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chelseeebe · 1 year

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falling. | part 3. to maneater.

summary: steve harrington was the first boy you’d opened up to. so why can’t you stop fucking it up?

c/w: billy is in this and there’s mentions of sexual assault and non-consensual touching so read with caution!

it’s finally done!!!!! i don’t even think i like this but it’s here!!! tumblr deleted a whole chunk of writing so had to redo some parts n ik they aren’t as good as the original <\3 also falling - harry styles especially the first verse rlly got me going for this one.

read part one here. | read part two here.

there had been absolutely no contact with steve. he couldn’t even look at you.

now being shunned from sitting on the table your two groups had taken over, jessica very kindly tells you, ‘it’s probably better if you don’t come, y’know.. just until steve cools down.’

‘right.. guess i’ll see you later then,’ you slink out of the cafeteria, choosing to retreat to your car instead, away from everyone.

to be honest, you weren’t keen on sitting opposite steve anyway. the way his eyes looked at you, all sad and disappointed.

on the friday, you’re sat in your car, willing the next two hours of school to hurry up when your passenger door swings open and a large body collapses into the seat.

‘what the fuck are you doing?’

‘you looked lonely, thought i’d give you some company,’ billy states, throwing his legs on the dashboard.

you shoo his feet off, ‘i was fine on my own, actually.’

‘darling, i’ve seen you sat here every day this week, your boyfriend still mad at you?’ he smirks over at you.

‘he’s not my boyfriend, never has been, but yeah, no thanks to you,’ you hiss, though you can’t solely blame him.

‘you really were wasted, huh? don’t remember what happened after?’ he lights a cigarette, rolling down the window.

‘well no, but i’ve been told.. steve couldn’t wait to throw it in my face, trust me,’ you state, looking over at the curly haired boy.

‘why do you give a shit what he thinks? never had you down as someone that cared what little pretty boys like harrington think of you,’ he takes a drag.

billy was attractive, not in a steve harrington kinda way, more rugged and much less clean-cut.

you reach over and grab the cigarette from him, taking a long drag before handing it back.

‘i don’t,’ you lie, ‘could not care less.’

‘that’s why you’re hiding in your car is it, sweetheart?’ he chuckles, eyes narrowing at you.

‘just fuck off, billy,’ you roll your eyes, unprepared for his home-truths.

he laughs, ‘n leave you all alone? you sure you want that?'

even though it was billy, you had appreciated not being alone at lunch. your friend's hadn't exactly shunned you, but had decided that during lunch they'd rather preserve the peace with their new-found friendship with steve and his group.

'you can stay, as long as you shut up and don't mention steve again,' you fold your arms over your chest, twisting your body to look at him.

'i'm not making any promises,' he flicks the butt of the cigarrette out of the window, turning back to face you.

'there's a party tomorrow, i'll pick you up at eight,' he winks.

in all honesty a party was a welcome distraction to everything at the moment, though billy would not be your usual choice of friend but at this point you weren't left with much choice.

then there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, thinking of steve and how a party and billy had actually been the sole reason steve now wasn’t speaking to you.

he was the first guy you’d let get that close since moving to hawkins a few years back. an inexplicable feeling bubbles in your stomach as you think back to your date. how you had felt so comfortable with him, telling him things not even your friends had gotten out of you.

and suddenly that awful impulsive urge rises from your stomach. the one that only showed itself when things were becoming too serious with someone.

so fuck it.

you spent the whole of the lunch break with billy, in your car. you hadn't ever pictured your friday to go this way, but you were just happy that someone was actually speaking to you.

you'd neglected to notice steve, who had finished basketball practice, standing just a few metres from your car, glaring at the pair of you sat talking in your car. a frown planted firmly on his face, utter disbelief at how you could even be sat with him after that damned party.

tommy notices steve staring, searching for the cause of his scowl, landing on your car. he swings his arm over his friends shoulder in sympathy.

'bro.. c'mon, let's just go,' he tugs steve away and back into the school.

billy is late, obviously.

he wasn’t like steve, ready and waiting for you before you’d even finished getting ready.

you turn your wrist to look at your watch.

8:11pm

you were about to head back inside when you hear the loud car engine pull onto your street, wheels screeching to a halt.

billy grins at you from the window, you roll your eyes and get into the car.

‘you’re late, lucky i was nice enough to wait,’ you pull your skirt down, as it had ridden up past your thighs. not unnoticed by billy.

‘sorry darlin’, looking good though,’ he eyes up your thighs.

‘just drive, i need a fucking drink,’ you stare, flipping him the middle finger.

he chuckles, speeding off down the street.

you’d told yourself that there was absolutely no way you were getting as wasted as last time. but here you were, head spinning as you stumble up to the stairs and into the bathroom.

billy follows closely behind, pushing his way into the bathroom, ‘not tapping out, are ya doll face?’

‘no, i’m fine.. just need a minute,’ you lean your hands on the counter, looking at your blurry reflection in the mirror.

billy presses himself against your back, hands finding your waist as you watch him grin in the mirror.

you spin your body round to face him, placing a hand on his chest to push him back, ‘i’m not fucking you billy,’ shaking your head.

‘oh c’mon, i’ve been waiting all night for this darlin’,’ his fingers begin to slide up your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

‘no billy, i’m not doing that,’ you place your hand on his wrist, trying to move his hand.

his expression hardens as he leans his face closer to yours, his fingers now gripping your jaw, ‘you’re joking.. everyone knows what a little slut you are, what’s the problem? don’t tell me it’s harrington.’

his fingers tear a hole in your tights, latching onto the hem of your underwear and you freeze.

your eyes squeeze shut, ‘i just don’t want to have sex with you.. get off of me,’ your voice shakes.

he runs his thumb over your bottom lip before letting go, backing away from the counter, ‘whatever, you’re a little cock-tease,’ he walks out of the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

you sigh, wiping away the tears that had slipped out and rolled down your cheek.

you’d yet again made a gigantic mess of everything.

now left stranded at some random party, god knows where.

so, you do the sensible thing and walk down the stairs and out of the house, stumbling down the street as you pass the party goers.

you walk and walk, until you end up on the familiar street.

you don’t really know what you’re doing until you’re at the door, boots in hand as your knuckles wrap against the wood.

there were now holes in your tights, black mascara smudged down your cheeks and the red lipstick you’d chosen now anywhere but your lips.

you glance at the time on your watch

3:32am.

it had taken you an hour to even get here.

the door swings open and a shirtless steve stands in the doorway, hair sticking up every which way.

‘y/n? why are y- what happened?’ his tone becoming concerned as he notices your disheveled appearance and the leather boots in your hand.

you shrug, swallowing the lump in your throat, ‘i didn’t know where else to go..’ the lump rises as a cry escapes your mouth.

his arms are around your body, pulling you into his chest, before you can say another word.

you cry as he pulls you into the house, running his hand down your back. you can only cling onto him, only crying harder because you didn’t deserve this kindness from him.

‘hey.. what happened?’ he questions, pulling away to make you look up at him.

‘i was.. at a party and- and billy..’ you’re interrupted with a sob, unable to finish the sentence.

his eyes go from soft to filled with anger at the mention of his name.

‘what? what did he do?’ he spits, with the state of you it couldn’t have been good.

‘he just- he tried to touch me and.. and i said no and-,’ you’re interrupted by a sob, unable to even tell steve.

you can feel his body stiffen, ‘he didn’t… did he?’

shaking your head, you swallow attempting to conceal your cries, ‘no.. he just.. touched me.. it’s my fault, i shouldn’t have even gone..’

‘no, no it’s not at all.. c’mon let’s get you cleaned up,’ he pulls his body from yours, now taking your hand and walking you up his stairs.

the second time he’d come to your drunken rescue. you felt awful for relying on him so much.

but truthfully, steve would rather know that you’re safe with him than out there. no matter what had happened between you.

he gently wipes the remains of your makeup off with his moms face wipes, offering you the spare toothbrush and even turning around as you change into yet another one of his t-shirts, this time foregoing the sweatpants.

‘got my own collection going on,’ you laugh weakly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

he exhales, ‘s’pose you do.. they look better on you anyway,’ he stands in the doorway, ready to go to the guest bedroom.

‘can you.. stay in here.. only if you want to,’ you whisper, pulling back the duvet for him.

he walks over to the bed, ‘of course i want to.. whether i should is another story,’ he climbs into the bed, laying back.

‘you should,’ you lean your head back onto the pillow, staring at the cream coloured ceiling.

steve flicks the lamp off, turning on his side to go to sleep.

you’re sure he’s asleep before you let out the first silent cry, hand held over your mouth.

your shoulders shake as you sniffle, slightly louder than intended.

and then you feel steve’s arm snake around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

‘i’m sorry.. i thought you were asleep..’ you mumble.

‘no.. can’t sleep,’ he grumbles in response, still holding onto your waist.

you turn your body to face his, looking up at his shadowy face, admiring the way the moon cascaded over his features. you can just about make out his eyes staring back into yours.

‘me too..’

the eye contact is heavy, and you’re half tempted to reach up and kiss him.

steve clearly has the same thought, his lips colliding with yours with his free hand now cupping your face.

but this kiss is different, there’s no lust, no desire behind it. not like before. this kiss was soft, full of warmth and emotion.

he pulls back, searching for your eyes in the darkness, ‘c’mon you need to sleep.’

you nod slightly, resting your head on his chest and exhaling deeply.

his fingers trace patterns into your shoulder, chin resting on the top of your head.

eventually your breathing becomes heavy on his chest as you drift off to sleep.

his fingers slide through your hair with his other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, holding you close to his body.

he whispers into your hair, ‘you’re killing me here..’

eventually falling asleep, nuzzled into your hair.

it's noon before you wake up, steve's arm around your waist as he snores lightly.

he looked so peaceful when he was asleep, the usual furrow of his brow replaced with an undisturbed, stillness to his face.

you smile at the image, not wanting to wake him but desperately needing the bathroom.

you manoeuvre your body out of his grasp and tiptoe to the bathroom.

when you come back to the room steve is awake, sat up against his headboard.

‘i thought.. i thought you’d snuck off again,’ he exhales, running his hand through his hair.

you shake your head, ‘not this time,’ sitting at the end of the bed.

‘what happened last night?’ he asks, not wanting to press too much.

you sigh, looking down at your hands, ‘he.. he touched me.. i said no but he.. just-,’ you stop yourself.

steve reaches over, placing his hand over yours for reassurance.

‘he grabbed me.. called me a slut and a tease- i don’t wanna talk about it..’

‘you should go to the police, obviously if you want to.. but he shouldn’t get away with that,’ he squeezes you hand, his tone now full of disgust.

‘no, i’m not.. it’s fine- i’m fine,’ you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears.

‘you do-,’ he sighs, exasperated, ‘okay, it’s your choice.. but i’m just telling you now that i am going to kill him.’

you chuckle through the tears, ‘you couldn’t kill a fly.’

‘hey! i could and i have,’ he feigns offence.

you groan, using steve’s blanket to wipe away your tears.

‘are you okay?’ he questions quietly.

you nod, ‘i’m fine.. are you okay?’

‘why would i not be?’

‘because.. of me,’ you shrug, ‘what i did..’

he squeezes your hand, ‘it doesn’t matter.. you were right, you aren’t my girlfriend.. i can’t expect you to act like it,’ he sighs; slightly frowning.

his eyes are sad, gazing down at you.

‘it was still shitty.. i’m really sorry steve.. i’m trying to be a different person, better, but it’s hard..’

he exhales, ‘look.. we don’t need to speak about this now..’

you nod, appreciating his kindness. even if you were totally undeserving.

‘c’mon, i’ll take you home,’ he runs his thumb over your hand before standing from the bed.

you’re stood at his door when he picks up the skirt you’d worn last night. it had been a favourite but now you couldn’t even stand to look at it.

‘burn it,’ you say, disgusted at the sight of the skirt.

it goes unnoticed when steve grits his teeth, seething at how billy’s actions had made you feel so little. a shell of the you he knew.

you hesitate going into the cafeteria. there was still an air of uncertainty around you and steve despite you turning up on his doorstep sunday morning.

you notice the group of students now stood at the window, jeering and gasping at some commotion outside.

before you can decide whether to join them, jessica sprints up to you, 'you need to come, now,' pulling your arm towards the door to the forecourt.

'what? what's going on?' you query, stumbling as she drags you along.

'it's steve..,' she pants, breathless as she'd had to sprint to find you.

your eyes immediately land on the group of high-schoolers, crowded around the bustle you'd noticed from the window.

pushing through the crowd you spot steve squared up to billy, his hand shoving his backwards, billy tumbling back.

'fucking creep,' steve spits, stepping up once again.

'what's the problem? did i touch your little girlfriend? that little slut wanted it,' billy bites back, returning the shove to steve only a little harder.

you bite the inside of your cheek, guilty that you were the reason for the fight. his words sting, memories of the spiteful words he had spat at you in the bathroom flooding back.

steve lunges for the boy, landing a particularly hard punch to his cheek sending billy backwards towards the crowd.

billy clutches his cheek, a smile on his lips at the utter disbelief of steve's actions.

the denim clad boy tackles steve to the ground, pulling his arm back to sock him in the face, repeatedly, each hit harder than the last.

you gasp, elbowing the boys in front of you out of the way and stepping up towards billy, you grab onto his jacket in an attempt to stop him.

'fucking stop it!' you screech, pulling his arm back and away from steve.

billy pushes you backwards, falling to the floor as the crowd let out a collective 'ooh'.

fortunately for steve, ms. kelly gets into the middle of the circle as one of the gym teachers restrains billy.

you rush over to steve, his face now bruised and bloody. you cradle his head in your arms, trying to clean off some of the blood to assess how badly he was hurt.

he looks up at you, eyes squinting at the bright light, 'i'm sorry.. he deserved it though.'

you shake your head, though you can't hide the smile on your face, ‘we could've slashed his tyres or something, now look at you.'

eventually, you alongside one of his teammates take him inside, his arm resting on your shoulder.

you press the ice pack to his face, shuffling in the uncomfortable office chairs while you wait for the principle to finish speaking to billy.

'i think you're a fucking idiot for doing that.. but i wanted to thank you.. for defending me n' that..'

he turns to face you, 'oh that? wasn't for you.. i just really really wanted to get beat up,' he winces at his split lip as he smiles.

'it was kinda hot.. y'know the ten seconds before he beat the shit out of you,' you giggle. it was true, angry steve was hot, just not when he was angry at you.

your head jolts to the open door, as billy saunters out. steve had got a pretty good hit in, with billy's cheek now adorned with a new blue bruise.

he glares at the two of you, his lip snarling as if to say something but he restrains himself.

‘mr. harrington,’ mr. davis calls, gesturing towards his office.

you both stand at the same time, ‘you can stay here miss. (y/l/n),’ the principle nods.

‘no, i’m coming,’ you walk into the office and take a seat before steve.

mr. davis is shocked at your gumption, beginning his spiel about fighting and how it’s unacceptable in the school environment.

‘so unfortunately, i’ve got no choice but to suspend you-,’

‘no,’ you cut him off, ‘that’s not fair, it’s my fault he was even fighting, so you can either suspend both of us or neither of us,’ you cross your arms, staring at your principal.

‘well.. now we can’t do that.. school policy states that we need to punish anyone fighting,’ david states, leaning forward on his desk.

‘so suspend me too.’

steve gawps at you, mouth open at your brave actions, utterly speechless.

‘i don’t think that would be wise miss (y/l/n), it’s a one week suspension,’ he attempts to persuade you to concede.

you shrug, ‘i don’t care.’

‘okay.. well.. then you’re both suspended, i’ll be in contact with both of your parents.. i expect you back, not fighting, next monday,’ your principal sighs.

you stand up and exit the room, stone-faced as you barrel out of the school.

steve jogs to catch up with you, ‘wait.. wait, why the fuck did you do that?’ his fingers curl around your wrist.

‘because it’s my fault you were even fighting.. only fair that i take some of the blame,’ you turn to him only inches away from his swollen face.

a laugh erupts from his throat at the sheer absurdity of it all. it’s contagious as you burst out laughing with him.

‘we look crazy..’ you mutter, noticing the stares from nosy students out of the classroom windows.

‘you are crazy,’ he says, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

‘i’m not the one throwing punches at someone twice my size,’ you state, grinning at him.

he scoffs, ‘twice? i don’t think so.’

you shake your head, ‘let’s get out of this shit hole, you’ve just bagged me a week off.. i’m not wasting that.’

you walk over to your car, looking back at steve stood gawping at you.

‘i.. i drove so i’ll uh- see ya,’ he begins to walk to his car, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.

‘are you sure you’re alright to drive? your eye’s pretty fucked..’ you were just desperate to not let him walk away once again.

‘yeah.. this is not my first time being beaten up, believe it or not,’ he half jokes, wobbling over to his car.

‘well.. uh, do you wanna do something later? i think i owe you for defending my honour,’ you call after him.

he turns to look at you, ‘okay, dinner is definitely on you though.’

‘i’ll even come and pick you up.. six, so you better be ready,’ you open the car door, sliding into the seat.

you both drive home grinning at your nondate-date.

you’d never been so nervous, stomach doing flips at the thought of seeing him.

you pull up on his drive, giving your outfit a once over before sounding the horn. you’d opted for more casual wear, a difference to the usual short skirts and revealing tops steve normally saw you in.

he appears at the door before limping over to your car. he groans as he attempts to sit in the car, his bruises now visible on his face.

‘are you sure you’re okay to go out?’ you question, wincing at his cut hands.

‘yeah.. i’m fine.. just a bit sore,’ he mumbles.

‘mm, you look it, c‘mon.. we can just order pizza and watch a movie, it’s okay,’ you hop out and walk around the passenger side, helping him out of your car.

he wraps his arm around your waist, supporting himself with your body, ‘you could’ve said this before i dragged myself all the way over here,’ he jokes.

‘steve, i’ll fucking drop you.’

you help him into the house, placing him down on the sofa before looking around at the large house.

you’d never really seen it through sober eyes, suddenly noticing the childhood photos dotted around.

‘are your parents not home?’ you question, the quiet echoed around the house.

‘nah.. they never are,’ he shrugs, there’s a certain sadness to his voice as he settles into the cushions.

‘oh.. at least they don’t know that you’re suspended i guess..’ you try to spin it positively but you can tell just how hurt he is.

‘yeah.. i guess..’

you sit down on the couch next to him, grabbing the phone from the table and passing it to him.

‘c’mon.. it’s my treat so get whatever you want,’ you cross your legs up onto the couch, watching him on the phone. completely enamoured with his every little move.

there’s some action film on the tv, not your first choice obviously.

your knees are tucked into your chest as steve leans against you, head on your shoulder. you honestly weren’t even sure he was still awake.

‘i’m really sorry, steve,’ it comes out in barely a whisper.

you hear him sigh, ‘i know.. it’s okay,’ he lifts his head off of your shoulder, now looking at you.

‘no, steve.. it’s not okay.. i hurt you and that’s not okay..’ you can’t bare to look at him, into his sad, doe eyes, instead playing with the hem on your jeans.

‘it is.. im telling you that it is.. you aren’t my girlfriend and..’ he exhales, ‘it’s okay that you don’t want to be.. i shouldn’t have just expected it from you..’

you’re still picking at the loose thread on your jeans, ‘but i do.. i do want that.. i just- there’s something wrong with me and i just can’t help it, i fuck everything up.. i hurt people..’ you shake your head, quickly wiping away the tear that had slipped out.

being so vulnerable with him made you sick to your stomach. the first person in a long time to tap into this part of you, the side you had buried deep down.

he swallows before putting his hand on your knee, ‘you haven’t.. fucked anything up, i’m still here aren’t i?

you’re brave enough to slowly look up at him through sodden eyelashes, blinking at his words.

‘you know.. i’ve been begging to hear you say that for so long..’ he breathes, inching closer to your face.

‘i don’t wanna hurt you..’ you murmur, his hand cupping your cheek as he wipes your damp cheek.

he leans forward, placing his lips on your yours. the kiss is similar to the one you’d shared in his bed on sunday morning, soft with no ulterior motives. affectionate and gentle, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours as his thumb still tracing your cheek, ‘then don’t.’

you nod, placing your hand on top of his before kissing his lips again. carefully placing your other hand on his bruised cheek, sure to be gentle with him.

‘does this mean you’re my girlfriend?’ he mumbles into the kiss.

you laugh against his lips, ‘if you want me to be..’

he pulls back to look at you, ‘i want nothing more,’ the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.

‘then i’m yours.’

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader

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nkjemisin · 8 months

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Hello, hope you're doing well. Love your work a lot :)

If you don't mind, I'd like to ask an open-ended question about the Great Cities Trilogy becoming the Great Cities Duology.

It's fantastic either way! I'm just curious about how things would be different, in different circumstances.

I appreciate your time. Wish you all the best ❤️

Spoilers for the Great Cities!

Thank you!

It's important to understand that when I start a new trilogy, I really only plan out the beginning and the end in detail. The rest is just general points I mean to hit in each book. So I can tell you some ideas I thought about putting into the books at the time, but I can't tell you exactly what I would've actually written if my initial plans hadn't gotten derailed -- I'm not that much of a planner, and I tend to change course midstream anytime I get a better idea for something. But here's what I wrote into the first outline.

Book 1: What you read

Book 2: Tentative title: "The City Hard Fought." America vs. New York. I'd been planning to have a demagogue president -- obvs inspired by Trump; I started working on developing this as a book in 2017 -- attack New York City to further his political ambitions. This would've taken the form of the president eventually threatening to bomb the city/all blue cities. At the time I came up with it, the idea seemed completely far-fetched and silly... Aaaaaaand then Trump started attacking New York City to further his political ambitions. I realized I really didn't want to speak some ideas into existence, and also that I couldn't make something like that funny when it was really happening and ruining people's lives. So I changed things up. The mayoral race would always have happened, but I originally intended to put the start of it in the background of the second book and have it culminate in Book 3. R'lyeh would've spent a chunk of this book being punished for her failures in Book 1, effectively taking the metaphysical stuff off the plot table for a while so human nonsense could move to the forefront. Aislyn and São Paulo would've ended up trapped in the Ur with her (hadn't fully worked out how), and that plot would've turned on Aislyn convincing R'lyeh to do a jailbreak. The end of the book would've been Manny's family calling him home.

Book 3: Tentative title: "The Last City" or "The City Unbowed." New York vs. everybody else. With the demagogue president dead (I was planning for him to get eaten by the Ur, painfully and slowly), things would've gotten metaphysical again, with multiple cities coming to life and causing chaos, effectively led by the newly-awakened Chicago. I'd intended the core of this book to be an escalating "cold war" between NYC and Chicago, with their star-crossed romance and Brooklyn's first 100 days as magical mayor (dealing with an ambitious senator attempting to use NYC to establish himself as the next big demagogue) echoing the politics of the living cities. Among other things, it would've turned out that the Ur was manipulating things to cause war between the living cities, via a traitor in Manny's family, in order to weaken the cities and cause the "falling to the bottom of the Tree" problem that you saw in TWWM. I always planned to end with the climactic "all the living cities march to war as ghostly giant robots" scene that happened in TWWM, but I'd planned for R'lyeh to fight alongside them, and they would've been fighting a manifestation of the Ur itself. Probably a Cthulhu-like monster -- but monsters aren't very interesting to me, so as with TWWM the real threat is the Ur's authoritarianism.

So, different but not that different. Not sure I would've been able to fit in everything I'd originally planned; when I first come up with a new series I tend to be big on ideas, but not all of them work when I start writing. As you can see, I retained most of the major plot elements I'd originally planned. I think the biggest loss was the character-specific subplots I had planned. Like, Veneza would've had a blowout with her racist father; Chennai's ancient avatar was going to try and seduce Padmini back home to take over from her (same subplot involving the risk to Padmini's visa status); Brooklyn would've been a badass mayor; Manny and Neek would've gone on some awkward dates and probably had at least one awkward morning after. I would've spent more time on R'lyeh as she basically starts to decolonize herself. We would've gotten a lot more of Evil Manny, and Neek would've had to talk him down/win him back at some point. Also, tentatively I'd originally planned that Neek's revealed name would be "Nueva." Glad I changed my mind about that one.

Sad that it won't happen, but there's always fanfic! (Don't show it to me tho. h/t @seananmcguire )

#answered asks #the great cities

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kobedivision · 10 days

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It was early in the morning when Max awoke to the rays of the sun hitting him from his bedroom window. He was quite used to waking up early, and going days without sleep. It came easy with his job as an assassin high school student. Speaking of which, he sighed as he knew he had to get up and get ready for school. He really didn't know why he had to bother going there. Most of what was taught to him, he probably already knew, or could learn by himself.

Sighing, he figured there was no getting around it. About 20 minutes later, he was ready to leave his house, after making sure Hunter was taken care of. As he opened the door, he stopped as he spotted something beneath his feet.

"What... the...?"

Those were the words he spoke as on his doorstep were several items, all wrapped in boxes. 'Birthday gifts', he thought. While the thought wasn't unappreciated, he wondered just who dropped these off. And how exactly did they do so without him knowing. He was well-known for being observant, more so than the average person. So for someone to plant these items without him or his wolf, Hunter, knowing, it didn't exactly fill him with ease.

Still not happy, Max, nonetheless, brought the items inside, in his living room. There was a total of three of them. Opening the first, his eyes grew wide:

It was... a table fountain, with a wolf decor. It was currently turned off with no water, obviously. But from how it looked, Max could tell it would fit well in his living room. Placing it down, he turned to the next gift.

It was a fleece blanket, again with a wolf decor, but it also had a dreamcatcher display on it. Blinking, Max threw it over his shoulders; it was very warm and comfortable, not that the cold really bothered him much. Taking it off, he folded it up, being sure to use it later. He then turned to the last item, unwrapping the paper it came in:

It was a nightlight, again with a wolf decor. Though the dark didn't bother him, he figured it would help him see better around his cabin at night. Plus, the howling wolf was a nice touch.

He quite liked all of these gifts, but it still didn't answer the question of who it was that sent them. It was then he noticed a paper on the fountain that he opened up. Picking it up, he looked as it was a note, which read:

"Happy birthday to you, Max! Sorry I delivered these to you so late at night. I received a notification on my phone that it was your birthday, so I had to hurry to a shop that was still open and buy these for you! I know how big a fan you are of wolves, so I thought you'd appreciate these! Truthfully, it was hard figuring what stuff to get since I know you're a private guy, but I hope you like them! Happy birthday again, dude! See you at school in the morning!

Sincerely,

Zakari.

P.S. Your wolf is vicious, bro! He almost bit me once or twice when he saw me dropping these off! I was glad I still had my leftover turkey sandwich to give him. He's a good guard dog, but you need to make less hostile!"

Max stared at the note and then looked back at the gifts before sighing, despite everything, he wasn’t really that upset, sure he didn’t appreciate being caught off guard but he’d rather it be Zakari than anyone that poses more of a threat. Despite their odd (and mostly one-sided) friendship, Max was starting to get used to the daredevil’s presence, so much so that he even started to refer to him as ‘Jackal’ due to his cleverness and opportunistic nature. This just only proved to Max that despite how loud and spontaneous Zakari can be, he wasn’t that bad of a guy, at least not enough to be on Max’s radar, the gifts were nice and he wondered on what he should do to pay him back.

A bark snapped him out of his thoughts, looking down to see Hunter looking at his owner expectantly, Max leaned down to pat the wolf on the head before saying. “I know that he’s…a lot…but try…not to take…a chunk…out of him…next time…” All Hunter did was stare Max in the eye and barking, which the brunette knew that that was the wolf’s way of saying ‘We’ll see’ making Max roll his eyes with a slight grin. Taking hold of the gifts once again, Max decided to just leave them on the table, he could always deal with them later when he got back from school, hopefully today would go by fast, if he could help it, he’d rather not start off his birthday by sitting in the principal’s office for nearly killing a few students. Again.

Thank you for the gift!

#hypmic oc #hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #max soukoku #zakari hiroya #happy birthday max 2024 #gift #kunnaki

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renee-writer · 2 years

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The Birth of My Huge Baby

Joshua ‘s brother came two and half years after him. Unlike the previous pregnancy, this second one was tough. I was placed on bed rest at six months because the size of the baby was irritating my uterus. It caused contractions. Despite this, he was almost two weeks late.

My best friend, at the time, was also pregnant. Her baby, a girl named Paula, after her dad, came on my son’s due date, early, and he came on hers. We joked he was waiting for Paula to tell him it was okay.

I was scheduled for a stress test that morning. I woke up to the pains. They were already strong. Despite leaving right away for the hospital, they were three minutes apart when we got there. I stopped at the entrance, leaned against a pole, an battled through one. I can still see the look on the poor older man that was working transport that early morning. “I only take them up. I don’t deliver them.” He feared me delivering in the elevator. I did too.

I was at two minutes apart and at seven centimeters, when I made it to the labor floor. It would seem this would be an easy delivery. I was wrong. Pushing lasts for hours. So long that I was taken in to surgery in case a C-section was needed.

Sprawled out, on an operating table, my feet in stirrups, spread as far out as possible, I labored to bring my second child out. He would crown and go back in, again and again. Finally after three hours, the midwife asked the nurse to fetch the doctor. They were planning on surgery. Then, my stubborn son, popped his head out.

A few more huge pushes and a tear that went to my anus, and he was born. Screaming before he was fully out, he let all know, he didn’t appreciate leaving the warm home.

The nurse’s , “This can’t be right.” Draws my attention. What is wrong with my son? “Nothing it is just, he is a big boy.

Indeed he was. The biggest recorded born at the hospital, at that time. Ten pounds and thirteen and a half ounces while measuring twenty-three inches, he was a huge chunk of a baby. They had to send down for mittens for pediatrics, as the little gowns only went up so far on his arms.

I knew he would be Hannah Michelle, if a girl but was going between two for a boy. Nathan Levi or Nathaniel Lee. When he came so big, the choice was obvious.

Nathaniel Lee came home two days later in three to six months clothes. He was wearing a year at six months. Today he is a hair under seven feet. Still my very big boy.

Oh and Joshua loved him. There was no huge issues with sibling rivalry. Not then anyway.

#my writing #first person narrative #personal writing #the second birth #a huge baby #seriously big y'all

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tomurasprincess · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 22: Zombie (Voracious)

Day 22: Zombie Title: Voracious Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: Noncon, necrophilia (cause zombie), predator/prey, biting, marking, blood play, yandere Note: Thank you so much to @thewheezingwyvern who is always down to help me without batting an eye when I go “so, zombie plague...what are some good symptoms? And yes, the zombie is going to fuck you.” Also, for the love of everything that is unholy, please mind the warnings. Do not read the fic and come to me to tell me how disgusting it was. Trust me, I know. :)

Kinktober Masterlist

The country of Japan is dead. Or at least close enough that the distinction doesn’t matter.

Several months ago, an aggressive virus leaked from a quirk research facility and spread through the population like wildfire. Nobody was informed about what was going on, and nobody was warned when the virus first began to hit the cities. Officials kept it as quiet as possible, hoping to contain the spread before it got out of control. And before anyone knew how big of a mistake they had made.

But it was far too late for any sort of containment. The virus already spread fast in a lab environment, and it was even faster as it tore through an unprepared population.

The first sign of contracting the virus is tiredness and body aches. The infected simply thought they caught a minor illness, and they continued their business as usual, expecting it to go away on its own. But as the virus continues to spread through their body, the tissues start to die and they develop intense fevers and headaches. By the time the infection makes its way to the brain, confusion and outright delirium has begun to occur.

The infected are wild by this point, feral to the point of attacking, biting, and eating the uninfected. The ones who were bitten and survived had the site of their wound swell and turn agonizing to the touch, and they would suffer the same progression as the other infected.

The final stage is always the same though. Once the black rot of plague starts appearing on your skin and spreading like the branches of a tree, it’s too late.

The worst part is that the infected still have use of their quirks, and the devastation has been immense. Super powered heroes and villains with their minds rotting and decaying from infection, losing the ability to distinguish friend from foe. In some areas, the casualties were even worse from fighting than they were from the virus itself.

Somehow, you have managed to keep yourself alive and stay away from the worst in-fighting and the areas with the highest concentration of infected. Still though, it is a surprise to you. You’re simply a quirkless nobody with no way to defend yourself.

You have seen so many better, stronger people die right in front of you, leaving you forced to continue on alone.

You sigh as you scavenge through an old building that was once a store, looking for more supplies. Yours are dangerously low, and your dry mouth and grumbling stomach tells you that you need to find something quickly, before you become too weak to continue on.

You practically jump out of your skin when you hear the banging of items hitting the ground from deeper within the store. It might be survivors, or it might be the infected. The thought briefly occurs to you that you need to check to make sure, but you quickly shake it away.

Survivors or not, you didn’t come this far by being careless. But as you inch quietly towards the exit, you see a flash of red eyes from within the darkness as something emerges.

No, not something. Someone.

One of the infected.

It’s clear that he’s in the late stages of infection, the black rot spreading out through his body, but most notably his left leg which he drags limply. He’s wearing what are essentially black rags that flow out from behind him, leaving his chest bare so that you can see more of the black spiderwebs of rot twining outwards.

His eyes zoom in on you, narrowing slightly as you stand there frozen in fear. Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, but is really mere seconds. You break out of your trance first, turning on your heel and running for the door. The infected pursues you instantly, jumping over a table rather than running around it to save time. The move is a sign of intelligence that instantly fills you with dread. By this stage, the infected are usually too confused and delirious to remember such things.

You make it to the door with him hot on your heels. You’ve always considered yourself a fast runner, especially lately, but this is an entirely different story. He’s fast, too fast. The infected are not supposed to be like this, especially not with a bad leg. But yet he is quickly catching up to you as you dart through streets you know so well.

You realize that your only chance is to lose him somehow, as you’re never going to be able to outrun him. Your breath is coming in harsh pants already, a stitch burning in your side as you make a sharp, desperate right turn into an alleyway.

An alleyway with a dead end.

This area was clear just a week ago, but now it looks like an infected hero or villain used their quirk to collapse both buildings in the area, causing massive chunks of cement and debris to block the road out. There is no way to climb over the rubble and no handholds or stairs to use to climb up the buildings. You’re completely trapped.

You whirl around quickly, hoping to get out before the infected catches up with you. But you’re too late. He’s already standing at the entrance of the alley, staring you down with heated red eyes. A sharp burst of awareness fills you as you realize exactly who this is. The leader of the League of Villains, Shigaraki Tomura, whose whereabouts have been speculated on for weeks along with the rest of his villain group.

No wonder he’s so fast and so dangerous. The infected retain some level of awareness and ability from the time before, and Shigaraki was one of the most deadly villains in the country.

And if the way he’s acting towards you is any indication, he still is.

You take a step back. He takes a step forward. Another step back. Another step forward. You scan through your chances of getting out of this alive and uninfected, but your mind comes up with nothing.

Your back hits a wall abruptly, and in your split second distraction, the infected is on you. You’re pulled roughly to the ground, hands barely breaking your fall as you land on your front. This is it, you think to yourself, I’m about to be eaten. All this time of running away, of watching people you care about die, all for nothing.

You can’t stop yourself from trembling as you try to brace for the pain of being devoured. But instead, he leans down and buries his face into your neck, sniffing the skin deeply as he pushes your body further onto the ground. His hips are bucking against the curve of your ass, and with dawning horror, you realize exactly what the hard bulge in his pants is.

He grabs your pants and you watch as decay overtakes them and dissolves them into ash. He decays your shirt and bra next, leaving you bare from the waist up and shivering from the cold of his body pressed against you. You’re too scared to move, too scared to do anything.

But when he reaches for your panties, that’s when your paralysis finally breaks and fear takes over. You try to lift yourself up from the ground to run, only to hear a snarl as teeth sink into the flesh of your neck.

You go limp with a choked sob, losing any and all desire to try and get away. It’s all over now. That one single moment has doomed you to infection and madness. The pain of the bite is nothing compared to the despair you feel.

He lets out a pleased hum at your sudden obedience, pulling your panties aside as you feel something cold and hard prodding at your entrance. You barely have time to comprehend what’s happening before your pussy is filled with one sharp thrust of the creature’s hips. The infected aren’t supposed to do this, aren’t supposed to have these urges, you think wildly to yourself. This can’t be happening, it’s not possible.. But it is happening. You’re being taken by this creature like a wild animal in a back alley.

And then he is moving, hips slapping against your ass as his throbbing length pounds into you. There is no gentleness, no precision, just deep, feral thrusts that have you unwillingly clenching. He’s thicker than you’re used to, and the pain of your muscles stretching around him causes you to whine from the back of your throat.

This shouldn’t feel good. You should be horrified, disgusted. You should be fighting tooth and nail to get away, even though it’s hopeless since you’re already infected. But the cold of his cock pressing against your warm walls has your head spinning from the contrast.

He hits a soft, spongy spot inside of you, and you let out a squeal as your stomach tightens. The teeth are removed from your neck, only to bite down in another spot on the other side. He ruthlessly breaks skin, causing blood to run down your front and drip onto the pavement below.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, everything so overly sensitive as his cock forces your walls to stretch open even further as he gets rougher. The hands gripping your hips feel warmer than they were before, fingers digging hard enough into your skin to create bruises. The grunts and groans leaving his throat are positively lewd, and he takes his mouth away only to bite down in between your shoulder blades.

Your scream echoes through the alley as the teeth penetrate flesh, his tongue lapping at the bite and taking deep swallows of your blood. You try to imagine yourself somewhere else, anywhere else so that you don’t think of the pressure building up inside of you and the pain from the throbbing bites now decorating you.

Your nails dig hard into the cement below you as you try to ground yourself and ignore what’s happening, but Shigaraki doesn’t seem to appreciate that at all. He smacks his hand hard against your ass, keeping his pinky raised delicately off your skin in a way that has you worried about his level of awareness.

Now that your attention is firmly back on him, he bites the back of your neck, and you can’t stop the howl that leaves your throat when you feel your skin break, or the orgasm that wracks your body as you feel blood trail down the column of your neck and down in between your breasts.

Tears run down your face as humiliation burns through you, the shame of cumming around this infected villain’s cock almost too much to bear. Almost worse than the fact that you’ll soon be just like him.

“M-m-m - “

Your eyes widen as you glance behind you, seeing the infected concentrating hard as he tries to get words out. He’s stopped thrusting, as if he’s trying to focus entirely on whatever he wants to say. As he opens his mouth, you see his teeth stained with your blood and the sight shoots straight to your core.

“M-m-mine,” he finally manages to stutter out, “mine.” He forces your head down onto the pavement as he begins to ruthlessly pound into you. The infected don’t speak, they’re not supposed to speak -

“Mine,” he snarls, almost as if he heard your thoughts and is trying to prove you wrong.

You’re oversensitive and wet from your previous orgasm, allowing him to fuck you deeply, hitting your cervix with every thrust. You can feel your pussy dripping your juices all over his cock, and the wet squelching noises that fill the alleyway has you shaking with embarrassment.

“Mine, mine mine,” he chants as he bites again and again, each time pausing long enough to take gulps of your blood. Your head is spinning, lightheadedness from blood loss overtaking you. The ground below you has puddles of your own blood where it drips down, and you briefly think that maybe you really will be eaten right here and now instead of being infected and left to wander.

His hand comes in between your bodies to stroke tight circles against your swollen clit as he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Mine,” he whispers darkly. “Why else would I stumble across the cure for the plague if you weren’t meant to be mine?”

Cure for the plague? That’s not possible, there’s no cure for the plague, and you’re completely quirkless -

He bites down one last time, sinking his teeth into the back of your neck and holding you there like a dog refusing to let go of a bone. You realize why immediately when he groans into your heated skin, warmth spreading through your core as he shoots hot ropes of cum directly against your cervix. The pain of his teeth buried into your flesh has you thrown over the edge as well, legs trembling and eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He removes his teeth from your neck once he’s emptied himself inside of you, letting you go as you collapse onto the ground. You roll over enough to meet his eyes, seeing sharp intelligence and contemplation. The black rot is quickly disappearing, color returning to his skin. Within no time at all, you can no longer tell he was ever infected.

“How - I don’t - I’m quirkless - “

“No, you’re not.” He states it matter of factly, as if it was already known. “You have a quirk, it just didn’t have a purpose until the plague. Your blood carries the cure.”

You consider everything that happened, realizing that the more blood he drank, the more human he seemed. The faster the infection was being cured. He snorts at the look of disbelief and then understanding on your face. “With you on my side, I can remake society exactly the way that I want.”

“I am not on your fucking side! You’re a villain who just - “ You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, but Shigaraki has no issues doing it for you.

“A villain who just fucked you and got you off? Such a dirty girl, getting off around infected cock.”

Your face heats up and you instantly glance away, drawing another chuckle from his throat. “I won’t help you,” you say stubbornly, ignoring his previous words.

“Who said I was giving you a choice?” His fingers dig into your arm as he pulls you off the ground. “You belong to me now, and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Just think about the power I have now. I control who stays infected and who gets cured. No more hero society.” His voice has taken on an excited, almost manic tone as he considers the possibilities.

“Are you - are you going to let them do what you just did?” You whisper quietly, a single tear running down your face at being used the same way by other people.

He instantly scowls at you. “Of course not.”

You perk up just a bit, until you hear his next words.

“I’ll let you be a blood bag, but for everything else - you’re mine. And I don’t like to share.” He begins to drag you back the way that you came, walking with purpose.

“Now come along. We have so much work to do.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @ichor-and-symbiosis, @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @fae-father, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @emplosion22, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main

#kinktober 2020 #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki #mha x reader #mha smut #yandere mha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #yandere bnha #bnha kinktober #mha kinktober #tw: noncon #tw: necro #tw: blood play

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fairytaless · 4 years

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Experimenting

Category: one-shot

Characters: Willy Wonka x reader

Warnings: ehh none! quite short, but still sweet fluff <.>

for my darling friend @reinabell <3

“Will? Will, i’m back from the store!” You walked in one of the many rooms that are engraved within his ginormous factory. The one of which was one of your favorites, the invention room.

“Where should I put this stuff?” You called, but he was simply zoned out. He was too busy looking over his new candies, one of which was a soft chocolate caramel bar with marshmallow chunks hidden within its wonderful mouth watering layers. The machine was having trouble perfecting the formula, and he was heavily frustrated. It has taken him weeks now...something that he believed to be so simple, had its complications.

You rolled your eyes and put the box of supplies from the store on one of the nearest tables. You noticed his hat, which was placed nearby. You let out a sigh again.... you knew he rarely took off his hat. And when he did, he was stressed.

You and Mr. Wonka met on one of his rare days in the town. He was getting his shoes shined by one of the many street shiners that lined the blocks. You immediately recognized his eccentric look. Both of you made eye contact, and you took this as an invention to talk with him. He was awkward and coarse, something you’d expect from him, but even then, he had a sort of flare in his eyes, which you particularly liked about him. It drew you in, despite some of his discourteous phrases. You two became acquainted, and by his next visit, he invited you into his factory. It didn’t take long for you to have a permanent stay at his chocolate factory. And now, he likes to call you his “apprentice”. Something that you didn’t mind, you actually found it a bit funny, but you knew it was more than that. The word, “friends” wouldn’t even be enough of a word to describe your relationship. You knew it was something...off putting. But not in a bad sort of way, but in a way that gives you a warm nudge in your heart. A sort of intuition, to describe it, but you didn’t know how he felt.

“what? oh yeah, thanks..Y/n.... I... I think it’s complete!” He turned his heel towards you and smiled. You ran over to his machine, waiting for the invention machine to spring out the anticipating bar.

“You think it will come out right this time? You know Will, I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Don’t know, will have to have one of the Oompa Loompa’s come in...”

The machine dinged, and the chocolate bar slid out. Before Wonka could call out to one of his experimenters, you took a piece of the bar a threw it in your mouth.

“Now y/n, I wouldn’t....”

“It tastes amazing-“ you stated in the middle of your chewing, “I taste the marshmallows! Now the caramel! The caramel doesn’t stick!” You expressed.

In utter excitement, you wrap your arms around him and force him to turn with you.

“Wonka, you did it! It tastes so divine!”

a smile formed on his face, you were so lost in excitement that you couldn’t pay attention to what his expression was after.

Suddenly, you feel a gentle touch on your lips, a soft feeling, and you knew what it was. You open your eyes to see Will looking down at you with wide eyes.

Your heart dropped, he had placed a quick kiss on you. Out of excitement? Or out of appreciation? No idea, but it didn’t matter.

And, neither to Mr. Wonka. His expression was awkward. Shocked, sure, but fearful.

He backed away, and awkward silence followed. Then, a surprising turn of mood. He smiled, “sorry,” there was a pause, “well then, uh, where were we?”

You gave out a small chuckle and made your way towards him.

“Will-“ He stood still, his face dreading the next words that would fall out of your mouth.

You grabbed his hat from the counter on which he put it on, and you starting playing with its trimmings.

“I was thinking,” you looked up to meet his eyes, “I think ‘apprentice’ is, do I dare say, outdated?”

You reached up, and put his hat firmly on his head, and looked at him in the eyes, “maybe one day.....you will look at me as..... more than just a simple trainee?”

You leaned up, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. In the moment, the kiss felt like forever, you could feel the emotions, his stressed emotions finally united with your eased ones.

You pulled away. And your eyes met once more. For a moment, you two said nothing. Expressionless and calm. Then suddenly, a smirk began to form on his face, and with that, he lifted your chin.

You knew. You knew your emotions were correct, you were finally met with truth of why there was tension in his voice when he called you his ‘apprentice’. You knew he felt the same, you knew the outcome of this little moment, and one day, the factory would have two very rightful owners....

Authors note: Hey everyone! Like all my works, comments and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! As I stated with my other Wonka one-shot, he is quite a character to perfect. I often make these short for that reason. Comments on his character and his mannerisms would help me a ton for future works, and hopefully I can write longer stories with him! Thank you all so much for reading! Have a great day!

Also... ignore the people behind the Gif’s.... Wonka and you are quite alone haha!

#willy wonka x reader #Johnny Depp x reader #Johnny Depp characters x reader

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graceloveswolves · 4 years

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Insatiable Pt3

Okay so I wasn’t planning on making a part 3 originally but I just love this idea so much so here you guys go!

________________________

Today was the day.

I was standing with my mate Resmond. He had on a suit, and I had worn a red sparkly dress, it stopped above my knees and had a loose and open back, resting against my hips. Clara had picked it out for me, she always had such better taste in clothes then I have had.

“The venue is lovely, kind of a shame we didn’t have a huge wedding don’t you think?” Res had envied, looking around at the snow covered ground, the landscape was breath taking. I looked at the winter wonderland themed wedding, it looked like something out of a movie. Everything was perfectly placed, not a single flaw in the setting.

“No. Our wedding was perfect. It was special.” I disagreed, taking his hand and wrapping it around my shoulders. I stood on my tiptoes, and whispered against his ear.

“But if you want to redo our wedding night I have no complaints here.” I felt him stiffen as he looked down at me, raising his eyebrow with a surprised smirk plastered on his face. “That was very bold of you. Don’t tempt me love, Clara’s been dying to throw another wedding.” He replied, eyeing the curious blonde across the venue, that was talking to Irinia-one of the Denali sisters.

I smiled at the sight, she always was good at making new friends. I let my gaze wander, taking it the different crowds of vampires from around the world. Suddenly I stiffened, my icy heart dropping to the pit of my stomach. I felt as if I was going to puke, which wouldn’t be possible but none the less.

I had accidentally made eye contact with a familiar pixie that I would’ve known anywhere.

“Oh no.” I gasped, dropping my gaze to the ground beneath me as I saw her making her way towards me. Resmond had put two and two together, letting his arm fall from my shoulders and pushing me behind him.

“That’s close enough.” Resmond demanded, however not phasing Alice in the slightest. Then without a single beat, a familiar cowboy had made his presence near Alice.

“Jasper. Alice.” I stated their names, pulling Res back a few steps, as a signal that everything was okay. I felt unusually calm, no doubt in my mind that Jasper had been using his mojo on all of us. “This is my mate, Resmond. Res, this is Alice Cullen and Jasper Hale, they are from my old coven.” I introduced the pair, glad that the tension was slowly fading.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jasper had politely nodded towards Resmond, who seemed calm and collected now. “Well, Im going to find Clinton. He’s no doubt already in some sort of trouble. I’ll leave you to catch up with your friends. If you need me...” he trailed off, already knowing that I knew the drill.

“Yes, have fun.” I dismissed Resmond, he was not good at making new friends, and I didn’t expect him to want to get to know the family I had left behind. Once he was gone, I had looked at my old sister.

“Well...Aren’t you going to give me a hug?” Alice asked, opening her arms up to me. I smiled, practically jumping into her arms. I had felt such bliss, reuniting with Alice. She had always had such a bubbly and happy personality. Once I had broken from her grasp, I turned to Jasper, who also given me a quick but loving hug.

“How have you guys been? I’m sorry I have been such a stranger. It’s just with everything that happened with...” I couldn’t bring myself to say his name aloud. Thought I already knew I didn’t have to. “We have been good, we have been in Ithaca for awhile. Jasper’s enrolled as a philosophy student and Carlisle works nights.” Alice said, shocking me.

“You left Forks?” I questioned the short pixie in front of me, I wondered if that’s why Carlisle was looking for me. Maybe he didn’t want to leave me behind in case I had decided to come back. But why? They had such a perfect set up in Forks. They should be leaving until another few years. Then the realization had hit me, they must’ve gotten in trouble with the human, why else had they flee from a perfectly normal town.

“Yes. Edward hadn’t wanted to stay there anymore, so we left.” Jasper answered for his mate. I could practically roll my eyes, of course, Carlisle would have done anything for his precious Edward.

Carlisle.

My eyes widened, I turned to Alice, surely she’d seen me ask the questioned I had been dying to ask since I saw her. She looked at me with sympathy, nodding her head.

“Yes. He is here. Over by the river.” Alice responded to the question I hadn’t asked out loud. Suddenly music had started to play, to which I nodded in gratefulness as Jasper pulled her into the dance floor. I smiled at the couple as they started to dance. They had completed each other’s life, it made me happy that nothing has changed between them.

I then gazed over by the river that was a few hundred yards from the venue. There was a few vampires chatting at the tables that had been placed there, however my eyes fell on the one vampire sitting by himself. The blonde vampire was at the edge of the river farthest from the others, sitting in solitude. Or more like waiting. I bet Alice had seen this beforehand. Maybe she even planned it all herself. There was no telling when it came to her.

I was near the river in seconds, deciding to walk the next few yards. I felt the pit in my stomach grow bigger by each step I had taken, growing closer and closer to my creator. I didn’t dare to look up to see if he had taken notice in my figure, I already knew that he probably had. Instead I became very focused on the snow beneath me, watching as I left a shoe print with each step.

Part of me had wanted to turn around and go back to the dance floor, maybe dance with Resmond or Braxton. Chat with Clara, or even with my old siblings in the Cullen clan. But despite all of the anxiety and regret, deep down I had craved seeing Carlisle. I needed to have this talk to him, then I could finally move on. Then I could finally be happy with Resmond.

Once I had gotten to the edge of the river, I had sat down next to Carlisle. I didn’t look at him, I just took in his smell, which I haven’t smelt in over a year. Nor had I been this close to him since the falling out. It was quiet, we just sat and looked at the river in front of us, listening to it flow freely.

I could feel his stare burning into the side of my face. He had been waiting for me to speak, but I was still trying to find the right words to say. I grabbed a fist full of snow that had laid beside me.

Don’t be a coward.

“What a wonderful wedding, don’t you think?” I had finally spoken. Trying to break the silence, hopefully that didn’t sound as stupid as I thought it did. I had finally turned to face him, to which I was right, he had been staring at my face. He seemed somewhat mad when he had met my eyes.

“You never came back.” He responded, making me look back out into the river. He had not felt the need to beat around the bush apparently. Getting straight it the point I guess.

“I didnt see the need. You made it clear that I was never on your list of priorities Carlisle.” I tossed a chunk of snow in the water, watching the ripples fade away as the snow melted into the river.

“You were my very first creation Y/n, I spent the majority of my life with you, you were always one of my top priorities.” He defended himself.

“You certainly had a unique way of showing it. Tell me, what was the real reason you left Forks? Was it because of the human?” I pressed, my way of indirectly telling him I told you so.

“You were right. I am sorry I hadn’t listened to you the first time. But you did not have to disappear, I would have given you your space, you didn’t have to leave me wondering every day whether or not you were even alive.”

“You had Edward, you didn’t need me. And look, I’m still alive.” I gestured to myself, looking back at the man who I spend more then half my exsistence with. He had a pained look on his face, his eyes eyeing me up and down.

“Edward was not my first creation, I did not spend over 200 years with him alone. Did you know how much pain you put me in? I spend every day thinking of ways to get you back. You were mine, and I had lost you. You were the only one I did not worry about leaving, and you did.”

“Well I’m not yours anymore. You couldn’t appreciate what you had while you had it. I found someone else who does, every single night.” I rubbed in, snapping at him.

There was silence between us for a few moments. Carlisle looked like he was thinking, trying to find something to say to defend himself, but even he knew his errors in his treatment towards me. He had sighed, giving up.

“Are you happy?” He had asked me.

“Yes.”

I had responded immediately, I raised my left hand up, flashing him my wedding ring that Resmond had proposed to me.

“ Well I guess that’s all the matters.” Carlisle had said, he had a tint of sadness in his voice.

“What about Esme? Haven’t you two gotten married already?” I brought up his mate. He had refused any intentions of marrying her in the past, but I had secretly knew he loved her, he just didn’t want to upset me.

“We eloped, she is at home with Edward. She didn’t want to leave him, not in his state. He had taken it hard, leaving Bella behind.” Carlisle explained.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.” I had given my sorrows to him.

“Thank you.”

Once again we had been left in silence. I debated on saying something, but I had heard footprints behind us.

“Y/n my Love, would you like to dance?” I heard Resmond from behind me.

I looked back at Carlisle, who had smiled softly at me. “Well, I guess it’s finally time to let you live your life. Have a nice life Y/n, go be happy.” Carlisle had gestured to Resmond. I smiled, nodding back at him.

“You too Carlisle. Thank you, for giving me this life.” To which I gave him one last look, before turning around hand in hand with Resmond.

I had felt peace.

I knew deep down it wouldn’t be the last time I saw Carlisle, but I could finally let go of him. I could start my new life with Resmond, who I loved and he loved me back.

And that was all I needed.

#twilight vampires #carlisle cullen requests #carlisle cullen oneshots #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen x reader angst #carlisle cullen angst #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle x reader #carlisle cullen #twilight x reader #twilight #twilight imagines

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 3 years

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I'm so sorry your day has been a bad one, sending you all the positive vibes 💛💛💛

And also an angsty ask (but only if it inspires!)

Billy (and Tommy, if you wanna do kegboys) forgetting Steve's birthday.

Maybe there's just been a LOT happening, maybe he knew about it and lost track of time and only realises the day after? Maybe it's on the day of a big basketball game and Billy has focused on THAT instead. Maybe you can think of an even better reason?

And maybe Steve acts all 'oh it's fine' but he's so so hurt really and he's struggling to hide it? Or does he snap and get angry and see it as a final straw?

Steve was used to neglect. Especially got used to disappointment on his birthday. He sometimes got a card in the mail from his mother. He attempted to convince himself it was because of weird transit, but it was usually a month late.

The point was, he never expected anything.

Then, Billy came along and he intercepted Steve’s life and made everything a little better. He let himself dust off the birthday hat and metaphorically placed it on his own head. Thinking that Billy had to have something planned. Right? They’d been together for almost a year. A whole year.

But, as June 19th appeared above the horizon with the telling rising sun, Billy didn’t say a thing. Didn’t call, nor stop by. He didn’t even show up that evening. In fact, by the time the day had hit 4pm, Steve had completely lost hope.

He went out and got his own, store bought, cake like he did every year since he was eleven. He made some chicken parmigiana and lit a candle as the ticking of the clock echoed around the room obnoxiously.

The front door opened as he was cutting himself a slice of cake, chocolate crumbs leaving a trail to his plate. He sucked off the blue frosting that he scraped off the knife and picked up his fork. Whoever it was could let him have the last moments of his pity party.

“Hey, Steve,” Billy’s, unusually cheery, voice traveled through the kitchen and into the living room. He held a big paper bag and a cake in his other hand. “Sorry, Susan was preparing all this shit for Father’s Day and she can’t use a hand mixer right so—” He stopped and stared at the plates on the table, already used. “What’s going on here?” he furrowed his brow.

Steve looked back down and cut off a chunk of cake, “I’m celebrating my twentieth alone, per usual. So,” he shrugged and dragged the fork up to his mouth, “Not much.” Billy didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, or how truly unconcerned Steve was.

“Why didn’t you wait for me? I bought you dinner and cake!” he set the things down on the table. The smell of red sauce from the old diner in town recognizable. Steve chewed and watched as Billy dropped down into a chair on his right.

“Billy, it’s eight thirty at night, no one eats that late.”

Billy stared at the cake Steve had taken a slice out of, “Some people do.” Steve shook his head with the barest smile and took the knife to start cutting another slice. For his, belated, companion. “It’s fine,” Billy sat back in his chair, “We can just celebrate tomorrow.” The knife hit the bottom of the container and he kept it there.

“No,” he replied quietly, “I don’t want to.”

He didn’t look at Billy, “What do you mean?”

Steve shrugged, “What’s the point? The day will be over, there’s no point.”

Billy reached over and pried his hand off the knife handle, “But, it’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated.”

Steve still didn’t look over, “Today was my birthday, tomorrow is tomorrow.” He slid his hand away from Billy’s, “We’re not going to pretend just so it makes you feel better.” Billy scoffed, but it wasn’t mocking, he didn’t seem to get it.

“I just want to give you your special day.”

Steve made a face, “I’m going to bed,” he stood up.

Billy stood up after him, “Already? You haven’t even finished your cake yet.” Steve sighed, held it out too, just to show Billy how tired he was.

“I don’t want to. Why don’t you take it with you? It’ll be worth more to you than it would to me anyway.”

“Now hold on, Ste—”

“Goodnight, Billy. I’m done, I hate my birthday. And you didn’t make that any different. Okay?” he finally turned around. Billy looked like he was either going to cry or leave. And, by how close Steve was to doing the same, he didn’t do what he normally would have. Instead, he stayed put. “I guess I didn’t wish hard enough last year, huh?”

Billy looked ashamed, “What was your wish last year?” Steve licked his gums to try and swallow down the bitter taste of lingering buttercream.

“That I wouldn’t have to decorate my own cake again.”

Billy stared, horrified, “Oh….”

Steve lingered a moment and then turned, “Goodnight, William.” He went so slow, the stairs barely creaked.

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #harringrove #billy/steve #awe shit. i didn’t see the kegboys comment up there #welp. you get harringrove because i somehow didn’t see that >:)#tw mentioned neglect

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destiny-smasher · 3 years

Text

Life is Strange: True Colors

Leading up to the release of Episode 1 of TellTale's The Walking Dead game, I was working freelance for GameRevolution at the time, lived in the area, and had the chance to play a build of the game to write a preview on it. I remember comparing it to Mass Effect because, at the time, there just...weren't games of that subgenre. Of course, by now we've seen an explosion of this type of game - the 'narrative/choice-driven game,' spearheaded and even oversaturated by Telltale to their own demise.

Out of all of the games that have come from that initial boom, Life is Strange by DontNod was and still is the most influential on my life, but I also have always harbored really conflicted feelings about it - especially with how it resolved its narrative. Hell, if you're reading this, you're probably aware that I spent a few years of my life creating a sequel fanstory which I even adapted a chunk of into visual novel format. Hundreds of thousands of words, days and days of life spent essentially trying to process and reconcile my conflicted feelings about this game's conclusion(s). Since then, I've been experimenting with interactive fiction and am currently developing my own original visual novel using everything I've learned from both creating and playing games in this genre. It's a subgenre of game I have a lot of interest and passion for because, when handled well, it can allow a player to sort of co-direct a guided narrative experience in a way that's unique compared to strictly linear cinematic experiences but still have a curated, focused sense of story.

Up until this point, I've regarded Night in the Woods as probably the singular best game of this style, with others like Oxenfree and The Wolf Among Us as other high marks. I've never actually put any Life is Strange game quite up there - none of them have reached that benchmark for me, personally. Until now, anyway.

But now, I can finally add a new game to that top tier, cream of the crop list. Life is Strange: True Colors is just damn good. I'm an incredibly critical person as it is - and that critique usually comes from a place of love - so you can imagine this series has been really hard to for me given that I love it, and yet have never truly loved any actual full entry in it. I have so many personal issues, quibbles, qualms, and frustration with Life is Strange: with every individual game, with how it has been handled by its publisher (my biggest issue at this point, actually), with how it has seemingly been taken away from its original development studio, with how it chooses to resolve its narratives...

But with True Colors, all of those issues get brushed aside long enough for me to appreciate just how fucking well designed it is for this style of game. I can appreciate how the development team, while still clearly being 'indie' compared to other dev teams working under Square-Enix, were able to make such smart decisions in how to design and execute this game. Taken on its own merits, apart from its branding, True Colors is absolutely worth playing if you enjoy these 'telltale' style games. Compared to the rest of the series, I would argue it's the best one so far, easily. I had a lot of misgivings and doubts going in, and in retrospect, those are mostly Square-Enix's fault. Deck Nine, when given the freedom to make their own original game in the same vein as the previous three, fucking nailed it as much as I feel like they could, given the kinds of limitations I presume they were working within.

I'm someone who agonizes every single time there is news for Life is Strange as a series - someone who essentially had to drop out of the fandom over infighting, then dropped out of even being exposed to the official social media channels for it later on (I specifically have the Square-Enix controlled channels muted). I adore Max and Chloe, and as a duo, as a couple, they are one of my top favorites not just in gaming, but in general. They elevated the original game to be something more than the sum of its parts for me. And while I have enjoyed seeing what DontNod has made since, it's always been their attention to detail in environmental craftsmanship, in tone and atmosphere, which has caught my interest. They're good at creating characters with layers, but imo they've never nailed a narrative arc. They've never really hit that sweet spot that makes a story truly resonate with me. Deck Nine's previous outing, Before the Storm, was all over the place, trying to mimic DontNod while trying to do its own things - trying to dig deeper into concepts DontNod deliberately left open for interpretation while also being limited in what it could do as a prequel.

But with True Colors, those awkward shackles are (mostly) off. They have told their own original story, keeping in tone and concept with previous Life is Strange games, and yet this also feels distinctly different in other ways.

Yes, protagonist Alex Chen is older than previous characters, and most of the characters in True Colors are young adults, as opposed to teenagers. Yes, she has a supernatural ability. And yes, the game is essentially a linear story with some freedom in how much to poke around at the environment and interact with objects/characters, with the primary mechanic being making choices which influence elements of how the story plays out. None of this is new to the genre, or even Life is Strange. But the execution was clearly planned out, focused, and designed with more caution and care than games like this typically get.

A smaller dev team working with a budget has to make calls on how to allocate that budget. With True Colors, you will experience much fewer locales and environments than you will in Life is Strange 2. Fewer locations than even Life is Strange 1, by my count. But this reinforces the game's theming. I suspect the biggest hit to the game's budget was investing in its voice acting (nothing new for this series) but specifically in the motion capture and facial animation.

You have a game about a protagonist trying to fit in to a small, tightly knit community. She can read the aura of people's emotions and even read their minds a little. And the game's budget and design take full advantage of this. You spend your time in a small main street/park area, a handful of indoor shops, your single room apartment. It fits within a tighter budget, but it reinforces the themes the game is going for. Your interactions with characters are heightened with subtle facial cues and microexpressions, which also reinforces the mechanic and theming regarding reading, accepting, and processing emotions. And you get to make some choices that influence elements of this - influenced by the town, influenced by the emotions of those around you, which reinforce the main plot of trying to navigate a new life in a small town community.

When I think about these types of games, the conclusion is always a big deal. In a way, it shouldn't be, because I usually feel it's about the journey, not the destination. And as an example, I actually really dislike the ending of the original Life is Strange. I think it's a lot of bullshit in many ways. The setpiece is amazing and epic, sure, but the actual storytelling going on is...really hollow for me. Yes, the game does subtly foreshadow in a number of ways that this is the big choice it's leading up to, but the game never actually makes sense of it. And the problem is, if your experience is going to end on a big ol' THIS or THAT kind of moment, it needs to make sense or the whole thing will fall apart as soon as the credits are rolling and the audience spends a moment to think about what just happened. When you look at the end of Season 1 of Telltale's The Walking Dead, it's not powerful just because of what choice you're given, but because through the entire final episode, we know the stakes - we know what is going to ultimately happen, and we know the end of the story is fast approaching. All of the cards are on the table by the time we get to that final scene, and it works so well because we know why it's happening, and it is an appropriate thematic climax that embodies the theming of the entire season. It works mechanically, narratively, and thematically, and 'just makes sense.'

The ending of Life is Strange 1 doesn't do that, if you ask me. The ending of most games in this genre don't really hit that mark. When I get to the end of most game 'seasons' like this, even ones I enjoy, I'm typically left frustrated, confused, and empty in a way.

The ending of True Colors, on the other hand, nails everything it needs to. Handily, when compared to its peers.

If you're somehow reading this and have not played this game but intend to, now is probably where you should duck out, as I will be

discussing SPOILERS from the entire game, specifically the finale.

Firstly, since I don't know where else to put this, some criticisms I found with the game. And honestly, they're all pretty damn minor compared to most games of this type.

Mainly, I just wish the whole Typhon thing was handled a bit more deliberately. It's a bit weird to do the 'big evil corporation' thing (especially when a big corporation like Square Enix occupies as much as or even more of the credits to this game than the people who actually MADE it?) without offering more explanation and subtlety. The game certainly makes some efforts but they're mostly small and mostly optional, like background chatter or a handful of one-off bits of documentation/etc. you can find in the environment. I feel like Diane in particular needed to be fleshed out just a little bit more to really sell us on how and why things like this happen, why corporations make decisions that cost people their happiness, security, and lives and they just get to keep on doing it. I think just a little bit that is unavoidable to the player that puts emphasis on maybe how much the town relies on the money/resources Typhon provides would've helped. Again, this is minor, but it stands out when I have so little else to critique.

I would've liked to get more insight on why Jed is the way he is. No, I don't think we really needed to learn more about his backstory, or even really his motivations. I think we get enough of that. I just think it would've been great to somehow highlight more deliberately how/why he's built up this identity overtop of what he's trying to suppress. Maybe even just having Alex internally realize, "Wait, what the hell, Jed has been hiding these emotions and my powers haven't picked up on it?" or something to that effect could have added an extra oomph to highlight how Jed seems to be coping with his emotions by masking/suppressing them. Also really minor complaint, but again...there's not much else here I can think to really improve on within the confines of what's in the game.

The game doesn't really call Alex's power into question morally. Like. Max has an entire meltdown by the end of her story, second-guessing if she's even helped anyone at all, if she has 'the right' to do so, how her powers might be affecting or expressing her own humanity and flaws...this story doesn't really get into that despite a very similar concept of manipulating others. There's like one bit in a document you can choose to read in Alex's 'nightmare' scene, but that's really it. I feel like this sentiment and how it's executed could have easily been expanded upon in just this one scene to capture what made that Max/Other Max scene do what it did in a way that would address the moral grayness of Alex's powers and how she uses them, and give players a way to express their interpretation of that. Also, very small deal, just another tidbit I would've liked to see.

When I first watched my wife play through Episode 5 (I watched her play through the game first, then I played it myself), I wasn't really feeling the surreal dreamscape stuff of Alex's flashbacks - which is weird, because if you're read my work from the past few years, you'll know I usually love that sort of shit. I think what was throwing me off was that it didn't really feel like it was tying together what the game was about up until that point, and felt almost like it was just copying what Life is Strange did with Max's nightmare sequence (minus the best part of that sequence, imo, where Max literally talks to herself).

But by the time I had seen the rest of the story, and re-experienced it myself, I think it clicked better. This is primarily a story about Alex Chen trying to build a new life for herself in a new community - a small town, a tightly knit place. Those flashbacks are specifically about Alex's past, something we only get teeny tiny tidbits of, and only really if we go looking for them. I realized after I gave myself a few days to process and play through the game myself that this was still a fantastic choice because it reinforces the plot reasons why Alex is even in the town she's in (because her father went there, and her brother in turn went there looking for him), and it reinforces the theme of Alex coming to accept her own emotions and confront them (as expressed through how the flashbacks are played out and the discussions she has with the image of Gabe in her mind, which is really just...another part of herself trying to get her to process things).

By the time Alex escapes the mines and returns to the Black Lantern, all of the cards are on the table. By that point, we as the audience know everything we need to. Everything makes sense - aside from arguably why Jed has done what he has done, but put a pin in that for a sec. We may not know why Alex has the powers she does, but we have at least been given context for how they manifested - as a coping mechanism of living a life inbetween the cracks of society, an unstable youth after her family fell apart around her (and oof, trust me, I can relate with this in some degree, though not in exactly the same ways). And unlike Max's Rewind power, the story and plot doesn't put this to Alex's throat, like it's all on her to make some big choice because she is the way she is, or like she's done something wrong by pursuing what she cares about (in this case, the truth, closure, and understanding).

When Alex confronts Jed in front of all of the primary supporting characters, it does everything it needs to.

Mechanically: it gives players choices for how to express their interpretation of events, and how Alex is processing them; it also, even more importantly, uses the 'council' as a way of expressing how the other characters have reacted to the choices the player has made throughout the game, and contributes to how this climax feels. We're given a 'big choice' at the end of the interaction that doesn't actually change the plot, or even the scene, really (it just affects like one line of dialogue Alex says right then) and yet BOTH choices work so well as a conclusion, it's literally up to your interpretation and it gives you an in-game way to express that.

Thematically: the use of the council reinforces the game's focus on community; and the way the presentation of the scene stays locked in on Alex and Jed's expressions reinforces its focus on emotion - not to mention that the entire scene also acts as a way to showcase how Alex has come to accept, understand, and process her own emotions while Jed, even THEN, right fucking at the moment of his demise, is trying to mask his emotions, to hide them and suppress them and forget them (something the game has already expressed subtly by way of his negative emotions which would give him away NOT being visible to Alex even despite her power).

Narratively: we are given a confrontation that makes sense and feels edifying to see play out after everything we've experienced and learned. We see Alex use her powers in a new and exciting way that further builds the empowering mood the climax is going for and adds a cinematic drama to it. No matter what decisions the player makes, Alex has agency in her own climax, we experience her making a decision, using her power, asserting herself now that she has gone through the growth this narrative has put her through. Alex gets to resolve her shit, gets to have her moment to really shine and experience the end of a character arc in this narrative.

Without taking extra time to design the game around these pillars, the finale wouldn't be so strong. If they didn't give us enough opportunities to interact with the townspeople, their presence in the end wouldn't matter, but everyone who has a say in the council is someone we get an entire scene (at least one) dedicated to interacting with them and their emotions. If they didn't implement choices in the scene itself, it would still be powerful but we wouldn't feel as involved, it'd be more passive. If they didn't showcase Alex's power, we might be left underwhelmed, but they do so in a way that actually works in the context through how they have chosen to present it, while also just tonally heightening the climax by having this drastic lighting going on. If they didn't have the council involved, we'd lose the theming of community. If they didn't have the foil of Alex/Jed and how they have each processed their emotions, we'd miss that key component. And if we didn't have such detailed facial animations, the presentation just wouldn't be as effective.

Ryan/Steph are a little bit like, in this awkward sideline spot during the climax? Steph always supports you, and Ryan supports you or doubts you conditionally, which is unsurprising but also ties into the themes of Ryan having grown up woven into this community, and Steph being once an outsider who has found a place within it. They're still there, either way, which is important. The only relevant characters who aren't present are more supporting characters like Riley, Ethan, and Mac. Ethan being the only one of those who gets an entire 'super emotions' scene, but that also marks the end of his arc and role in the story, so...it's fine. Mac and Riley are less important and younger, as well, and have their own side story stuff you have more direct influence on, too.

But damn, ya'll, this climax just works so well. It especially stands out to me given just how rarely I experience a conclusion/climax that feels this rewarding.

And then after that we get a wonderful montage of a theoretical life Alex might live on to experience. Her actions don't overthrow a conglomerate billionaire company. She doesn't even save a town, really. If the entire council thinks you're full of shit, Jed still confesses either way - because it's not up to the council whether he does this, it's because of Alex, regardless of player choice. Honestly, even after a playthrough where I made most choices differently from my wife, there weren't really many changes to that montage at the end. It'd have been great if it felt more meaningfully different, but maybe it can be. Even if not, the design intent is there and the execution still works. It's a really nice way to end the story, especially since it's not even a literal montage but one Alex imagines - again, her processing what she's gone through, what she desires, expressed externally for us to see it. And for once, the actual final 'big decision' in a game of this type manages to be organic, make sense, and feel good and appropriate either way. You choose to either have Alex stay in Haven Springs and continue building her life there, or you can choose to have her leave and try to be an indie musician, with the events of the game being yet another chunk of her life to deal with and move on from (I haven't really touched on it, but music, especially as a way to express and process emotions, is a recurring thing, much like photography was in the original game, or Sean's illustrations in LiS2). For once, a climactic 'pick your ending' decision that doesn't feel shitty. It's pretty rare for this genre, honestly.

I could - and already have, and likely will - have so much more to say about this game and its details, but I really wanted to focus on touching upon a main element that has left me impressed: the way the entire game feels designed. It feels intentionally constructed but in a way that reinforces what it is trying to express as a story. It's not just trying to make people cry for the sake of 'emotions.' It is a game literally about emotions and it comes to a conclusion in a way that is clearly saying something positive and empowering about empathy and self-acceptance.

Storytelling is a craft, like any other, and it entails deliberate choices and decisions that can objectively contribute to how effective a story is for its intended audience.

A good story isn't something you find, after all.

It's something you build.

#Life is Strange True Colors #Life is Strange #Haven Springs #alex chen #lis true colors

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winchester19-67 · 3 years

Text

Thankful for You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,285

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Feedback is appreciated!

“Dean Winchester!”

Dean jumps, causing the oven door to slam shut as he lets go of it. He turns on his heels, his expression like that of a little kid who has got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” Dean clears his throat a bit as he gives you a nervous look. “I thought that you were out at the store.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t move there, you know,” you tell Dean as you walk over to set all the bags down onto the island. “Please tell me that you weren’t just sneaking a piece of the turkey.”

“What?” Dean asks you with wide eyes but you can see right through his ploy. “Um… No, sweetheart. Of course no. I was just seeing if it was done so that it wouldn’t burn on ya.”

“Uh-huh. Like I believe one little bit of that,” you tell Dean as you walk over to open up the fridge. “Will you please help me put these groceries up?”

“Fine,” Dean mumbles as he walks over and begins to pull things out of the bags. Dean glances over at you and his heart drops a bit when he sees the expression on your face. “Hey, are you mad at me, sweetheart?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’m not mad but I… I want tomorrow to go well for you and Sam.”

“Sweetheart, a little piece of turkey eaten early is not going to ruin tomorrow,” Dean tells you softly as he walks over to wrap both of his arms tightly around your waist.

“Yeah,” you sigh as you look over at the kitchen table. “Dean, did you eat a piece of the pie too?”

“It was fresh,” Dean pouts as you elbow him and you turn around so that you can see his face. “It was a little, tiny piece of pie.”

“I’m trying to get everything cooked today so that all I have to do tomorrow is stick it in the oven to warm it up,” you tell him. “I’m never going to get everything done if you keep eating it all!”

“Alright, calm down,” Dean tells you in a soothing tone when he finally gets that you are not in a teasing mood. “Hey, why are you getting so upset about this?”

You take a deep breath as tears well up in your eyes. “You have helped me so much get over everything that’s happened to me,” you tell Dean softly. “You know that I have had some bad experiences with guys and I had trust issues. I had problems accepting the fact that I deserved something better. And then you found me and were the absolute most amazing man that I have ever met. Dean, you showed me what it was like to have a life, and I promised you that I would show you what it’s like to have a normal life.”

“And you’ve been doing that,” Dean tells you softly as he reaches out to gently wipe a tear off of your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ve been trying but it seems like something always pops up and ruins it all, Dean,” you choke out. “Our first Thanksgiving together you and Sam had to go on a hunt. That Christmas we were snowed in at a motel room after a hunt. New Years you had the flu and didn’t feel like celebrating. On your birthday it was another hunt and all you got was a lousy phone call from me.”

“(Y/N)…”

“I have tried to make all of the special days good for you but…”

“(Y/N), everyday that I get to be with you is a special day,” he tells you softly.

“You know what I mean,” you tell him. “Dean, if it isn’t a hunt then it’s something else, and this is the first time that I have talked you boys into taking the week off. I want it to perfect for you and Sam.”

“A little bit of food sampling isn’t going to make it any less amazing, honey,” Dean tells you.

It feels like there’s a big lump in your throat as you speak, and there are more tears trying to spill over your lashes. “My childhood memories of Thanksgiving included getting to see Dad sit at the head of the table and carve the turkey every year,” you tell Dean. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It is not stupid,” Dean whispers. “You know that you can and you should tell me anything that you want to, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath and look Dean in the eyes. “Thanksgiving wasn’t the same after Dad started getting sick, and I was hoping that maybe I could get that feeling this year and let you experience it too. I… I told you, Dean. It’s dumb.”

“It isn’t dumb,” Dean tells you as he wraps both of his arms tightly around you. “I get it, honey. But I still don’t understand how me taste testing is going to ruin anything.”

“I don’t know,” you sigh as you rest your head over against his chest. “In my mind I just want everything to be perfect and seeing a chunk taken out of the turkey and a piece of pie missing gets on my nerves a bit.”

“Well, get used to it because this is what Thanksgiving with me is going to look like,” Dean chuckles as he tightens his arms around you a bit.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Dean asks you softly as he pulls away enough so that he’s able to see your face. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you nod and you try to give Dean a soft smile. “I’m alright, baby.”

“You always get like this around the Holidays and I don’t like it,” Dean tells you.

“I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Dean chuckles. “It’s okay to get a little sad when everything’s so different then what you’re used to.”

You take a deep breath. “Don’t you ever get upset because you and Sam missed out on so much?”

“Not exactly,” Dean shrugs. “Because no matter what I’ve always had Sam and I’m okay with that. Now I’ve got you too and that makes it even better.”

“Yeah?” you ask him.

“So much better,” Dean smirks as he leans in to press his lips firmly to yours.

“I guess that sometimes it is just that simple,” you tell Dean softly. “Holidays don’t have to feel like a special day or different from all of the others for them to be special.”

“No, they do not,” Dean tells you. “And yet you deserve everyday to feel special so I am going to try to make tomorrow go as smoothly and as perfectly as I can.”

“Thank you, baby,” you smile.

“Now, what do you say you and me go take a break with a movie?” Dean asks you.

“In other words you just want to cuddle,” you laugh. Dean rolls his eyes before he moves his fingers along your sides, causing you to giggle as you try and break away from his grasp. “Hey, you’re a great cuddler,” you giggle.

“Don’t you know it,” Dean chuckles as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You okay now, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m alright, Dean.”

“Good,” Dean smiles as he begins to pull you away from the kitchen. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You frown when you hear arguing from the kitchen. Seriously? You think. Dean promised me that today would go smoothly and those two can’t stop bickering?

You walk into the kitchen and stop in your tracks to take it all in.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Dean smiles when he sees you standing there in the doorway.

“Good morning,” you smile as you walk further in to the room. “You boys have been busy this morning.”

“Well, one of us has been at least,” Sam says as he narrows his eyes at Dean.

“Hey, I’m the supervisor,” Dean smiles as he walks over to you to wrap an arm around your waist. “Like it, sweetheart?” Dean asks you softly as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I love it,” you smile widely as you lean your head over onto Dean’s shoulder. “It looks nice in here. Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, I’m the one you should be thanking,” Sam tells you.

“Ah, don’t let Sammy fool ya, sweetheart. This was my idea,” Dean smirks at you.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure,” you say and you playfully roll your eyes a bit at Dean. “Thank you both.”

“Hey, don’t give him credit,” Dean tells you. “I mean it. All Sam was supposed to do was keep you from walking in here before I finished, and he obviously failed at that.”

“Yeah, because if I hadn’t stepped in and helped you then we wouldn’t get to eat until tomorrow,” Sam says as he walks over and pulls you away from Dean.

“Hey, she’s my girl! Get your own!”

“Oh, you’ll live for a minute,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“Thank you both so much,” you tell them softly.

“Hey, I told you that I was going to try to make today perfect all for you,” Dean tells you as he pulls you away from Sam.

You frown. “I feel bad now for getting so tore up yesterday.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t feel bad,” Dean tells you softly. “I guess that I should’ve been more patient and stayed out of the food.”

“Says the man who stole another piece of pie.”

“Be quiet, Sammy,” Dean scowls.

“Okay, both of you. Stop arguing please,” you giggle.

“You know, we’d argue a lot less if both of our mouths were full of turkey,” Dean tells you.

“Well then let’s eat.”

Dinner goes just like you wanted it to. Dean carves the turkey, everything tastes great, and five minutes into it you have to break up a food fight.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go lay down for a while?” Dean asks you as he gets up from the table and grabs your plate. “We’ve got clean up duty.”

“No. You two put all of this together this morning,” you tell Dean.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who cooked yesterday, so we’ve got this,” Dean tells you.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him as you reach up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “And you too, Sam.”

“No problem,” Sam smiles.

You take a deep breath before walking out of the room and down the hallway to your and Dean’s room. You crawl underneath the blankets and you let your eyes slide shut. After a little while, Dean walks into the room and curls up underneath the blankest beside of you.

“Thank you, Dean,” you whisper as you rest your head over onto his chest. Dean wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Anything for my sweetheart,” Dean tells you softly.

“You want to take a little ride?” you ask him.

“Mmm. Maybe later. I don’t think that I can move right now,” Dean says, causing you to giggle a bit at him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You take a deep breath. “Hey, Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you so much for making today special for me, and also for showing me that it can feel like any other day and can still be special. I guess I just have these expectations for days like today and when I don’t think that they’re going to turn out right…”

“I get it, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry that I overreacted on you yesterday.”

“It honestly isn’t a big deal so please don’t feel guilty about it,” Dean says softly.

“Okay,” you breathe out as you try and relax a bit in Dean’s hold.

“Hey, guess what we forgot to do while ago.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

“Say what we’re thankful for,” Dean whispers into your hair as he nuzzles his nose into your skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles. “I mean, my answer would be kind of obvious anyways.”

“Oh, what’s that. Pie?”

“Haha. Funny,” Dean says sarcastically. “But yes pie would definitely be on the excessively long list. You know what would be number one on that list though?”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

“You,” Dean tells you as he pulls away a bit so that he can look you in the eyes. “I’m thankful for you and you have no idea how much better my life is with you in it.”

“Dean,” you breathe out as tears well up in your eyes. “I’m thankful for you too. Baby, you do so much for me and I could never thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” Dean tells you softly. “That’s what I’m here for.” Dean pulls you in tightly to him before hiding his face in your neck. “After we take a nap then I’m going to finish off that pumpkin pie.”

“If Sam doesn’t get there first while we’re napping.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he lets go of you before jumping up out of bed. When Dean runs into the room he has the pie pan and two forks in his hands.

“Dean, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as Dean sits down beside of you on the bed and hands you a fork.

“Sammy ain’t getting my pie,” Dean tells you as he takes a big bite.

“Dork,” you laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” Dean smiles widely as he leans in to give you a sweet kiss. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Dean,” you smile widely. “Happy thanksgiving.” Dean gives you a soft smile as he leans over to press his forehead against yours.

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

Tags: @polina-93 @adoptdontshoppets @justanotherwinchester @blue-pink-green @spnbaby-67 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @mlovesstories @akshi8278 @idksupernatural @hobby27 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva

#dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #SPN #fanfic

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cami-chats · 3 years

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Controlled Explosions

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Warnings: Normal superhero shenanigans

Summary: Tony doesn't go out of his way to create explosions. He just happens to be in a lot of situations where things explode, and that's hardly his fault, is it, Steve?

Five times Tony is the cause of an explosion, and one time someone else tries to be. Written for MTH2020

Read below or on AO3

1. Define 'controlled explosion'

"You said it would be a controlled explosion," Steve said.

"Yeah," Tony said, confused, and still-- if he was being honest-- having a little trouble hearing. He'd been a bit closer to the bomb when it went off than he'd meant to be. "It was."

"That was not controlled!"

At some other time, it would be fascinating to see the differences between Steve in Captain America mode and when he wasn't. When he'd been in Cap-mode, talking to Tony about how setting off the explosion early might be a bad idea, he'd been very calm about it all. Now that he was just Tony's boyfriend, he was kind of freaking out.

Tony blinked at him in confusion. It had been controlled. "The previous location of the bomb would've brought the whole building down. I know you don't really understand chain reactions, but suffice it to say that we saved an entire city block by moving it."

"For fuck's sake, Tony! I told you to go ahead because you made me think it was going to be safe!"

"I never said it was safe. I said that it was safer than letting it go off where it had been placed, which was true."

"You said it would be a controlled explosion!"

"And it was. Maybe you should look up what an uncontrolled explosion looks like," Tony said, patting him on the arm then getting on his tiptoes for a quick kiss before leaving. He needed to take a shower and get some of this grime off. He heard Steve say something in response, but it was too low for him to really make out with his ears still ringing-- and not facing him, so he couldn't read his lips and try to piece it together. He imagined that it was something half-loving and half-derogatory, since that's what Steve usually did when Tony did something dangerous in the field. If it was really important, Steve would say it again.

2. Who knew that artifact would explode?

Despite what some people-- like Steve, Coulson, the rest of the Avengers really-- thought about Tony and his workshop, he did practice safe procedures. What they didn't seem to really understand was that there were situations where he could be safe and shit would still go wrong.

Like this. This was an alien artifact, and Thor was out of contact dealing with royal Asgard business-- presumably; it's not like he'd filled them in, just said that he had to go home and would be back as soon as he could-- so Tony was guessing. He had on thick gloves and goggles, and he wasn't even touching the glowing sphere directly, which was progress that he thought they should be appreciative of. He had tools. Not as easy to work with as his own fingers, but it was still good enough that he'd been able to pry away part of the outside protective, metal shell.

He gingerly placed the tongs on the inside and made to turn it so he could confirm that it was the same all around, but he didn't get the chance. An explosion rocked the workshop, leaving a crater where his table used to be and blowing him halfway across the room.

"Huh," Tony said, then started coughing. Bright side? He still had all his fingers. The tongs he'd been using were vaporized as best he could tell. In fact, everything metal within a foot of the sphere was now gone. Tony's gloves were untouched. He pulled one off and slid the goggles off his face so he could get a better look at them. The lenses were fine, as expected. Most of the components were plastic, but there were a couple places that had metal pins, just to help hold it together. The pins were gone. One firm tug, and the strap would disconnect from the lenses.

Half the team-- the half that had been in the Tower-- came running into the room. Tony gave a half-hearted wave, still coughing.

"What happened?" Natasha asked.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," Tony said roughly, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm still alive." If he'd been closer to it when it went off, it would've taken a chunk out of the arc reactor. Its range had been small enough that he was safe. It was obvious that things hadn't gone as wrong as they could have, so he didn't see why they were looking at him with that much concern. He coughed again. "Maybe I'll call the Fantastic Four to take this one over." He didn't want to, but he hadn't been having any luck with it before it took a bite out of his workshop. If nothing else, it wouldn't instantly kill any of them if they were standing too close. Besides, Reed was pretty good about passing information back to him. And if there was any superhero group he had to work with, he'd choose the Fantastic Four every time.

"Yeah, I don't think that really answered the question," Clint said. "You're lucky Cap's not here, or you'd find yourself wrapped in a blanket before you took another breath."

Tony flipped him off. He should probably go to medical. There hadn't been any smoke, but he was coughing like there had been. What a pain.

3. Oxygen works differently here

Other planets were weird. He could tell, just by breathing, that the air here wasn't what they were used to. The good news was that they were all still alive and were going to stay that way for a while. The Guardians-- short for Guardians of the Galaxy-- were explaining a few things to Steve. Apparently, the villain that had transported them here was one that had beef with the Guardians, and Steve wanted to be prepared in case it happened again.

Tony knew that he was going to have to wait until they were done with the official superhero talk before he had a chance to ask them about atmosphere, gravity, and what it was like to have more than one moon. He also had a few questions about the air, because this was definitely not the cocktail he was used to.

He was feeling... high, almost. It could be any number of things, but higher oxygen levels would be the answer easiest to solve on his own. If he lit a match and it burned bigger than usual, it was oxygen. If it was brighter, it was nitrogen. If it did both or a weird mixture of other stuff, he'd have no idea what it was without taking a sample of the air and analyzing it. Chemistry wasn't his strong point when it came to the sciences, but he knew the basics. Enough to make sense of breathable air, at the very least.

Nothing wrong with a little test. He had a laser in the armor, but that wasn't as predictable as regular fire even though it was easier for him to access. He had a lighter in one of the fingers of the armor, so he held his hand as far away from himself as he could for a better view, and activated it.

It went off like a fucking firework. Tony deactivated the lighter almost as soon as he'd started it, but the damage had been done. "Shit," he bit out, jerking his hand back, but he could tell that his hand had already been injured. The suit was protected from the outside, not the inside, and since it had been his lighter that had started it... yeah. That shit stung.

Even after turning off the lighter, the fire persisted. Tony cocked his head as the flames stayed where it had stared but lasted longer on its own than a fire could on Earth without something to hold onto. Despite knowing that nothing was helping it keep burning, Tony couldn't help but peer at it, trying to find a wick or gas line.

That was a bit more than he'd expected. It took a full eight seconds for the fire to burn itself out.

"Huh." Weird. He really should ask- that thought stopped cold when he turned and saw everyone staring at him.

"Dude," Sam said.

Steve's mouth was slightly ajar, like he wanted to ream into Tony for being stupid but didn't know where to start.

"In case anyone was wondering, this air isn't the same as what we have on Earth."

"Yeah, thanks Tony," Natasha said dryly.

"Always happy to help. Uh. Anyone got burn cream?"

"Is he like this all the time?" one of the Guardians-- a new one, Tony didn't remember their name-- asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

4. Home-made, on a budget

"This has got to be one of the worst things we've done," Steve said under his breath.

"Is it?" Tony asked absently, looking at the chemical breakdown of the fertilizer. Hmph. Better for soil probably, but not really what he was looking for. He put it down and picked up the brand next to it. Ah, this was more like it. He set it down and squatted to get the big bag and add it to the cart.

"No weapons, no intel. Why aren't you freaking out?"

"No weapons is a very closed-minded view of the situation, babe."

"What, are you going to drown people in fertilizer?" Steve asked. He sounded genuinely confused, which was weird. Tony had thought everyone these days knew that fertilizer could be used in explosives.

"Just keep pushing the cart and leave this part to me," Tony said, because he figured that giving a quick chemistry lesson in the middle of the gardening section was a bad idea. See? He was getting better at this whole pretending-to-be-a-normal-person thing. No matter what Clint said.

"I'm not stupid," Steve said, and Tony was familiar enough with him to catch the irritation there.

"Never meant to imply you were, but I figured we should get in and out before we get caught." Ooo, Christmas lights. He didn't know what he would've done if they'd had to buy normal lightbulbs for this; it would've taken like five boxes instead of just the one, and they would've been less effective since they were for everyday use and used a completely different composition for the bulb covering. "Besides," Tony said, aiming a grin back at him, "you'll probably figure it out as we put these together."

"You're making stuff we can use," Steve stated, like he hadn't really known what they were doing here. Tony would like to pretend to be offended that Steve thought he'd be gift shopping at a time like this, but he'd done that during a crisis before. Then, "Are you sure it'll be powerful enough?"

"We're not blowing up a bunker. This'll be plenty. There's a lot more firepower in everyday household items than you'd think."

"Clearly," Steve muttered.

"Trust me, Cap, by the time we're back in the Tower, you'll know enough to be able to put together your own pipe bomb for the next time you get stranded like this."

"I'm hoping this is the only time."

"With our lives?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of odds are you being given on that? I don't think even a hundred to one would be worth it when you know you're going to lose. Or rather, I know you're going to lose, and since I have more experience, I feel like you should listen to me."

Steve rolled his eyes, but with more humor than before. Apparently, knowing that Tony had the situation in hand was enough to soothe all of his worries.

"Hey, you should be happy this place even has a hardware store. There's like, one gas station with a McDonald's attached, and then this store. I don't think I'd be able to do a lot of damage with whatever I could find in a McDonald's."

"I have faith in Iron Man's ability to save us," Steve said, and when Tony glanced at him, he was looking at him fondly and with a healthy dose of love thrown in for good measure. He'd gotten used to that expression on Steve's face in a hurry.

5. Bucky agreed with me

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words, Tony knew, but it really had. He'd tell Steve that he regretted it, if that's what he wanted to hear, but he held that it was a good idea. That it was bad for PR was hardly his fault, and frankly, he didn't understand why it would be bad for PR anyways. It was a Hydra base! They were Nazis, and everyone hated Nazis. If anything, him and Bucky should get a thank you card for performing a public service.

He got the distinct feeling that Steve wouldn't agree with that, though.

"What were you thinking?" Steve asked, looking a little frazzled around the edges. Given that he was having to deal with Tony and Bucky for this, that made sense. Normally it was one or the other. Now, he was outnumbered.

"It seemed like a good idea," Tony said, and Bucky nodded.

"A really good idea," Bucky added.

"You blew up a building!"

"There weren't any other buildings around it," Tony said.

"No civilian casualties," Bucky said.

"It's still personal property damage, and I thought we all agreed to try and cut down on that."

"Do we care about Hydra's personal property?" Tony asked, frowning. He'd been under the distinct impression that they didn't. For fuck's sake, it was Hydra they were talking about.

"Officially, the Hydra organization itself didn't own the building or the land," Steve said.

"How do you know that?" Bucky asked curiously, which was a good point. Since when did Steve pay attention to details like that? It wasn't exactly something he could know just from paying attention to the situation.

"Agent Coulson told me. As our handler, it's his job to know those details and share them with us as he sees fit."

"Damn, are you quoting the handbook now?" Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

"Besides, if Agent is our handler, then it's his job to take care of the buildings we blow up."

"Tony, stop missing the point on purpose."

"Who said I'm missing it on purpose? Maybe I'm missing it on accident, you don't know."

Steve gave him a flat look. "You can't go around blowing up buildings just because you feel like it." He looked at Bucky. "I get that you want to, and as your friend, I support you. As the team leader and another Avenger, I have to tell you to stop. We don't get to do whatever we want."

"Yeah yeah, there are rules, we all agreed to them, we'll be better next time, all that jazz," Tony said, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulders and getting up on his toes to give him a quick kiss.

Steve just sighed. "I love both of you, but seriously, what the hell?" He put his arm around Tony's waist since he didn't move to walk away. "We've been fine on this for a couple years. What made this different?"

Tony and Bucky shared a look. They hadn't agreed not to tell anyone, but there had been an unspoken understanding that the less people knew about it, the better off they'd all be. "It was a research lab," Bucky said, and he left it at that. They didn't need to elaborate what kind of research, because Steve knew that any research Hydra was doing was bad news. The only way they'd had of making sure that none of the research was recovered was by getting rid of the entire building. Whatever hadn't been destroyed in the initial blast was then rendered unrecoverable when the roof collapsed on top of it all.

Steve glanced between the two of them. He knew that basic research wouldn't have gotten this reaction, but Hydra didn't do 'basic' research; there wasn't any point in being an evil organization if you were going to be moral with your experiments. Tony could see it on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask what kind of research, but none of it made it out of his mouth. "Okay. You know the speech. Don't do it again, formal apology if Agent Coulson says it's required, all that crap."

"Done," Bucky said immediately, and Tony gave Steve another soft kiss in thanks. They both knew that Steve was on their side for stuff like this, but sometimes he wanted so badly to be a good Captain America that it muddied the waters.

+1. Half-heart, Half-bomb

"I guess that's one explosion you finally don't have to worry about," Tony joked with a tremulous smile.

Steve smiled back, just as weakly. They were both pretending. Tony wondered how long that would last before Steve couldn't take it anymore and worried over him in a more obvious manner. It would probably last all the way up until they were back home, with the doors shut and no outside eyes on them. Then he was going to worry like the world's biggest mother hen. For now though, Tony was grateful for him trying.

The whir of the quinjet was comforting to him now like it had never been before. Tony didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd been in dangerous situations a hundred times before, as Iron Man. Hell, he'd been in more dangerous situations than the one he'd just gotten rescued from.

The problem, he guessed, was that... well, this one hit closer to home. It was the arc reactor. It was a part of him. Having that be turned against him felt like a betrayal, somehow.

Since becoming Iron Man, he'd done his fair share of starting fires and creating explosions-- more than his fair share, if you asked Steve. With Obadiah, he'd used the first arc reactor that Howard had built as a bomb. A small one, considering the amount of firepower it had, but a bomb all the same. To see the same thing happen to his own had been nothing short of a nightmare. The kind of nightmare that woke you up in the middle of the night, shaking and clammy. He'd woken up from a drugged sleep and seen wires coming out of his chest. He hadn't been convinced that it wasn't a vivid hallucination, at first, but it hadn't stopped him from panicking.

They got to the Tower, headed inside, and went straight to their room. Well, officially it was Tony's room, but it was only a matter of time before Steve moved in.

"You want to talk about it?" Steve asked.

Tony rubbed over the arc reactor reflexively. He couldn't feel any sensation from it, but he could feel the heel of his palm on one side, and the tips of his fingers on the other. The fact that his palm wasn't skipping over emptiness did quite a bit to reassure him that he was fine. The problem, of course, was that he already knew he was fine. He was here, and he wasn't in pain. Steve was here, and they weren't in a battle. He knew that everything was fine.

Now if he could just stop freaking out about it.

"It wasn't even a good bomb," Tony said, the words slipping out of his mouth one after another. "Like, can you imagine making a bomb out of someone's pacemaker, so it would kill them, but you're not even going to get the destruction radius that you want? The arc reactor has so much energy that you could easily level a city block, but with the way they did it, it wouldn't have gone more than ten feet. It wouldn't have made it through a wall if I'd been standing right next to it. What kind of bullshit villain do you have to be to not know how to properly make a bomb? The only one it would've killed was- me, and- it's not like there aren't easier ways of- doing that. It's like-" He was having trouble breathing now. He was talking himself into a panic.

Steve wrapped him up in a hug, and Tony hid his face against Steve's neck. "They're stupid, you're not. We're gonna wake up tomorrow and get to do whatever the hell we want, and they won't be able to. It's gonna be okay. We all know you're better at this than anyone else, right?" he added on the end, smiling a little to try and raise Tony's spirits even though he couldn't see him; Tony always said that he loved Steve's smile.

"Yeah." He took a shaky breath in. It was weird; he felt like he was closer to falling apart now than he'd been while it was happening. Once he'd figured out that he wasn't trapped in the middle of a nightmare, he'd been able to deal with it. Grace under pressure or something, he guessed. It didn't make much sense to him for why he should be so calm then only to fall into pieces now. And he did. Fall into pieces, that is.

Steve just held him and said, "You're safe now. I've got you."

He didn't cry, not really. Mostly he stood there, shaking and clinging to Steve like a lifeline. He knew that he'd feel better by tomorrow, but for now, he let himself feel bad.

#stony #marvel #fanfic #steve rogers #tony stark #my writing

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villainscomplex · 3 years

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this, at least.

hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right

,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse

!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!

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Quotev

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In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

And he does.

Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.

In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.

It’s always the same scene.

He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.

He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.

Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.

Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.

If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.

His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.

He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.

The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.

It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.

Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.

Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.

It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.

Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.

He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.

Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.

By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.

“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”

Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”

Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.

There’s also a boy there.

His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.

Okay, no, a man. A grown man.

Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.

He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.

“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”

The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.

“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”

Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”

“I-”

Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.

There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.

“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.

Noya is gone.

Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.

“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”

Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”

“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.

It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.

It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.

There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.

It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.

Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.

The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn’t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.

When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.

The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.

Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.

He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?

He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.

Asahi looks down.

Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.

“Azumane-san!”

Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.

When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.

“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.

The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.

Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.

The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.

“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.

Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.

His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.

He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”

Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.

The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.

“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.

Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.

Maybe he got on the train.

Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.

“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.

It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.

He dreams. (He has nightmares.)

Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.

This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.

He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.

Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.

Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.

“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.

So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.

So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”

Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”

They lapse into a mutual silence again.

Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.

His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.

It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”

When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.

“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.

“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.

He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.

Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.

Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.

In the background, the television drones on.

When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.

But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.

The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.

It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.

When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.

“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.

“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”

“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.

“That’s-”

Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.

“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Huh? Hold on, wh-”

The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.

The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.

Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.

Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”

Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.

“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”

And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.

“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”

Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.

He looks unsure. He looks scared.

It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.

“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”

Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.

“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”

There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.

He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.

Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.

When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.

At this point, it’s all he can do.

It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.

So where had Noya gotten his given name?

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“You look different,” Noya remarks.

Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.

“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.

“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”

Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”

Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.

“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”

Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.

“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”

Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.

I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”

Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.

“Right.”

Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.

But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.

“Azumane-san?”

Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.

“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”

As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”

She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.

“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”

He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.

“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”

She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.

He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.

Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.

Why hadn’t Noya said anything?

Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.

He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.

It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.

He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.

Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.

He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.

Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.

Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?

What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.

His facts are minimal but sure.

The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.

The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.

The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.

Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.

It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.

Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.

Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.

The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.

His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.

There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.

He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.

“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.

Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.

Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.

“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”

Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”

“What.” Asahi intones.

Noya reaches for the cat.

“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”

Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.

Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.

“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”

Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.

“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”

Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”

The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.

“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.

He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.

“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.

“I had it handled!”

“You fell out of a tree.”

Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”

“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.

There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.

Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”

Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”

Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.

He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.

When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?

Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.

Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”

Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.

Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.

“Noya?” He says as he nears.

Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.

“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.

Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.

“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.

Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”

“What were you there for?”

Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.

“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”

Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.

“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”

Noya stiffens a little under his grip.

“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”

“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”

Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.

Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.

Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?

“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.

Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.

He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.

Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.

“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.

Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.

“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”

Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”

Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”

Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”

Noya laughs. “Oh?”

“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.

“Ow,” Noya says, again.

“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.

“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.

Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.

“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”

Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”

Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”

Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.

“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”

Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.

“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.

Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.

Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.

He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.

“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.

Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.

Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.

“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.

Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”

Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”

“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.

Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”

Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.

Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.

“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.

Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.

“Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”

Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.

“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.

“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”

Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”

Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.

“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”

Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.

“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.

He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.

Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”

Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.

Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.

“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”

Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.

“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”

The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”

Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.

“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”

The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.

It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.

They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.

“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”

His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”

Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”

He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.

Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.

He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.

But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.

The woman.

Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.

It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.

He’s been in this situation before.

When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.

But it never comes.

Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.

He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?

“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.

Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”

Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.

“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.

One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”

Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.

“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?

Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.

“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.

Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.

“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.

But the other man is gone.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.

The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.

And a week goes by.

In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.

“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”

In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.

He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.

Yuu is already dead.

Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.

When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?

Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.

Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.

It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.

Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.

Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.

“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”

“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.

Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.

“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don��t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”

Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.

“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.

He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.

“Always,” he says.

Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.

His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.

(And this, at least.)

#asanoya #azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu #major character death #unreliable narrator #marimo writes #haikyuu!!#marimo give asahi a break challenge

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