only to realize he was alone. Feeling a little rejected, Philip moved to the corner, shoving another cookie in his mouth.

As the students dissipated from the lecture hall, Philip got up, dragging his feet as he reluctantly helped his fellow English professors clean up. He greabbed a trash can, gathering all the stray cups and napkins that assholes had just left on desks. Once the room was actually clean and presentable again, he walked out of the building, headed towards his apartments rather than the library. He assumed Lucien had finally gotten bored of him, and certainly wouldn’t want to see more of him. He trudged along so slowly that his hour-long walk home took a good chunk of the afternoon, and upon returning to his apartment, he simply dropped onto the couch, turning on some mindless Netflix series to distract himself.

Philip ended up passing out on the couch, sleeping through the night and well into the morning. When he finally woke up, sunlight was already pouring in the windows, and he grabbed his phone to check the time. Getting only the black screen of dead battery, he cussed and hurried to his room, plugging it in and looking at the alarm clock.

1:47.

“Fuck!”

Throwing on a clean shirt and grabbing his bag off the floor, Philip bolted out of his apartment and down the stairs. He had been due at the dodgeball game over an hour ago, and it would take him another hour just to get to the school. He was going to be in so much trouble. Lucien’s warning about tardiness echoed in the back of his mind, and Philip cringed, still feeling shunned after yesterday. By the time he got to campus, the game was long over, the teachers having beat the students 5 - 3. He waved sheepishly at Dr. Samuels, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Heyyyyy….”

“Where were you?” The professor demanded, glaring down at Philip.

The younger man shied away, sheepishly mumbling, “I… I overslept.”

The tubby older man huffed angrily, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let it happen again, Valentine. You’re not making a good first impression.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” Philip cringed, feeling his soul wither. “Can I do anything to help now?”

“Just go to the parade tomorrow, help clean up after the picnic, and don’t make any more of a fool of yourself. Do you think you can handle that?”

Philip nodded. “Yes sir.” He shuffled away before Samuels could dig into him any more; his self-esteem was frail enough already.

Not having any other obligations for the day, Philip simply dragged his sorry ass back home. He checked on his phone, which had barely charged while he was gone. Ugh. His charger was a fraying piece of shit, but he hadn’t had the time or money to get a new one. Oh, well. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere with it right now, anyway. He curled up on the couch, trying to ignore the growing storm of negative thoughts in his mind. He was such an idiot. Not only had he scared off Lucien, but now his boss was pissed at him, too. God, this week was a mess.

Philip was half asleep on the couch when his laptop started beeping. Who was skyping him? It’s not like he had friends that cared enough. He rubbed his eyes, opening up the computer to answer the call.

“Mom?”

“Hi, honey! How are you?”

Philip yawned, brows furrowing in confusion. “Since when do you know how to use skype?”

“Your brother taught me!” She smiled, “I wanted to see you. So does Callie. Come here, Callie!”

A loud bark echoed through the speakers as a long, furry face popped into view. Philip grinned broadly. Callie was a loving Afghan that had been his best friend since late high school, and he had been missing her tremendously. “Hi, Callie! How are you? Are you being good for mom?”

“Woof!” She replied, clearly just as excited to see him.

“I’m gonna come home and visit you as soon as I can, okay?” Callie barked again, bumping her nose against the screen. Philip laughed quietly, his spirits lifted. “I’m glad you called, mom. I’ve been missing you guys. Is something up? Did you need to talk?”

“No, I just thought I should check in on you. Something told me you could use a smile today.”

“You’re not wrong.” Philip smiled ruefully. “It’s been a hell of a day. I overslept and missed the dodgeball game. Dr. Samuels was piiiiissed.”

“Philip!” She rolled her eyes. “You promised me you were going to be better about your alarms this year.”

The young blond pouted. “I have been, I swear! Yesterday was just a bad day, and it threw me off.”

“Is there something you need to talk about, honey?”

Philip shook his head. “Nah, it’s… it’s fine. It’s nothing important. I’ll get over it soon.”

“Are you sure?” His mother sounded worried, “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“I know, I know. I promise, I’ll talk to you if it’s serious. This is just dumb drama.” He reassured her.

“Okay, honey. As long as you’re doing okay.” She paused briefly to sniff the air, recognizing the aroma of slightly burning seasonings. “Oh dear, I need to go check on the chicken. I’ll talk to you later.”

Philip chuckled. His mom was just as scatterbrained as he was, with the tendency to forget about something the second he looked away from it. “Bye, mom.”

“Bye honey!” She hung up, running off to pull her chicken out of the oven.

Stretching back out on the couch, Philip closed his eyes. He was more relaxed than before; just seeing his family and talking to someone that actually cared had taken a huge weight off his chest. Besides, it was hard to be upset with Callie around. A faint smile still on his face, he drifted back off to sleep.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2017 #fantasy #modern fantasy #comedy #school #my writing

2 notes · View notes

amandahoyle · 5 years

Text

My boys first night actually together and being soft and cute.

I am the most proud of this because I didn’t give them enough personal time together in the first one so I made up for it in this one.

"Maybe you were just late to notice. I would not mind a beautiful woman keeping you distracted, after all Arwyn is my second." The look he got could have killed anything standing and laughter slipped past his lips.

"You know that I don't have feelings for her. That's just rude." Fingers found his own and intertwined with them. Cold but perfect against his own.

"I know. I was teasing." Something he had never really done. Not often.

"So I can see. You are terrible at it, you should practice more. How long have you been here then, skulking around in the shadows?" Fingers played softly against his own and he huffed softly under his breath. He had not been skulking. No he had simply been observing and seeing how Croi had gotten along here. That was all.

"I was not skulking. I was just, curious how you had been and I see that you are fitting in here perfectly. Your father would be proud. I am proud of you, mo chroi. I am also very happy to see you but I did not want myself to be a distraction for you. You were busy." It was true, he didn't want to take away from Croi's night with his people and Croi's responsibilities. He knew what it was like to have people to look after, he may not be a king but Lord of the Hunt wasn't all that far off as some like Madoc believed. He had told Croi last time that their responsibilities and people would come first, and not just his own. The moments they could have together would be be rare and few between on both of their parts. Meaningful but sparse. Gwyn did assume it would be mostly himself, though he knew that Croi would not be without his own concerns and responsibilities.

"I haven't really done anything to be proud of...not yet. I do have something I wanted to talk with you about but not right now. I've missed you and I just want to spend some time with you before you have to go. Come on." Croi got to his feet, tugging Gwyn up with him. He wanted to ask what the other meant but that would ruin the time they did have together. He knew he would tell him eventually, and it was hard to turn off that part of him that was all business. Especially when things outside of that made him nervous and he was nervous as he followed Croi. Alone time they had only had once, and even then it had been different than this. Gwyn had so much on his mind then, so much to tell him. Business and he was good with that. He was good with being serious, but with having fun and just relaxing and enjoying the moment. He was not good at that. More so when it went more romantic and for pleasure. He hadn't done that in a very long time.

Croi led him the one house like structure, and Gwyn felt the magic as they went inside. Croi's magic and he was impressed. Last he had seen the other's touch of magic, it had been more ice and snow and less controlled. Controlled enough to not do it randomly but this was a lot different and he was proud of him even more. He let the other's hand go, a soft smile on his lips as he looked around. Oh yes the place very much screamed the other. Full of nature and yet a mess at the same time.

"It looks like a tornado has been through here, you've become quite messy on your own." The look he got was worth his attempt at teasing and he moved over stopping the other from picking anything up. It was all on the floor and most of it clothes and books, he didn't mind that. It actually felt homey with everything like this. Lived in. The Hunt always moved and kept very little personal items and Gwyn himself had not been in a place that felt truly like a home since he was young, he missed it. Gwyn was curious about all the books, but he let it go. Croi deserved better than him bombarding him with questions. He could do the one thing he was good at and be silent and enjoy the other's attention. He wrapped his arms around Croi's waist, letting go of his wrist once he was sure that he wasn't going to try and clean again.

"Leave it. Its not in the way. I don't want to miss out on any time. Come lay down with me?" He nodded towards the bed before slowly letting him go. His hands lingering on the other as much as he could. His heart was in his throat and he knew that it showed. Even if his voice was calm and didn't waver, his eyes were different. The wide grin on Croi's lips made that clear and he was prepared to be teased about being nervous but those weren't the words that escaped the other's lips. Not at all, in fact, he was strangely quiet as he took Gwyn's hand and led him to lay down. Gwyn got comfortable on the bed, as best as he could. He wasn't used to something soft and he was still in full dress, blade and all. It didn't take long for the other to notice and tug him back to his feet.

"You are cute, you know that? Absolutely adorable. Relax, you can drop your stuff wherever you want, or you can put it on table with my weapons. It's all safe here, I'm the only one that comes in here, outside of Faill and the worst she does is bring in dead animals." There was a playful cringe and Croi gave him a small push to the shoulder. He moved over to table Croi had motioned at, and undid the belt that held his weapons. He didn't have all of them, most of them were on his mount who he had sent off once Croi's people had gotten curious. She wasn't overly fond of them and he knew that she would come when he called, she would have just been bored waiting around for him. He did however have two blades on him, a regular steel one, and the other one of magic. Specifically Wild Hunt magic. It was safer on his person and as Croi had held it before, he did not worry about leaving it bare and in the open here. His cloak came off next and he laid it down beside his blades and the chill of the air hit him. There was a breeze, a bit cold, but he hadn't noticed with the warm material over his shoulders. He ignored it for now, after all the furs on the bed looked plenty warm enough and something else had caught his attention anyways.

Croi had blades made of steel just as Gwyn did though his were new and undamaged from lack of use. He knew the other didn't like the longer blades. That wasn't what caught his eye, what did was the small dagger. The very familiar silver blade that had once been a gift from the previous Leader of the Hunt and he had in turn gifted to Croi. It was very well taken care of, and it didn't looked like it had been used very often. Even during his time in the Hunt, he had only had to use it once or twice. Now he had even less reason to use it. Gwyn ran his fingers along the gems on the hilt before turning back to the other. He spoke before he got distracted by the sight in front of him.

"You kept it, the dagger." Croi had his back to him, and had tugged the jacket and his shirt off. Both were laying over the edge of the bed and Croi had already managed to get his boots off as well. Once he had tossed those aside he made his way back over to Gwyn, a smile on his lips. Like Gwyn had said something funny and if he had, he had not idea what. Of course, Croi was very distracting shirtless. He had only seen him that way briefly when they shared a sleeping space and of course when he had patched him up when they first met. This was different, he had never lingered on him. Never had the chance to see the scars that covered his back and shoulders. The one across his chest that was deeper than the others. Gwyn liked scars, because he liked seeing proof that others could hold their own, so it didn't bother him but it was distracting. Overall because he was shirtless and walking towards him looking more amused than he had all night.

"Of course I kept it. You gave it to me, why wouldn't I? It means a lot to me and its a little piece of you for when you aren't here." It was sweet and not the answer he had been expecting. He could feel his face heat up and he turned his gaze down to the side as Croi came to stand right in front of him. The other, however didn't let him, not by much. He felt the fingers tugging on his chin and pulling his gaze back to him.

"You are more kind than I deserve." Gwyn would always think that, always. Not that he thought he deserved less, but what had he done to deserve Croi he did not understand. He had not really been his friend before, he had been the leader he was used to being and in that he had taken care of him. Gwyn had fallen quite fast, and it was not a surprise, anyone would be lucky to have Croi. He was wonderful and sweet, and caring, and snarky. Gwyn didn't understand how Croi had fallen for him, he had kept a wall up between them. Even when they got together he was still distant. Now as well, though he was trying not to be. Gwyn was still surprised with the time apart that Croi had picked up where they left off, like they had spent no time apart. He didn't know how to return that, he didn't know what the other needed from him.

"You aren't good at taking compliments. I thought I was bad at it, but you are worse. Its cute. Gwyn, I want to be with you. You deserve to be happy. Leader of the Hunt aside. That isn't all you are and I'd like to see more of you. Know more about you. I know that we won't get to see each other a lot, but we have tonight and we have once a month until winter returns. I don't think that's so bad, its plenty of time if you are open to sharing your life with me." Of course he wanted that, he had just never talked about himself before. He didn't know how to start, and most of all he wanted Croi happy. He never wanted to bore him, or not give him enough of the attention and love he wanted.

"I am, of course. I wouldn't be here, if I didn't want this with you. I just don't know...how. I haven't done this with anyone before you. Not like this, not where I was wanted and I wanted back."

"I haven't either. I mean one night stands occasionally. But no one has ever wanted me. This is new for both of us. I just happen to be better at faking that I know everything." Soft laughter escaped his lips and the fingers moved from Gwyn's jaw and down till their fingers intertwined.

"Let's figure out together. Like you said, let's go lay down. You are still wearing a bit too much." He didn't complain when fingers undid the coarse strings holding his shirt tight on his body. Not at all, when his shirt was tugged over his head and tossed near everything else. The fingers back in his own guided him to the bed and this time when he laid down he was very comfortable and the nerves had receded enough that he could enjoy himself. I almost forgot about the taglist I’m bad. @cawolters

0 notes

quicksilversquared · 7 years

Text

The Thing About Cats

Cats like knocking things over, and Adrien and Marinette's cats are no exception. The cats like watching things fall to the floor and smash into a million pieces. It's destructive and annoying.

So why are Adrien and Marinette encouraging it?

(AO3) (FF.net)

Adrien and Marinette's cats really, really liked their new apartment. The windowsills were wide enough to lay on, there was more space to prowl and more places to hide, there was more furniture they could jump up on, and best of all, there were plenty of new housewarming gifts to knock onto the floor.

Adrien and Marinette were less amused.

"It's a wonder they haven't actually broken anything yet," Adrien said in part amusement, part frustration as he bent down to snag the TV. remote off of the floor for the third time that week- and it was only Tuesday. The worst damage the cats had caused so far was a chip in a mug from where it had hit the floor. There was a noise from the kitchen and Adrien swore, running into the kitchen in time to snag their grey cat and lift her off of the counter before she could shove the salt shaker to the floor.

"Sophie, don't do that," Adrien scolded, dropping the grey cat on the couch. She immediately meowed at him and jumped to the floor, skittering away to find their other cat and cause more trouble. Adrien could only sigh.

"I told you that would be a problem when you looked at the place," Plagg grouched, flying out of Adrien's pocket. He wasn't a huge fan of the cats, not since Ginger had stumbled across him sleeping on the bedside table and had tried to bat him off of the edge. "I told you that the chairs at the counter would just make it easier for the cats to get up there, but did you listen to me? Noooo, of course not."

Adrien sighed, flopping onto the couch Sophie had just vacated. This was about the tenth time Plagg had said that, and they had only moved into the apartment a little over a week ago. Adrien was getting a little tired of it.

"Are the cats knocking things off of the tables again?" Marinette's voice came from above Adrien's head, and he cracked his eyes open to peer up at his girlfriend.

"Plagg's saying 'I-told-you-so' again."

"Plagg, go be useful and do your kitty-communing with the cats and make them behave."

Plagg sniffed and Adrien pictured him crossing his arms. "I'm not an actual cat, in case you haven't noticed. I can't do that."

"Try," Marinette suggested, narrowing her eyes at Plagg. Plagg let out a huff and flew off with a grumble.

"I'm sure they'll settle down as they get older," Marinette said as she sat on the couch and curled up on top of Adrien. There was a thud from their bedroom and both of them sighed.

"I just hope it happens sooner rather than later."

"Ginger, get down from there!"

Marinette glared over at the sleek brown cat currently perched on the kitchen island. The cat blinked back at her, bored and clearly not even remotely bothered by her yelling. Instead, she reached over for the glass Marinette had left sitting there and started pushing it towards the edge, a centimeter at a time.

"Don't you dare-" Marinette started before cutting herself off to dodge around the island in time to catch the glass and prevent most of its contents from spilling. Ginger let out a self-satisfied mrow and hopped easily off of the counter, sashaying across the floor in search of her partner in crime, who was no doubt napping on the bed and getting hair all over Adrien's pillow.

"Hey, there's Trouble One," Adrien said jokingly as he rounded the corner and nearly tripped over the retreating cat. "I was wondering where she went."

"She was trying to break our glassware," Marinette grumbled, setting the glass back on the counter where she had left it earlier and reaching for a rag to wipe up the spilled coffee on the floor. "I swear, nothing in this place is safe."

"The things on top of the bookshelf haven't been touched. I think it's too high for them to jump up, though." Adrien watched as Marinette stood up, tossing the rag in the sink as she did. "But I caught Sophie trying to shove my pencil cup off of the table yesterday. She had moved it all the way from the middle to the very edge."

Marinette let out a snort before clapping a hand to her mouth. She took a moment to compose herself enough to speak. "She's definitely determined."

"It's definitely good that we don't have anything too expensive and breakable in the house," Adrien said, rolling his eyes. "Imagine what would happen if Ginger and Sophie got loose in Chloe's house."

"Dozens of priceless vases and figurines smashed to bits on the floor within a day," Marinette predicted, rinsing the rag out and handing it over the faucet to dry. "Chloe would wake up the whole city with her screaming."

Adrien's lips twitched.

"We are not asking Chloe to catsit just to see her freak out," Marinette added before Adrien could say anything. "We are not, Adrien."

Adrien grinned at her. "But Chloe was complaining the other day that she's running out of space for her figurines. Ginger and Sophie would help her thin them out a bit. They're very helpful with stuff like that."

"Adrien."

"What?"

"No."

The vase sitting on the kitchen counter was quite possibly the most hideous thing they had ever seen. If the color scheme wasn't bad enough, the pattern on it would make even the most amateur designer cringe.

And of course, it was all Adrien's job's fault.

As a very in-demand model, Adrien had a lot of admirers. Most of them were mature enough to realize that he was very much taken, but some remained hopeful that they could somehow tempt him away from Marinette. As a result, it really wasn't that uncommon for Adrien to receive cards and presents from his fans, especially around the holidays. Most found their way to secondhand stores really quickly, but others...

...well, others were too weird to donate.

"I'm actually slightly terrified," Adrien said as they stared at the vase of roses. It had Adrien's name scrawled all over it, surrounded by hearts and occasionally paired with the name of the girl who had sent it in the first place (with their last names hyphenated together, of course). "What made her think that this was somehow going to sweep me off of my feet?"

"I- I don't even know," Marinette managed. The vase was quite possibly the ugliest thing she had ever seen, yet they couldn't donate it like they had the others thanks to the names, and throwing away a present, even if it had been unsolicited and was completely unwanted...well, it seemed a little rude. "Let's just leave it for tonight and maybe tomorrow we can figure out what to do with it."

"Yeah," Adrien agreed, and so they left the vase sitting on the kitchen counter as they headed for bed. It didn't take them long to forget about it...

And then they woke up the next morning to an almighty crash.

"What on earth," Adrien groaned as he rolled over, squinting against the early morning light. "What could we have possibly have left out for the cats to destroy this time?"

"I don't even know," Marinette said, sighing. She reached over to grab her shirt off of the floor where Adrien had tossed it the previous night. "At least they didn't do that in the middle of the night. My alarm is set for five minutes from now anyway."

Adrien eyed her as she slid out of bed, tugging on her long shirt so it would cover more skin. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to stay in bed for a few minutes longer?"

"Nope. Up, kitty." Marinette tossed a pair of pants at his face and slid her feet into the sandals they had for the express purpose of keeping their feet from getting cut on whatever their cats had set their mind on destroying. While they had had decent enough luck their first week with nothing getting broken, their luck came to a halt halfway through Week Two with a smashed mug. "I need to deal with this before I go in to work, because I don't want Ginger or Sophie getting their feet cut on broken glass again." The bills from the vet the first time it happened were enough to persuade her to never let it happen again.

Adrien followed Marinette with a grumble, throwing on clothes as he went. Ad they rounded the corner into the kitchen, they found both cats perched on the counter, staring down on the pink and red remains of the hideous vase Adrien had received the day before. The flowers were scattered all over the floor, tangled and torn amongst the remains of the vase. The whole mess sat in a shallow pool of water.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, at least we don't need to figure out what to do with it anymore," Marinette finally said, reaching for the broom and dustpan. "Thank you, kitties."

Adrien snorted, following her into the kitchen. "You sound absolutely heartbroken that our cats broke a heartfelt gift from a fan."

"Oh yeah, definitely." Marinette rolled her eyes, crouching to pluck the flowers out of the wreckage. "Heartbroken. Absolutely."

"And I mean, we should probably train the cats to stay off the counter before they smash anything else," Adrien said, tossing the larger pieces into their trash can. "It would be a pity if they, say, smashed that set of personalized set of ceramic figurines Chloe gave us."

"Oh, the awful tacky ones that don't match anything?" Marinette asked, sweeping up the rest of the mess and dumping it in the trash. "And that Chloe engraved with our names so we couldn't get rid of them?"

"Yeah, those."

They exchanged a look, then pulled out the frankly hideous ornaments that Chloe had given them as a housewarming gift and arranged them along the middle of the kitchen island. They turned their back as one, purposefully ignoring the cats as they returned to the bedroom to get ready for the day. By the time they returned to the kitchen for breakfast, the line of figurines had already been disturbed.

"Pity," Marinette said with a straight face as she pushed them back into a straight line. "It looks like the cats like them."

Adrien snorted and passed her a slice of toast.

By the end of the day, two of the five figurines had met their end on the hard kitchen floor. A third fell before dinner, and the last two got shoved off the edge before they went to bed. The cats seemed to have learned from their past experiences with broken things, since they always stayed away from the broken shards on the kitchen floor.

"What a shame," Adrien sighed in the most insincere voice ever as he dumped the remnants of the last two figurines from the dustpan into the trash bin. "Let's not tell Chloe, okay?"

"Of course," Marinette agreed, running the vacuum through the kitchen to make sure all of the small bits were up. "It was a tragic accident that Chloe doesn't need to know about."

"And it absolutely won't happen again," Adrien said, shooing Ginger away from the kitchen.

"Oh, definitely," Marinette agreed.

Two months later, the two of them found themselves staring at the clay heads decorating their kitchen counter. They were slightly gruesome in their appearance, thanks to the combination of size and the inexperience of the maker.

"I'm sure they were made with good intentions," Marinette said weakly as she turned the Ladybug head around. It was practically life-sized, and it was creeping her out. The young fan that had given the painted clay heads to them had been so thrilled when Ladybug and Chat Noir accepted them, and thankfully both of them had managed to keep from grimacing when they first saw the "gifts". The Ladybug one had a crooked nose and the Chat Noir one wore a gruesome grimace. Both had a slightly green tinge to their skin, and the red of Ladybug's mask and the green of Chat Noir's eyes were just...off.

"Yeah," Adrien echoed weakly. "Except Nino and Alya saw us accept them. We can't possibly keep them, even if we wanted to."

"Exactly."

"But we can't exactly throw away a lovingly given gift when it's in such good shape."

"Right."

The two exchanged a glance before looking out at the living room, where the cats had fled. They hadn't broken anything for two months, largely in thanks to a cream-colored screen Marinette had made to block off the kitchen at night and the lack of breakable things left elsewhere in the house. Marinette and Adrien still had to pick stuff up off of the floor constantly- remotes, calculators, computer mice, scissors, water bottles, pencils- thanks to the cats, and they had no doubts that if the cats were given free rein in the kitchen, they would return to smashing things there as well.

"Let's just... leave these in here," Marinette suggested, leaving the kitchen and turning the lights off. "Maybe they'll, uh, look better in the morning?"

Adrien grinned in understanding as Marinette purposefully left the screen leaning against the wall. They went to bed without another glance at the cats, certain that in the morning, the terrifying heads would be smashed. They felt a little bad since the kid had clearly gone to such great lengths to make the clay figures, but really, what else could they do with them? They didn't have the storage space to keep things they weren't ever going to use or want, and really, they had only accepted the "gifts" to make the kid happy.

The heads were still there the next morning, and the next, and the one after that. No matter how close to the edge of the counter Marinette and Adrien left the heads when they left for work or went to bed, they didn't move at all in the meantime.

"They're not that heavy," Adrien grumbled as Marinette made dinner. He picked up the Ladybug head, grimaced at the blankly staring painted blue eyes, and weighed it in his hand. "I think it must have a foam core in it or something."

Marinette groaned, shaking her head. "I wonder why they didn't just make the heads smaller. Like this, it looks like we have decapitated heads on the counter."

"Didn't you hear? They're this size so we have somewhere to put our masks when we're not superheroing." Adrien grinned and wriggled his eyebrows at Marinette. "Just in time to replace our old mask holders."

"Right, the ones that don't exist." Marinette shoved the casserole pan she had been putting things in into the oven and turned back around to look at the heads. "You don't think that we've accidentally trained the cats to stay out of the kitchen?"

"I didn't think you could train cats." Adrien put the head back down and went back to chopping fruit for their salad. As he spoke, Sophie rounded the corner and twined around his legs. "See? They love the kitchen."

As the week wore on, the cats still refused to touch the heads. They refused to even so much as jump up on the counter with the heads still sitting there.

"It's the eyes, I think," Adrien said as he made breakfast, seven days after they had first put the sculptures on the counter. He turned around, grimaced at the heads, and tossed a towel over them. "They're staring at me."

Marinette giggled from her spot at their table. "You would think that that would give the cats even greater reason to smash the heads." More giggles. "Revenge on us for not feeding them at the crack of dawn."

Adrien laughed.

As Adrien continued to cook, both cats came slinking into the room. Sophie went to go demand pats from Marinette while Ginger headed for the kitchen. She paused halfway there, regarded the counter and the towel covering the heads curiously, and promptly jumped up.

"Haven't seen you up here for a while," Adrien said cheerfully, giving the cat a short scratch behind the ears. "Come to smash some stuff for us?"

"She'll never try if you watch her," Marinette said, amused. She bent down and lifted Sophie into her lap. "Just turn your back and she'll go for it. You might want to move your juice first, though."

"Of course, of course." Adrien moved his juice over by the stove and, for good measure, moved the measuring cups he had been using as well. "I probably should be wearing my sandals, shouldn't I."

"Mmm. Maybe." Marinette watched Ginger out of the corner of her eye. "She's interested in the heads now that they're covered. She's definitely making sure we're not watching, though."

"Not watching," Adrien sing-songed, making a big show of buttering the pan for crepes.

Marinette snorted and watched the brown cat creep ever closer to the towel-covered heads. She crept closer, closer, reached out a paw to swipe-

-and accidentally pulled the towel off of the heads.

With an earsplitting screech, Ginger flew into the air and shot off the counter, hitting the floor with a thud and racing away into another room.

Adrien and Marinette snorted and broke into laughter as one.

"So close, yet so far," Adrien mourned as he retrieved the pan he had knocked off of the stove when he got startled. "If only we could somehow attach the towels..."

"Wait, I have just the thing," Marinette said. She set Sophie back down on the floor and vanished into her sewing room, emerging with two cloth bags in her hands. "They won't be as loose as the towel, but if it was the faces that were the problem..."

"I think we've scared Ginger off of the counter permanently," Adrien chuckled after a couple minutes passed and there was no sign of their second cat. "Sophie, you're our only hope. Go forth and smash things."

Sophie meowed and dashed away.

As soon as Alya stepped into Adrien and Marinette's apartment, she came to a confused halt, eyes locked on the kitchen counter. There, in the middle of the counter, was the awful vase Adrien and Marinette had received for Christmas, in full view of the entire room. Adrien's uncle had given it to them as a late housewarming gift several days prior (very late; Adrien and Marinette had been living in their apartment for nearly a year now), and apparently the older man had assumed that just because it was expensive, it would also be nice-looking. As a bonus, he had gotten their names written on the vase. Alya was of the opinion that the man was blind.

"Is your uncle, uh, coming to visit?" Alya asked, inspecting the vase. A couple of roses had been stuffed into the vase, but they seemed more of an afterthought than an actual arrangement. They didn't make the vase look any better, and Alya suspected that both Adrien and Marinette knew that. They had both commented on how hideous the paisley pattern was, which meant that they wouldn't have the thing out without a good reason.

"Nah," Adrien said, but he didn't elaborate. An impish grin danced around the corners of his mouth as he set down the tray of snacks on the coffee table. "Drinks?"

"Uh, sure," Nino agreed, and soon all four of them were settled on the couch and chairs in the living room. The cats wandered through ten minutes later, accepting pats for a few minutes before they vanished into the kitchen.

"Have they stopped knocking stuff off of the counter?" Alya asked, frowning as she watched Ginger's tail flick around the corner. She knew the cats had stayed off the counter for some reason a month ago (Marinette and Adrien hadn't ever explained why) and Ginger had only started hopping up again a week ago, but they had apparently resumed their previous activities again. Marinette hadn't left much on the counter, but the vase was maybe a little too close to the edge for comfort. It was a little on the heavy side, but Alya had seen the cats shove even larger things off of counters when they set their minds to it.

Adrien and Marinette had some very determined cats. It would be impressive if it weren't so concerning.

"No," Marinette said simply, and she left it at that. Both she and Adrien sipped serenely at their tea, and neither reacted to the muted thuds that indicated that the cats had gotten up onto the counter. As the clock continued to tick and neither moved to remove the cats from the counter, Alya couldn't help but wonder if maybe the vase being left out was intentional. Her suspicions were confirmed a minute later when there was a loud CRASH in the kitchen and neither Adrien nor Marinette seemed at all surprised.

"Oh dear," Marinette announced after a pause. "The cats seem to have broken something. What a pity."

"Indeed," Adrien said in the same deadpan voice. "That is very sad."

"We will have no choice but to throw it away now, I guess," Marinette said, heaving the most dramatic sigh Alya had ever heard. "Oh no."

"Oh, that's clever," Nino said, amusement tinging his voice as he watched the two of them get up and trudge towards the kitchen. "You get your cats to do the dirty work for you!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marinette said from the kitchen. "And I resent the accusation." There was a thud as she tossed something into the trash- no doubt a fragment of the vase. "That was a very dear gift from a, uh, very generous relative, and we will mourn its demise dearly."

Adrien only snickered.

Alya eyed the kitchen as the sounds of a clean-up continued. "Uh-huh. And how many unwanted 'gifts' have 'accidentally' gotten broken by your cats?"

"Only a couple," was the mutter in response. "Like, five."

Alya snorted. Nino groaned.

"I thought you donated things you didn't like," Nino said as Adrien reappeared around the corner with one cat under his arm. "Instead of smashing them. Why not just throw it away if you don't like it?"

"We do donate things," Adrien said a bit petulantly. "We donate a lot, but sometimes people engrave our names on whatever they're giving us and then we figure that no one would really want it, especially if it's, well, ugly."

"Or we get stuff from Adrien's fans with his name on it," Marinette said, reentering the living room and letting the other cat loose. It dashed away quickly. "Or his face. We can't exactly donate that, no one would want it and his fans might hear about it."

"They might stop sending things then," Nino pointed out helpfully. "I suppose that might get you bad press, though."

"And we don't just throw it away because, well." Marinette looked a bit sheepish. "It's a shame to throw out perfectly good things, even if they don't look the best...and the cats always are so proud of themselves after they break something."

"You two are ridiculous," Alya groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Oh my god. Just throw away the things you don't like and can't donate like normal people!"

"Honestly, now I'm worried about coming over here. What if there are broken shards of whatever under your furniture?" Nino made a big show of peering at the floor, lifting his feet before sliding to the floor and peering under the couch. "Who knows what you would find- oh."

He pulled out a pink, glitter-encrusted envelope and waved it at the sheepish couple. "What's this from?"

"The cats had a bit of fun on Valentine's day," Adrien said with a sheepish smile. "Nathalie brought over this huge box of fanmail that was delivered to the mansion. There's still apparently people who feel the need to send me valentines even though I'm very clearly not interested."

"And then we got distracted and left the box on the counter for longer than we meant to," Marinette said a bit sheepishly. "And the cats knocked it off, and then we figured that they weren't hurting anything-"

"And went back to being 'distracted'," Alya added. Marinette ignored her.

"-and so then they were playing with the envelopes and we thought we got everything picked up but apparently not." Marinette snatched the envelope from Nino. "Oh, look! You can see the tooth marks on the corner of the envelope. That's hilarious."

"You're just trying to distract us from this weird habit you two have," Alya accused, making a swipe for the envelope and missing when Marinette pulled it back out of her reach. "Seriously, you two need to train your cats."

Adrien rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Cats don't train very well, in case you didn't know. It would be a waste of time to try."

Nino shook his head at them. "Really, how do you know if you don't try? It would be nice if you could actually leave things out without the cats destroying them. Because right now, I can't even leave a glass alone on the table for five minutes without having to worry about the cats knocking it off."

He paused, a sudden smirk flashing across his lips before he continued.

"But, like, if you aren't going to train your cats any time soon, Alya and I have these godawful salt shakers that we've been trying to get rid of..."

"Nino!"

This is kinda-sorta based on a real story- two, in fact! The idea for the clay heads came from a Reader's Digest story where the writer's mother made the awful-looking heads (and their son smashed them via tossing them down the stairs), and the whole "using cats to smash things" idea came from my grandma, who once had a vase that she didn't like (and there were no thrift stores she could donate it to, as far as she knew), so she put it near a set of stairs and her cat knocked it down the stairs and destroyed it.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng

128 notes · View notes

ayatsujiyukitou-blog · 7 years

Text

DOVETAIL CHAPTER 1

Nakajima Atsushi is found starving by a river in Yokohama by a man named Akutagawa. (An ability swap au none of you ever saw coming.)

[ "My name is Nakajima Atsushi. And due to certain circumstances, I'm on the brink of starvation." ]

There's something equally amusing and pathetic in the young teen internally narrating his story to no one but himself in such a manner, but perhaps it's the only way he can find himself to cope with the situation he's found himself in. With nothing on his back, empty pockets, in an unfamiliar place, perhaps it's almost surprising he can find humor within himself in such a situation, no matter how sarcastic and self-depreciating.

Amethyst hues blinked slowly, sluggishly, mind only capable of contemplating his situation.

Kicked out of his orphanage without warning, accused of murder and satanic rituals, of being sin itself. The years he's spent under the gracious care of the facility only makes a part of him believe he deserves this fate. Perhaps he does, after being the target of blame for the death of others, for their blood was now on his hands.

Even if this was the case, even if he knew... A voice in his head said otherwise.

I don't want to die.

Perhaps it was a selfish one, but it repeated in his head like a mantra, serving as some sort of motivation to bring him here to this riverside where he's on his last leg. Hunger makes his body feel like lead, exhaustion seeping into his bones. It's not the worst thing he's suffered, but it's terrible nonetheless.

I don't want to die, I don't want to--

"Oi. You."

There comes a bitter laugh from the orphan, scoffing into the dirt. So he's so far gone he's hallucinating voices now. Great, that's absolutely --

"OW!" He finally reacts when he feels a foot kick into him from behind, leaving him scrambling to sit upright and focus on the culprit of the action. Fortunately, it seems that what he heard was no hallucination, and instead a man in a billowing black coat who towers over him with an intimidating expression.

Atsushi blinks, looking over him for a moment. The man doesn't seem much taller than him, dressed in black from head to toe sans the cravat at his neck and the white tips of his hair. It's a stark contrast, he thinks, to such an overwhelming dark presence. Thinking on it a little more, now he's getting anxious as to what someone like this would want with him.

"Are you deaf? I was speaking to you." The stranger hisses, brows furrowing.

The orphan still sitting on the ground squeaks, scooting backwards as he shakes his head. "S-Sorry, I didn't hear you... Did you need something from me?" Please not any organs, I'm already in a pinch as it is.

"Have you seen a man floating down the river?"

What did he just say?

"A... A man?" Atsushi echoes with a tilt of his head.

"Yes, a man." This time, the word is emphasized. "A stupid looking man floating down the river. Right now he's wearing a brown coat, and..."

The stranger continues on speaking, but Atsushi has already drowned out his voice. At the mention of the river, he instinctively turns his head towards the location the older speaks of in curiosity. Though nothing seems out of the ordinary to him. All he sees are the waves lapping gently, a seagull flying low before landing safely to bob on the water's surface, a motionless body floating downstream, a plastic bottle someone's thrown into the water ...

----- A MOTIONLESS BODY?!

The silver haired teen's body went rigid, lifting a hand up almost mechanically to point at the body floating in the water. "IT-IT-IT'S A--?!"

For a moment, the stranger standing before him looks insulted, but the expression disappears the moment he looks in the direction Atsushi points. "Ah. Found him." His tone is all too matter-of-fact, the other can't help but give him a look of bewilderment.

FOUND WHO?!

The man in black doesn't move, doesn't even pull his hands from where they're tucked away inside his pockets. Instead, the tattered edges of his clothes tremble to life all on their own. Atsushi is struck with a newfound feeling that leaves him frozen as he watches, eyes widening like saucers, jaw falling slack while the fabric moves over the water to grab the motionless person by their ankle before carrying him over onto dry land. Once he's released, he hits the ground with an all too comedic 'splat'.

What was that?! Why did his coat move -- Just who have I ran into?!

"Dazai-san. You're causing trouble. This is why we told you not to come."

The person referred to as 'Dazai' twitches from where he lays on the ground before slowly moving to his feet, wavy hair dripping wet onto the ground. Despite being soaked to the bone, somehow he wears a cheerful smile. "Akutagawa-kun, how kind of you to come find me~! Unfortunately, you ruined my suicide attempt. That's rather rude of you, you know."

'Akutagawa' gives a frown at the cheerful response, unamused. "Chuuya-san is angry with you." He's merely given a dismissive wave of Dazai's hand as an answer, to which only seems to make him more irritated, but Dazai's already gone to focusing his attention on the young teen who stares gawking in silence.

"That aside, whooo is this, Akutagawa-kun?" Dazai coos, hands folding behind his back as his body looms forward. It makes Atsushi lean back on impulse, cringing of how he smells of salt water.

"A stranger. I was asking him if he saw you when you floated by."

"N-Nakajima... Atsushi." Atsushi adds, however nervous.

"I see! In that case, he should be rewarded for his efforts!" The brunet smiles then, offering a hand out to the other. "Atsushi-kun, is it? My name is Dazai Osamu. It's nice to meet you."

"Er... Likewise." Regardless, he accepts the hand, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. "Uh, you two--" His words are interrupted by the growling of his stomach, and awkward silence sets in that makes his face grow red. Dazai blinks, smile remaining without faltering, all the while Akutagawa stares deadpan.

The silence goes on far longer than it should, and while the man soaking wet tries speaking, he doesn't get very far. A syllable, at the very least, is all he can give before a boot meets his face and he's sent flying backwards... And Atsushi, unfortunately, is dragged with him screaming as they roll across the grass.

"DA-ZA-IIIII!"

It doesn't take a genius to tell the voice is shrill and angry. The orphan pries himself away from the person holding onto his wrist, just in time to watch a shorter man slam his foot onto Dazai's chest, grinding his heel without remorse. His hair is ginger and styled over a shoulder, baby blue eyes bright and narrowed beneath his bangs. He's wearing a red dress shirt and black pants, on his back is a sword he soon grabs by the handle, unsheathing the stainless steel blade he points at Dazai's neck.

Am I going to witness a murder?!

"IF YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY, I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR WISH RIGHT NOW!"

"C-CHUUYA, WAIT---!"

Even so, Atsushi can't bring himself to move, merely watching in horror as the new stranger moves his arms to swing, eyes closing as he flinches... Only for his stomach to growl out loudly a second time. The familiar heat from before resurfaces to face, accompanied by nervousness upon realizing the ginger has stopped short of piercing Dazai's throat, staring at him with a blank expression.

"... Oi. Who's the kid." 'Chuuya' speaks, looking back at the brunet at his feet.

"Just a passerby that helped Akutagawa-kun find me. Adorable, isn't he?"

Chuuya shoots Atsushi another look, and the orphan can't help but feel smaller underneath his gaze. He wonders if he'll be next, followed by why he's suddenly involved with sketchy people. Criminals? The Mafia? So much for not wanting to die!

"I see." The man steps back, taking his foot off of his companion's chest before returning his sword to its sheath. "That aside, for something like the growling of some kid's stomach to bring me to a full stop in wanting to kill you, I don't know whether to say congratulations or pity him."

"Coincidentally, we were just speaking about rewarding him!" Dazai adds, bouncing to his feet. "Atsushi-kun, is there anything you'd like to eat? It'll be free of charge!"

"What do I want to eat?" Now that someone's asking him, Atsushi realizes that he didn't get that far. His head bows in contemplation, cupping his chin with one hand. In all honesty, he expected to be by death's doors any day now. Is this fate? Maybe, just maybe, God hasn't shunned him just yet despite his sinful existence the orphanage made him believe he was? Just thinking about that place now is a bit ironic, perhaps. A few days back, he was craving chazuke. It wasn't anything that grand back at that place, but it was located in the countryside, so the rice came straight from the rice farm in the area. If he could have that one more time... "Chazuke... Probably."

"Hm? What was that?"

The younger rubs at his neck, tone sheepish. "I want to eat Chazuke."

Dazai looks stunned for a moment, blinking widely at him for a moment. It's enough to make the younger want to redact his request and be on his way, but it's then Dazai laughs in amusement. "That's a great idea! Then-- let's all have Chazuke with a generous donation from Chuuya's wallet!"

Chuuya twitches at the declaration, a temple pulsing angrily. "WHAT?! When did I say I was paying for anything?"

"Let's go, let's go~!" And off the brunet goes, dragging the young Atsushi along.

"DAZAI! OI-- YOU BASTARD!"

Despite Chuuya's complaining, the end result was just as Dazai predicted. In a teahouse not that far from where their destined meeting occurred, The four found themselves sitting at a table together.

On one end sit Chuuya and Dazai. Chuuya is sitting with a slouch and a displeased expression, hands tucked into his pockets while his sword is kept tucked between his legs underneath the table and out of sight. A cup of tea sits in front of him, but he's yet to take a sip of it. Dazai, on the other hand, sits straight and with an eager smile, folding the paper napkin in front of him in what seems to be a paper crane.

On the other, there sits Akutagawa and Atsushi. Akutagawa sits with an expected proper posture, slowly sipping from his tea with a deadpan expression at the teen sitting next to him... Who sits stuffing himself with chazuke, already on his seventh bowl at this point. There's a small stack that sits in front of the orphan that's a bit lopsided, but he pays it no mind.

"When was the last time you had an actual full-blown meal?" Chuuya asks, finally leaning forward to rest an elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. "Mfgg mff amo." Atsushi's response comes out incomprehensible as he doesn't stop stuffing his mouth full, eyes blinking matter of factly.

"... Uh huh." The ginger immediately turns his head to the brunet sitting next to him. "What did he just say?" Dazai doesn't give an answer as he merely hums away, folding another piece of his napkin origami. Blue eyes narrow at him, but before Chuuya can give a complaint, Akutagawa answers in the older's stead.

"He said two weeks ago."

Unsurprisingly, this earns him a look. "How could you even translate that?" Akutagawa folds his arms over his chest, nodding his head in Dazai's direction. "Dazai-san talks with his mouth full often, so I've learned. Given how long you've known each other, I'm a little surprised you don't."

"Anyway," Chuuya starts, completely ignoring the subtle insult. "I'd like it if you could hurry up. We have a job to take care of."

Atsushi finally seems to finish his bowl of chazuke just as the words fall from the older's lips. He swallows slowly, setting the bowl down carefully before placing his chopsticks atop the bowl. His hands wrap around the bowl, fingers drumming against the sides of it idly. "What sort of work do you guys have, Chuuya-san?"

"We're detectives. More accurately, detectives from the Armed Detective Agency."

"Armed Detective Agency?" The younger echoes, staring for a moment before realization hits him, jaw dropping. Armed detective agency... He had heard of them before while at the orphanage in a newspaper or something. The teen jumps to his feet then, shouting loudly. "Aren't you guys the special detectives with special abilities?! That thing he did with his coat --" Cue a finger that points at the older sitting next to him. "That was an ability too?!" Never in his life did he think he'd meet people of such high importance, let alone be treated to chazuke by them.

Akutagawa scrunches his nose, offended. "It's not a 'thing'. My ability is--"

"Akutagawa-kun, it'll be a problem if you say too much...~" Dazai sings, gaze never lifting from where his hands are still preoccupied attempting to make a paper napkin crane.

This effectively silences said ability user, covering up his displeasure with a sip of his tea.

Chuuya groans while pinching his nose. "In any case: yes, we're on a job right now. We can't leave it alone for too long either. Akutagawa and I were sent to find it since he has an offensive ability, having mine as backup, but this idiot," Cue a thumb that points to Dazai. "Decided to not listen and come with and give us problems as always."

"What's so drastic about it?"

"We're hunting a demon." The raven finishes, and the calmness found in his voice sends a heavy chill down Atsushi's spine as he forces himself to look at the person sitting next to him. "Two weeks or so ago, there's been a demon sighted in Yokohama. Because of it, people are being attacked, some have been hurt. The reports have said it's of humanoid form, carrying a sharp weapon..."

No.

Oh no, no, no.

"... I see." Nausea sets in, mixed in with a familiar feeling of panic. "I'm sorry! I've kept you from doing your job! I'll be going now, th-thank you so much!" And immediately he turns to run, only to soon be tripped by Chuuya's sword tucked between his legs he seemed to have kicked out just moments before Atsushi dared to move. In response, the boy tumbles to the ground face-first.

When he lifts it, he's met with the view of the bottom end of the redhead's sheath slammed dangerously close to his face against the floor board. Glancing up just a little is all he needs to do to see the older's baby blue eyes glaring down at him.

"Oi, I don't remember saying you could move your ass out of your spot, Screamy Mcnervous." He growls. "Your reaction's a red flag. You know something? Ah?"

"What?! No, I just--"

Chuuya gives him no room to respond, instead grabbing him by the back of his shirt like a kitten, pulling him to his feet as he drags him out the door. "We're going to have a little chat." Is all he hisses before he pushes open the doors to leave.

Akutagawa takes a final sip of his tea before dutifully following after. Dazai laughs, staring down at the finished paper napkin origami crane that sits in front of him before slowly standing to his feet and moving to join the others outside.

Completely disregarding Atsushi's efforts to free himself and stammering excuses as he exists the teashop and drags the younger a good ways down the street. Once satisfied with the distance made and the lack of people, Chuuya shoves the teen into the nearest wall back-first. A gloved hand pounds against the empty space near the orphan's head, leaving him flinching in fright.

"Start talking, stray dog, or my boot is going to be shoved so far up your--"

"Chuuya," Dazai coos as he walks up behind the other detective, a bandaged hand resting lightly on his shoulder as he drums his fingers. "You won't get anywhere with intimidation, you know! Let me handle this, alright?"

The redhead squints at him, lips puckering in a childish pout before he moves back to stand next to Akutagawa. Dazai steps forward before Atsushi with a smile that's all too gentle, forgiving even. No matter how intimidated he is, somehow the younger finds himself calming the slightest bit seeing it.

"Atsushi-kun, you can calm down. No one's going to hurt you." The detective starts in a soothing tone, but his expression soon twists into a look of concern. "But, there are people in this city that are in danger of this demon we're pursuing. You understand this, don't you? Even if it's the smallest thing, sharing it with us will help us greatly."

"I... I see..." Just as intended, Atsushi seems to accept his response, glancing nervously at Chuuya who clicks his tongue unhappily before lowering his gaze. "I, well... The orphanage I was from kicked me out for apparently summoning a demon. Because of me, some of the other orphans died. The orphanage... Didn't want any other casualties, so it's common sense they kicked me out. My presence there was a..." He feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach, remembering the words the headmaster said to him.

[ "You brought a curse to this orphanage, putrid boy! You're a sick, vile --" ]

"-- walking tragedy, more or less."

"Summoning a demon would get you kicked out." Chuuya thinks aloud from behind Dazai, humming nonchalantly.

"I DIDN'T SUMMON A DEMON--"

"So, if we kill you, the case will be finished smoothly." Akutagawa follows.

"DON'T KILL ME EITHER?!"

"Hmm, yes, true... Killing isn't good..." The brunet muses, tapping his chin. His contemplative expression doesn't seem to reflect the same seriousness as before, almost as if he were faking thinking so deeply on the situation. Soon, his eyes blink as a thought occurs to him as the hand pulls away to snap his fingers. "Here's a perfect idea then!"

Why does he have a bad feeling all of a sudden--

"Atsushi-kun will help us find the demon since this is his fault."

Ah, that's the reason... WAIT-- "W-What?!"

"Well, you said it yourself, didn't you? You summoned it, so it's only natural that you help stop it."

"No, I said 'apparently', I never--"

"Of course, you're free not to, but as detectives who work for the public... We'd have to turn you in for being an accomplice over the assault of others. In addition, Chuuya was the one who paid the bill for your food and he planned on buying a new bottle of wine that cost 200,000 yen. He was waiting months while saving up and--"

Atsushi waves his hands frantically, attempting to silence the older. "A-alright, alright, I'll help! It's enough already!"

Dazai smiles brightly, tilting his head with an innocence the younger deeply feels is misplaced. "I knew you'd come around. We appreciate it!"

Perhaps today really is the day I die.

And so, this is how he finds himself in the company of Akutagawa within an empty warehouse, filled with various stacked boxes and trash littered about. It looks like a place someone without a home would sleep in to get out of the cold, and the thought makes him want to laugh wryly knowing that 'someone' surely would've been him. Even if he hadn't ended up in this situation, Atsushi would've found himself here.

The world is too ironic, or maybe it's just laughing at him.

"Akutagawa... san, was it?" The shorter speaks up to break the silence, glancing nervously at the other. "Why are we looking in a place like this?"

"Just Akutagawa is fine." The raven answers, not bothering to glance back. "Isn't it obvious why we're here? Demons stereotypically hide in the dark and abandoned places, lying in wait for targets."

"You're going on stereotypes? Is that okay?!" So much for being detectives! "Sometimes the most obvious places are the ones that shouldn't be overlooked. In any case, Dazai-san and Chuuya-san are looking in other places, so it will be fine. Make yourself useful and help me look, Nakajima. I don't have all night unlike you."

"Y... You don't have to talk to me like that. I'm not a detective like you guys or anything."

"You have eyes. Use them."

This guy... "I don't even know what I should be looking for." Atsushi continued. "A-And I'm just a civilian!"

"Trying to get out of it, I see. How classy." Akutagawa quips, glancing over his shoulder. "You're just scared."

"Of course I'm scared! I don't want to die! I can't defend myself from a demon!" The younger's voice raises without him realizing, hands gripping at the sides of his tattered pants. It makes the agency member raise a brow, but he doesn't respond as the orphan continues. His head bows, shoulders hunching pitifully. "Even though I deserve it... Because it's my fault..."

Just what am I trying to say? All of this happened because of me. People died because of me. People were hurt because of me...

Any defense he wanted to make for himself dies in his throat, replaced with a feeling of self-loathing. "I..." His voice cracks, vision blurring. "I wish it killed me instead."

He's met with silence. Atsushi can feel Akutagawa's stare on him, surely something akin to disappointment or disgust for hearing such a thing. There eventually comes the sound of the other's shoes scuffing against the concrete as he turns to face the orphan, and Atsushi already expects more berating -- but it never comes. Akutagawa gives a startled noise, taking a step back.

"Nakajima, move!"

"Eh--?"

His head lifts to meet the raven's gaze, freezing when he hears glass shatter from behind him. Atsushi whips his head to look behind him, watching as glass shards rain down from the windows completely busted open. Everything seems to move in slow motion as he processes it all, from the broken window to what was flying through it: A being glowing gold with a sword in hand, face hidden behind a mask.

The demon.

"You imbecile-- Rashomon!"

Akutagawa reacts first when Atsushi can't bring himself to move. His coat quivers to life, the black cloth wrapping around the orphan's midsection to drag the other in his direction just in time to avoid the slice of the demon's sword. Wind whips past them at the sheer force, the detective's coat releasing him to stagger and regain his balance.

Shock turns to realization, and realization to fear. This thing was here to kill him.

"So the only thing left to do is to kill it." The man in the black muses aloud, and for the first time since they met, Atsushi saw a smile.

A smile so eager over killing something.

"You run."

"Huh? But you--"

"You'll be getting in my way." Akutagawa clarifies.

Atsushi knows that. He truly does, but the way Akutagawa says it aggrivates him. He acquiesces regardless, groaning as he spins to run in the other direction. "Jeez, I got it, you jerk!!" He yells, glancing behind him as he watches the older's coat move on his command.

Black tendrils shoot out to attack the floating golden demon that dodge them with almost a certain elegance, using its sword to block another attack that aims for its mask. Something about its movements are almost mechanical, like a robot malfunctioning, and soon its head lifts to focus on the boy running. Shit. Fear and dread leave his heart racing in an instant as the demon flies over its opponent, moving to chase after the running boy merely observing from a distance. So much for not getting in Akutagawa's way.

"Oi! Why is it chasing after you?!" said ability user barks with a snarl.

If I knew that, I'd know how to stop it! Atsushi screams in protest within the confines of his own mind, turning a sharp corner just as the demon swings its sword. Wooden boxes are smashed in an instant, splinters and pieces of wood flying through the air before it continues its pursuit after its fleeing target.

A box is sent flying in its direction from elsewhere, slamming it into a wall. The demon's neck gives a disturbing snap to look in the direction it came from, more specifically: Akutagawa. A menacing aura pours from the young man's person, tendrils from his coat seeming to vibrate to express his rage.

"Fight me! Do not ignore me!" His voice is a mixture of anger and desperation, but it achieves what he desires nonetheless. The demon once again lifts its weapon, levitating higher before it flings itself at its challenger. It leaves his mouth splitting into a wild grin, a hand lifting to point.

It gives a certain relief to Atsushi who's hidden elsewhere among the boxes, heart beating so fast he feels it will burst from his chest. He doesn't understand... He doesn't understand any of this! How he supposedly summoned a demon, only for it to want to kill him. It's been hurting others, hunting for him, but at least now... Now, that man from the detective agency would put it to rest. What a relief.

BANG!

Or so his lingering optimism wanted to believe. A sudden crashing noise startles him, and he's quick to come from his hiding place to peer from behind a box, attention focusing on the situation at hand -- and Atsushi's eyes can't help but widen in shock. He hasn't counted how long he disappeared out of sight, but somehow, he finds himself staring down the image of an Akutagawa who's been slammed into a wall. Blood drips from a temple, a hand held out to maintain the spider web-like form of his ability that keeps the demon's sword from connecting with his body.

He's hurt. He's bleeding. What happened?

Another person was going to be killed because of him... Another person...

[ "Your existence only hurts others." ]

No. I don't want that.

[ "You can't do anything to protect other people." ]

If I can save just one person, it'll be proving that wrong. I don't want to exist to hurt others.

Akutagawa loses the energy to keep the web in place, the coat falling limb against the ground where he sits. There's a grim smile on his face as he watches his opponent lift its weapon once more with another grotesque cracking of its limbs, as if resigning to his fate.

No... NO!

"Stop!" And for some reason, everything in his body tells him to scream, to scream as loudly as possible. "Stop hurting! Stop killing! Go back to wherever it is you came from!"

It stops. Somehow, his words make the demon freeze in place, sword inches away from making contact with Akutagawa's head. The ability user stares in shock, baffled as the reason for it all runs towards him, bare feet making a pitter-patter against the concrete. "It... Stopped."

"Akutagawa, are you alright?"

The agency member doesn't answer, merely continue to stare at the demon frozen in place. Something inside his mind seems to click, and only then does he blink. So that's how it is.

"Hey, are you listening? Are you dea--"

"Nakajima. Look at me for a moment and hold still."

Atsushi jumps at the sudden interruption. "O-Okay? But why--"

He can't finish his sentence before Akutagawa punches him dead in the face with the last bit of strength he has, sending the smaller flying onto his back and completely unconscious. The demon that floats above them suddenly disperses in a myriad of colors in the same moment, no trace of it left in sight.

Nothing follows but silence as the raven lowers his hand to his side, pushing himself to his feet with a strained grunt. He glances around the warehouse that's been more or less trashed by their altercation before he scoffs under his breath, smiling wryly.

"Akutagawa! You alright?!"

The familiar voice makes him turn, watching as Chuuya comes running through the open door with Dazai trailing behind him. The notable look of surprise the redhead gives as he closes the distance makes his next question obvious, but Akutagawa allows him to ask it regardless.

"What happened here? Did you kill the demon?"

"No."

"Then it got away?"

"... No." It's then the man moves a hand to point at the unconscious Atsushi, expression blank. "It's his ability."

"So my deduction was right after all." Dazai hums, rocking onto the tips of his toes to study the sleeping boy's face.

"Wh... Huh..." Chuuya looks at Atsushi, then to his coworkers before continuing. "You knew too?! Say something beforehand, jackass!"

"Job complete, yayyyy!" Dazai ignores the complaint, merely clapping his hands together childishly. "Well, now it's just a matter of what should we do with him... The government said to kill it, but as detectives we can't kill a human being. What do you think, Akutagawa-kun? You fought it, after all."

Akutagawa is silent as he turns to look at the person at his feet. His expression is contemplative, soon pulling his gaze away to look at a pointless spot across the room.

[ "I wish it killed me instead." ]

"... We should take him to the agency." He decides at last, meeting the older's gaze as he does so.

Dazai smiles all too knowingly, arms folding across his chest. "It's not a bad idea. He'd be useful, but are you sure you want to?"

Akutagawa kneels down to grasp Atsushi by the back of his shirt, dragging him awkwardly against the ground as he heads towards the exit of the warehouse. "If he'll be useful to the agency, then that's all there is to it."

A laugh echoes, followed by a sigh that's no doubt from Chuuya.

"I guess that's that."

CHAPTER 2 > tba.

#bsdfic #bsd #bungou stray dogs #nakajima atsushi #akutagawa ryuunosuke #dovetail au

12 notes · View notes