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gaybananabread · 11 months

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Hii! Would you mind writing a tickle fic (platonic) with lee bakugou, and lers top 3 heroes (endeavor, hawks, best jeanist). Thank you so much in advance!! P.S. please no foot tickles

Oooo interesting group! And you're welcome! Fair warning, it's a touch angsty before the fluffy stuff. I had an idea and kinda went with it (it's a long one), hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Bakugou

Lers: Endeavor, Hawks, Best Jeanist

Summary: When given a special chance to train and work with the Top 3 Heros, Bakugou can't seem to get anything right. His temporary teachers notice, and decide to give him a morale boost.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!

Bakugou, to put it simply, was blowing it. He had been invited to train with the Top 3 Heros for a month, and he really wanted to impress them. He would never admit it, but their approval meant everything to him.

He would get training from one of them a day. After a training session with each, they gave him pieces of advice.

Hawks said to relax, to let his instincts take over and his anger fade. Fight them, but don't give it your all at first. Figure them out, their moves and styles. He wanted him to see the whole picture before really attacking.

Endeavor said to use his anger, to fuel each attack with his never ending supply of rage. He wants him to use his outrage against his opponents.

Best Jeanist wanted him to focus, to come up with a careful plan before attacking. Like making clothes, each stitch in your plan is important. He wants him to carefully plan out his actions before attacking.

Now, dear reader, try and apply all of those at once. You'll find it quite difficult. You can't really relax and be angry at once, or at least Bakugou couldn't. And how was he supposed to plan out his actions and let his instincts take over? So, when his first battle after their sessions came up, it was a disaster.

The Top 3 had been called to take down a villain trio that was terrorizing civilians. They decided this was Bakugo's chance to prove what he learned, and would observe from afar until he needed their help.

That turned out to be faster than they thought.

The blonde went into the fight already stressed. Letting the Top 3 down wasn't an option, so their advice was playing through his head on loop. When he saw the villains, he tried his best to follow each piece.

He went after the flying one first. He tried to use his anger first, while also going with the flow. He sent a huge blast up at the flying villain, ignoring the others for the moment. That was a bad idea.

When he was fighting the flying guy, the super strong one chucked a car at him. He dodged it, but the bird villain flew up and away from him. So much for going with the flow...

Try to plan it out. He looked around, trying to form a battle plan. Against strong guys, bigger attacks from behind work better. Probably. He really shouldn't have missed that lecture. Though he was on house arrest. Well, dorm arrest.

Stuck in his own head, Bakugou didn't notice the third villain coming up behind him. This guy had a water quirk, and sent a huge wave crashing down on him. Before he could set off a single blast, he was caught up in the wave.

This is when the pro heros joined the fight. Hawks swooped in and grabbed Bakugou from the chaos, dropping him onto a tall building before joining the fight.

Best Jeanist took care of the water guy, while Endeavor fought with the strong villain. Hawks tangled with the flying one, sending a barrage of feathers his way. Soon, they had the trio beat and on their way to prison.

On the building, Bakugou felt awful. He had fucked up his shot to impress them. Instead, he practically blew the mission. All he had to do was follow some advice and fight a few villains. He was supposed to be number one, but he couldnt do something easy for ACTUAL top heros.

They went back to the agency, Bakugou's mind racing the entire way.

...

The pros had noticed the explosive teen's mood shift almost immediately. For one, he was quiet the entire way back to the agency. His scowl was replaced by furrowed brows and a slight frown.

Hawks had tried to talk to him, but got a half-assed "whatever" before the blonde walked off. He went to Best Jeanist, knowing that Bakugou had interned there.

The denim hero sighed when Hawks asked him. "He feels guilty for not stopping the villains. I'm no professional, but I'd wager that his self-worth is impacted by his performance, especially in front of people he idolizes. And he didn't do very well today."

That... actually made a lot of sense. He had seemed stressed before the fight, and it hadn't gone the way anyone expected it to. That trio was low-level, an easy takedown. Why did Bakugou seem so off his game?

Hawks needed to find out. He had already tried talking to him, and you know how that went. A plan was slowly forming, but he would need the other pros.

"Hey, Jeanist, mind helping me with him?" The pro, of course, agreed to help. Now, to get Endeavor on board. Eugh boy...

The firey hero was doing paperwork, and seemed annoyed at their entrance. "Yes, Hawks? And hello, Jeanist."

Okay, rude! But he was used to it. Hawks walked over to the desk, resting his hand on the form Endeavor was filling out. "Mind helping us cheer the kid up?"

He glared at the winged hero, setting his pen down. Sighing, he rubbed his temples, as if already sick of Hawks. "And why can't you do this yourselves?"

"Because, he feels like he disappointed all of us. If you're not there, he'll think he especially let you down. And you're #1, so it'll make him feel even worse."

With a groan, Endeavor stood and followed his peers to Bakugou's room. He may be a jerk, but he's not going to intentionally make a kid feel bad.

In his room, Bakugou was sitting on the bed, going over the fight. He was picking out every little thing he did wrong, mentally beating himself up. His knee was tapping like crazy, his body's way of trying to get some of the stress out. It helped, but not enough to do anything.

Best Jeanist was the one to knock, asking to be let in. He didn't mention the other two, thinking it might deter Baku from letting them in.

The knocking snapped him out of his daze, and he walked over and opened the door, trying for a scowl. It quickly faded to a shocked frown when he saw all three pro heros at his door.

He blinked before waving them inside with a huff. The blonde moved away from the door, standing awkwardly by the bed. Hawks and Jeanist approached him, Endeavor hanging back near the door.

Hawks was the first to speak. "You seem a bit down, kid. Mind sharing?" It was a bit blunt, sure, but it got to the point. He had a feeling that would work best with the explosive teen.

"I'm fine, KFC. Quit mother henning me." No cursing, but there were some good bird jabs. Endeavor chuckled from behind. That's a decent sign, I guess.

Jeanist was next. "Bakugou, we know you're feeling bad beacuse of the fight. We just want to know why, and what's been on your mind." His tone was just soft enough. Not pitying, but just concerned enough to make a person feel cared for.

This seemed to loosen him up a bit. He crossed his arms, but he was squeezing himself a bit more than necessary, scowling into his lap. When he spoke, it seemed to pour out of him, as if he'd been saying it silently for hours.

"I... I fucked up. I tried to follow all of your advice, but I'm too much of a dumbass to know how. I screwed up my shot in the fight, and needed to be fucking saved and taken away so you could wrap it up. I disappointed all of you in seconds. I tried so hard to do what you said, but I fucked up every piece of advice you gave me."

Bakugou seemed less than okay, now visibly upset. That was more than he normally expressed, and let the three of them know that this was really bothering him. Best Jeanist was the first to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Bakugou, you did not disappoint us. Everyone has off days, and nobody wants to mess up in front of people they admire. We may not have given the best advice, and it wasn't fair to tell you three different things and expect you to perform them all flawlessly. If anything, were the ones who messed up. We made you feel like this, and didn't work together to make sure you got the best training possible."

Everyone in the room was a bit shocked. He said it so calmly, and sounded genuinely concerned. Bakugou bit his cheek, trying to keep his emotions in check. He did look less upset, though he still had that sad air to him.

"Kid, nobody blames you for messing up. We don't expect you to follow every piece of advice we give you. It's all good. So relax, would ya?" Hawks came over now, poking him in the ribs. He did not, however, expect the jolt and surprised grunt the action received. The hero quickly put two and two together, a smirk forming on his face.

"You know, you really should smile more. You're gonna have a buncha wrinkles before you're thirty with all the scowling you do." He nodded at Jeanist, trying to get him into the mischief about to ensue. He chuckles and nods, silently agreeing to help.

"Hey Endeavor, mind coming over here?" The firey pro huffed before approaching the three, knowing he'll get roped into it either way. He came up behind the blonde, already knowing what they'll ask of him.

Bakugou realizes what's happening a second too late. Endeavor hooked his arms under the teen's, successfuly restraining him. Well, kinda. He was still kicking out, trying to keep them away from him. "No! Fuck off!"

Hawks chuckled at the small giggle. "What? We haven't done anything. Yet." The tease in his voice was almost suffocating as he wiggled his fingers. "Jeanist, mind helping us with his legs?"

The teen glared at him, almost betrayed. The pro gives him a knowing yet apologetic look before using his quirk to restrain him. He wrapped some threads around Bakugou's legs, keeping them from getting kicked to death.

Hawks smirked before running his fingers up and down his ribs, moving slowly. Baku's face scrunched up, holding in any reaction. A small blush formed on the blonde's face as he struggled.

"Playing hardass, huh? That's okay, I can do this for hours." Hawks smirked as he added his other hand, running his fingers up and down both sides of the teen's ribcage. "Wanna get in on this, Jean?"

Jeanist chuckles before joining in, poking at Bakugou's belly. Little titters escape him, his efforts to stay stoic failing.

The fingers on his ribs traveled higher, getting dangerously close to this death spot. "S-stohop! Screw you ahassholes!"

Hawks stopped, giving Bakugou a dangerous look. The teen squirmed, thankful for the break, but weary of the pro. "Assholes, huh? I guess we've gotta live up to that title. Jeanist, where do I go?"

The denim hero chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry Bakugou. Upper ribs, right below his armpit." The teen let out a squawk of betrayal, glaring daggers at his former mentor. He didn't have a chance to yell, as Hawks used both hands to attack the spot on both sides of his ribcage.

"GAH! NOHOHO, YOU TRAHAHAITOHOR!" He thrashed as much as they would allow, Endeavor struggling to keep a good hold on him. The teen's laugher filled the room, loud and boisterous.

The winged hero seemed thrilled at his reaction. "There we go! Was that so hard?" Bakugou narrowed his eyes, trying to look menacing. It didn't work, what with all the laughing and squirming. "YEHEHES! GET OHOHOFF OF MEHE YOU- JEHERKS!"

Not wanting to get in any more trouble than he already was, he filtered the name. They got the point. Doesn't mean they're gonna listen to it.

"No, I don't think we will. You can brood later, but for now, you're gonna laugh." While his hands tormented Bakugou's ribs, he sent out a few feathers to mess with his neck. Best Jeanist was on his belly, poking and prodding the sensitive skin.

Bakugou was reeling. This is so fucking embarrassing! The three best heros, all tickling him! It was bad enough when just Jeanist found out, but all three? His pride was dead.

"STOHOHOP! GEHET OHOFFA MEHEHE!" He arched his back, thrashing as they tickled him. His death spot alone was maddening, but his belly and neck as well? He was done for.

Jeanist poked around, kneading his thighs experimentally. This caused the blonde to snort, surprising all three heros. Determined to kill the teen, Jeanist stayed on his thighs, forcing snort after snort out of him.

"OHOHO MY FUHUCK! *snort* QUIHIHIHIT IHIT!" He thrashed against Endeavor, trying to break the hero's hold on him. The pro held strong, clearly not about to let a teenager best him. "LEHET- *snort* LEHET ME GOHOHO, OHOHOLD MAN!"

Endeavor scowled at this comment. "I'll show you old man, you brat." He gathered up both of the student's arms in one hand, using the other to roughly tickle his side. This seemed to work, Bakugou's laughter reaching new heights.

Tears of mirth pricked the corner of his eyes, the tickling overwhelming. He was nearing his limit, his cheeks bright red from both laughter and embarrassment. He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling out. It didn't work.

"STOHOHOP! *snort* DAHAMN IT, GEHEHET OHOHOFF MEHE!"

Hearing the slight rasp in his laughter, Hawks stopped, motioning the others to follow him. They also quit, Endeavor releasing his arms. Bakugou all but collapsed, falling back on the firey hero. He held the boy up with a chuckle, amused at his reaction.

Bakugou was still softly giggling, sucking in air as he tried to calm down. "Youhuhu... you guhuys suhuhuck!" He weakly pointed to the three of them, too tired to do much else. The fight, plus the tickling, had thoroughly worn him out.

Hawks ruffled his hair, earning a growl in response. "Well, at least you aren't sad anymore. Next time, if we're not making sense, tell us. We'll fix it, okay?" The blonde nodded, groaning.

Endeavor laid him on the bed, getting an appreciative groan from the teen. They left the room, Jeanist giving him a quick pat on the head before closing the door behind him. All three heros had smiles of some sort on their faces.

Bakugou, exhausted and embarrassed, closed his eyes. He knew they cared, but nobody could have expected what they did to cheer him up. He sprawled out on the bed, deciding to sleep it off.

Ugh, how am I gonna train with them after this?

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ashlingiswriting · 3 months

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do i know you? chapter nine

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[ chapter nine — 8.5k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ] "i never fucking asked you to!" richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

just outside your apartment building stands mikey, hunched against the wind and smoking. he gives you a friendly nod and you grant him a nod in response, guarded but polite.

you never know what you’ll get with this guy. he alternates between foul moods that verge on frightening and a brilliant good temper that tempts you to shine your phone in his eyes to see the confirmation of pinprick pupils. he has moderate nights, but they’re becoming rarer and rarer.

still, his company beats the emptiness of your apartment. like a creature taken to a faraway zoo, you haven’t acclimated to your new environment in chicago, haven’t learned how to take this much loneliness; that’ll come later.

for now, you’re still standing on your separate little patches of sidewalk, familiar strangers engaged in tacit truce, when it comes flying out of nowhere.

fuck.

mikey snarls it so savagely that you look over for threat assessment, just quick enough to catch him looking up at the pitiless hard sky, profile: once-broken nose, twisted mouth, adam’s apple. wild gleam of desperate dark eye, more startling than the snarl. sudden rage from a man is no surprise, but this one looks worse. this one looks caged.

you can sympathize with that.

what? you say gruffly.

his eyes shutter, his jaw pulses. nothing.

you shrug, turn away. resume the truce.

in your peripheral, you can see him looking down and firing off a text. and you think that’s it, that’s all, but then he turns to you and says, you’re good at getting people to fuck off, yeah?

his voice is the voice of a friend, low and familiar, warm and a touch wry. his dark eyes the same. you’re looking at each other directly and it feels like a touch.

a laugh startles out of you. you’ve been pretty direct about rejecting his attempts at conversation, belligerent, sweet, or otherwise. but here he goes again, trying, and you’re tempted.

mikey turns so he’s facing you, chucks his cigarette, and sticks his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his big gray hoodie. for some reason, that does it.

yeah, you say, i’m a world-class expert at getting people to fuck off. they should be giving me tenure, the way i could teach that shit.

then you’re the one i wanna talk to.

you’ve got nobody else in this godforsaken city except patients and threats, and so it’s probably a side effect of loneliness, nothing to do with the man himself, but still: it feels good that somebody wants to talk to you.

you hesitate, fighting it. he exhales.

who’s after you? you say. debt collector? ex?

my brother, actually. there’s an odd space, flicker grimace, between brother and actually. he’s not proud of this. again, you can sympathize.

why do you want your brother to fuck off?

he says nothing, rubs his shoe against a lump of hardened gum on the asphalt. ‘s complicated.

with that, your sympathy—never in abundant supply to begin with—goes down the drain. if he’s gonna play the whiny teenager, making you beg him for his deep dark secrets, fuck it. compassion isn’t your style anyway.

okay, you say flatly. you turn towards the street, keeping him in your periphery just in case. the silence grows heavy, but you ignore it.

fuck it, he mutters. then, louder, it’s not that complicated. carmy’s the baby, and ma was always telling us to keep him out of trouble. i guess it stuck.

that’s such an innocuous way to put it, pulled from childhood. what about the rage from earlier, his trapped eyes? sense tells you to end things here. don’t be a trash bag for this man’s problems, whatever they are.

the thing is, though. it does feel good to have somebody talk to you like you’re a person.

what’s the trouble? you say.

he sighs, settles in. you ever seen a house on fire?

no, i’ve seen a helicopter on fire, but that’s…you look over at him, and you can tell it’s not the flames he’s talking about. no. you?

sort of. he pauses, and the silence is full enough that you know to wait for the coming story. so when i was little, i used to sneak down to the basement, right? i was supposed to be babysitting carmy and sugar, putting them to bed and all that good shit, but some nights i’d get bored. and they never got in much trouble without me.

they must’ve been pretty well-behaved kids, you say.

he laughs. he’s beautiful when he laughs, you can’t help but see it. not exactly.

i’m just saying, if my brother told me to stay anywhere, i would’ve been out the window by the time he’d gotten down the stairs.

mikey gestures with his cigarette at exactly the wrong moment, and the wind snuffs out his cigarette, but he’s so caught up in his story, he doesn’t even notice.

nah, i knew how to play it. sugar was going through this phase where she was fixated on us taking her seriously, so she loved the responsibility. and what was carmy gonna do about it? he was like five. he smiles, remembering. so anyway, before i would go down there, i’d put on my little light up sneakers, cause the stairs to the basement were dark and scary.

you find yourself smiling too. you can picture it.

and my mom would be down there in the dark, watching the tv, sitting in my dad’s old chair. she was usually drunk or sleeping, but sometimes i think she noticed i was there with her and she was okay with it. or, i don’t know. he laughs, short and sharp. she definitely never changed the channel on account of me. i saw all kinds of crazy shit on tv before i was twelve.

mikey pauses, then looks to you. what the fuck am i even talking about? there’s no real embarrassment in it, only appealing self-deprecation.

it works on you. you do want to know where this is going. house fire.

house fire, he echoes, pointing at you. okay, so one time i’m sitting on the floor next to dad’s chair, leaning on it, and i fall asleep. i wake up to this woman screaming. at first i think it’s real, but then i realize it’s from the tv, right? there’s a house on fire. the whole neighborhood is standing there watching, and there’s this old woman screaming, but they don’t look sorry for her. and after a second i figure out what she’s saying. she’s screaming at the firefighters to go in. and i didn’t get it, like, why is no one listening to her?

it scared him, you think. it must have. someone was in there?

i don’t know, i never found out, mikey says. mom woke up, and she saw that i was freaked out, so she got super fuckin angry and, uh. made me go to bed and all that. standing there and holding a cold cigarette, he looks tired. but when i was walking to the stairs, the woman stopped screaming. so i looked back and i saw on the tv that the house was gone. the whole thing collapsed. the roof must’ve caved in.

the silence lingers, then mikey looks across at you like a question. why should it matter whether you understand? why should you care? but your heart is in your throat.

it was right for the firefighters to stay outside, because if they’d gone in, they would have died. the roof was always going to crumble. whatever was inside the house, it was already gone.

you think you understand. so you’re inside the house.

nah, mikey says, i’m the house.

in the aftermath of christmas eve—gold chain, two generations, soup—christmas itself passes quietly without hurting much.

save for a handful of texts, completely unexpected.

> what’s the fastest way to infect people with food poisoning?

richie, of course. you don’t even bother to play coy by letting a few minutes elapse, like you had something better to do. he wouldn’t be fooled by that. he already knows better.

> it’s that bad?

> not fatal food poisoning, just the regular kind.

> it’s that bad? x2

> i think if we all threw up a lot we’d be having more fun.

> you want me to fake an emergency? pull a fire alarm, stage a bomb threat? i’ll drive the getaway car.

> your mind jumps to terrorism way too fast. you’re just looking for an excuse, aren’t you.

> seriously.

> you’re the third guy. it’s al qaeda, then isis, then you.

> seriously, get out of there. come get an unfrozen burrito, if you’re hungry.

no reply. not even three dots to show he’s drafting. with your left hand, you drum a nervous beat on your kitchen table, and with your right, you send another text.

> you can bring sugar and carmy with you.

and there they are, those three dots. you don’t know if you’re more worried about what will happen if he takes up your offer, or what will happen if he turns it down. you don’t talk about carmy to richie, though richie talks about carmy to you. he knows that. you like tina and you don’t mind his other coworkers, but you avoid the berzattos like the plague. richie knows that too. your reasons are your own, but if it really comes down to it—

> it’s fine. all the people i want to save wouldn’t fit in the car anyway.

relief. yeah, that’s relief, and you feel a little guilty for it, but it’s just easier this way: you in the kitchen and no one else.

> you have jumper cables in your trunk, don’t you? just tie pete to the top of the car like a christmas tree

> like i’d bring pete.

> cold hearted, that’s what you are.

nothing. no typing, no read 7:12pm, nothing at all. after fifteen minutes, you give up and toss your phone on your bed. drink your tea, though it has gone cold. try not to think about whatever’s happening in that other kitchen. try not to think about how close by it is, or how far.

the day after christmas, you’re so busy thinking about richie that you almost deliver yourself to the feds on accident.

walking to your boss’s house without an invitation is never a good idea, doubly so when your boss deals his displeasure in blood, but after so long without pay, work, and news about your carbon monoxide poisoning patients, you’re desperate. the idea is that you’ll barter your knowledge of howie and kevin’s stupid shenanigans in exchange for information. maybe you’ll even ask for severance pay.

that’s why you’re thinking of richie. you’re trying to keep calm, and he’s something to look forward to. you wonder how he’s doing ice fishing with carmy. will they get frostbite? maybe. will they catch anything? doubtful. will they end up shouting? definitely. will—

you’re just about to take a left onto the caruso’s street when you see it: about nine or ten houses down, there’s a gaggle of suburban moms gawking at the caruso house, and beyond them, cop cars.

this is it.

your stomach drops, and you look away immediately, heartbeat going full jackhammer about to drill through your concrete chest. keep walking straight, past the scene. you only got one glance before the instinct to flee kicked in, but you’re pretty sure that the cops were carrying heavy cardboard boxes out to their cars. you’re not worried about what evidence they might find—tweety bird wouldn’t let contraband be stored in her pantry, not in a million years—but you are worried that the cops were all a matched set. the navy windbreakers? that’s fed fashion. that’s.

yeah. this is it.

when you get on the bus, some part of you is surprised the driver even allows it. the end’s not here, but it is coming. only a matter of time.

as you get off one bus and get on another, taking a circuitous route in a useless effort to try and allay the feeling of being hunted, your dread coalesces into nausea, the kind you get when a headache or period cramps are left untended too long. it’s physical. you focus on the fraying cuff of your hoodie, and all you want to do is lie down.

you’ve expected the world to end for a long time, so you know exactly what to do. you’ve done research. you’ve imagined it all in excruciating detail, and you’re not bothered by the unknown, except for richie.

richie’s the one unknown. imagining the end of the world with him was so unbearable that you could never force yourself to go through with the exercise of imagining it, and you kept him at arm’s length just enough to pretend that the end of the world would somehow leave him untouched. now that shit’s real, you can’t pretend anymore. when it comes to richie, you’ll be flying blind. you could kick yourself. you could k—

your work phone rings. it’s your landlady. you ignore it, but she rings again and again and again. finally, she texts you.

> please come up to the office as soon as you can. we have discovered irregularities with your october and november payments, and unless this is fixed soon, we’ll have to explore our legal options.

your landlady was not the one who typed that message. if she’d been the one typing, it would’ve looked something like get your ass up here, give or take a few typos.

so yeah, there’s cops after you. this is it.

when you call your brother from a newly purchased burner phone, he answers immediately. what’s up?

it’s julie.

okay, he says very flatly. one nice thing about your family: minimum talking, minimum fuss. he doesn’t say a thing about the years past. he just repeats, what’s up?

i’m probably going to prison for a while, you say.

how long?

should i be insulted that you’re not surprised?

he says nothing. you don’t know what you expected, really, but you hate that you’ve become the talkative one.

stifling your annoyance, you say, like ten years max? it’s not like i killed someone, but i’m in with some assholes. i don’t know, i haven’t talked to a lawyer yet.

silence on the other end.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, nausea swelling. you can picture him, your one and only sibling, even though you know the picture must be outdated: broad-shouldered like you are, annoying, tall, decked out in some kind of colorless athleisure and the eternal baseball cap, slanted eyes narrowed even more than usual in judgment and exasperation.

are you there? you finally say.

you need bail? he says abruptly.

god, you want so badly to give him a shove, knock the stiffness out of him. no. no money. not from you, not from mom, not from anyone. that’s why i’m calling. if anyone finds out about this, just keep them out of it, yeah?

yeah.

that’s where you should shut up, unless you want feelings leaking into it, but today’s a day of helplessness and this conversation is no exception.

you say, a little desperate, i don’t want anyone near this one.

i got it, pebbles. with his particular mix of sardonic affection and condescension, the fog around you lifts, and there he is standing in front of you. you can see him clearly: pissed off at you now and probably forever, but still family. not much. but not nothing.

suck my dick, you say, awash with relief.

he snorts. and adieu.

you hang up on each other at exactly the same time.

i’m not telling you that.

you’ve worn your lawyer down to a thin veneer of professionalism through which her palpable annoyance has begun to show. and you’re not even sorry. it gives you a certain satisfaction, a sense of getting your own back—her steely, emotionless affect was getting on your nerves before.

you put all your remaining money into her retainer check because she’s not just a lawyer, but an effective one, according to your research. so it shouldn’t matter that you don’t know what she thinks of you. shouldn’t matter, but it does. you want to know her judgment, one way or another. maybe it’s because this is the first time you’ve told the full story to anyone.

or at least, as close as you’re ever gonna get to the full story.

i’ve already explained confidentiality to you, she says.

i already knew that you’re not gonna snitch on me unless i’m about to commit another crime, you say. but i’m still not telling you.

all right. let me get this straight. she spreads her hands out flat on her desk, and her wedding band clacks against the dark wood. there’s not a strand of her gray hair out of place, and her brown eyes have lost their annoyance. back to professionalism. disappointing. you’re here because you believe you witnessed federal agents bagging evidence at your employer’s house, and you believe your employer has been arrested. your employer is giovanni caruso—

hold up, you interrupt. giovanni? that’s his name?

you call him old caruso, son’s name is jack, there’s a limited number of organized crime families in the area and i happen to be acquainted with that landscape, generally speaking.

you snort. that’s so fucking funny.

if your lawyer finds you more annoying than before, she doesn’t show it. you have been working for caruso for over a year and a half in an off the books capacity as a doctor. you received biweekly payments to be on call between the hours of eight in the evening and eight in the morning, and during that time, you treated multiple gunshot wounds and other injuries, including broken bones, stab wounds, and carbon monoxide poisoning. while your clients were cautioned not to tell you their names or explain how they received their injuries, you do feel that you know enough information to be of interest to the police. you are not willing to testify.

on account of not wanting to die, yes, you say, adopting a professional tone to exactly match hers, dangerously close to mocking. you’re being an asshole for a reason. she’s tried to persuade you to testify before, and you don’t want her to try it again.

she continues unperturbed. you have been threatened with violence on multiple occasions to that end, sometimes with a weapon. so far, understandable.

now the lawyer spreads her hands out on the desk in a summary gesture.

now all of this is not necessarily as dire a predicament as you thought when you said you might ‘get ten years’. if you had proof you were coerced, i could get your sentence reduced even more, but as things stand this seems like a set of offenses that would land you around two or three years, five at the worst. you do have a medical license, so they can’t get you on practicing without. you never directly participated in any of the presumably violent crimes leading to the injuries, and you never procured the drugs and medical supplies yourself. other than the payments to your bank account, there’s not much of a paper trail because you took no notes, used neither laptop nor smartphone—yeah, you didn’t tell her about the michael and richie phone, because that would require telling her about michael and richie—and cycled through burner phones instead. so again, it will be hard for them to nail you on specifics, unless they have multiple witnesses.

i sense a ‘but’ coming, you say.

but i need to understand why you got into this in the first place.

with that, you snap. it’s been a day, and she’s using the words of a counselor with the expression of a robot. why the fuck do you care?

ma’am, she says, that glimmer of irritation just barely showing, you are paying me to defend you. i would rather not enter that fight with one hand tied behind my back.

you’re an idiot.

of course she doesn’t care about whether you’re good or bad, clever or stupid. there’s no judgment to be had. all she cares about is how defensible you are. you really are an idiot, and you’re so relieved.

with that, it flows freely.

i fucked up, you say. i was a resident at ui—university of illinois—and i was on my second to last year, everything was good. but then the carusos tried to blackmail me into getting them the medical files of one of my patients, so i freaked out and quit. it’s hard to convey to her just how much your world ended, without sounding melodramatic. in the end, you keep it brief. i burned all my bridges. but then i had no job and nothing else to do, and they knew it. shit happened, and now here we are.

she doesn’t hesitate. caruso tried to blackmail you with what?

no. that’s all, that’s it. she only gets the one word.

i can’t do my job if you’re being obstructionist.

i’m not tell you that—i’m not telling fucking anyone that. i’d rather go walk onto state street bridge and blow my brains out. there’s no way she knows what you’re talking about, but some of it must creep into your voice, because she does stop for a moment and think before pressing you again, this time with a slightly milder tone.

is it sex, violence, or money? she says.

none of the above. some money was involved, but not more than a month of rent.

you paid, or someone else paid?

all right, that’s it. you charge by the hour, right? you say.

in your current arrangement, yes.

well, the retainer’s all i got. so. you pat your hands on her desk in a brisk, final gesture. i’m gonna fuck off now, you have a think, and then tomorrow i’m gonna swing by and you can tell me what i need to know about turning myself in. in the meantime, i’m gonna go get a burrito.

for a split second, you think she’s going to argue with you, and you can pinpoint the exact moment when she resigns herself to having an unreasonably stubborn client.

you do that, she says.

as far as you’re concerned, she got the whole story. it ends with prison, the way it was always going to end. it starts the way it was always going to start too: you fucked up.

so you’re inside the house.

nah, mikey says. i’m the house.

he immediately goes digging in the pocket of his sweatpants to get his lighter, refusing to look at you. the shame is how you know this is real.

it hits you then: he’s the one you want to talk to. you distrusted him before because he was so transparently on the brink of falling apart, but now you can see that that’s just something you have in common. you’re the house. you’re the fucking house. and here he is, someone who knows what that feels like, and there’s nothing else between you. what are the chances?

what about you, mikey says, relighting his cigarette. do you have any younger siblings, or is it just the one?

the question comes unexpected, and you realize that he knows you have an older brother—that you’ve talked about your family, that you’ve been drawn in that much and that easily.

just the one, you manage to say.

ping, goes a little notification sound, and there it is, saved by the bell. he gets out his phone, and you point at it.

what? he says.

i got good news and bad news.

he looks back down at his phone, grimaces at the text, then puts it away. okay. what’s the good news?

you can’t help yourself. who asks for the good news first?

he shrugs, smiles, wide open and easy. i do.

for a second, you’re both smiling at each other. but then comes your next words.

good news is, i haven’t spoken to my family since 2019. when you say it like that, you can almost make it sound like something to be proud of. so. i really am the one you want to talk to.

shit, mikey says, looking at you.

it’s the first time you’ve thrown him off kilter, and you enjoy it.

you really are the one i want to talk to. he switches his cigarette from his right hand to his left so he can shake yours. i’m mikey.

his hand is callused and cold, but his grip is firm. it doesn’t feel perfunctory. it skitters electricity up your arm that you promptly ignore.

i know, you say.

his smile is harder to ignore. you never said what your name was, though.

you only vaguely remember rebuffing him the first time you both smoked outside together. it feels so far away now.

julie, you say. you only realize that you gave him your real name once it’s too late to take it back. his hand is warm, engulfing yours.

good to meet you, julie.

likewise.

he lets go first.

you wanna hit me with the bad news? he says.

you stick your hands in your coat pockets. bad news is: if you want him gone, you have to want him gone. you say you want him gone, but you’re still texting the kid. what’s he supposed to think?

so you’re saying i should block him? you can tell from mikey’s voice that he already hates the idea.

i’m saying you already know what to do.

i don’t! he’s almost laughing, like the whole thing is so desperate, it’s funny.

yes you fucking do, you say. you just haven’t ended it because you don’t actually think things are over for you. there’s a chance that you wake up a different person tomorrow, and that’s enough reason to postpone the end of the world, right?

he’s not laughing now. he’s not angry, either. the whole weight of his attention is on you, and he’s gone so perfectly motionless, you know you’ve hit bullseye. yeah. you really are the one he wants to talk to.

so, you say, the reason you want your brother to fuck off is not because you think you’re gonna sink to the bottom of the ocean and drag him down with you. it’s because you don’t want him to watch you floundering around, gasping for air, trying to survive. cause it’s fucking embarrasing.

okay, he says slowly, so you think i’m, what. being dramatic? it’s not a rhetorical question. he’s locked in, he’s really asking. you think the house isn’t on fire here?

you lift your shoulders an inch, wound tight, focused. honest, but not only honest. trying hard to say it right so he understands.

i don’t know you, you say. i don’t know the situation. all i’m saying is, if it’s only shame, then you’ll stay floundering in the in-between forever, fuckin miserable, never in and never out.

mikey is listening so intently, you think maybe he does hear you. maybe he does understand.

and, you know. don’t do that, you say. just let the kid in, if it’s shame. it’ll hurt, but it won’t kill you.

what if it’s not shame? mikey says. what if the house is on fire?

you hesitate. you love him?

he’s my brother. there’s years in his voice, decades. you can hear every second of them, and all you can do is nod.

yeah, you say. look away. take one last drag on your cigarette, then snuff it out before it can burn you. chuck it in the makeshift ashtray, and throw away your empty cigarette box too.

wordlessly, mikey passes his to you. you’re used to menthols, not whatever the fuck these are, but you take it because he offered. the taste is his, and the slow exhale.

is watching you, but before you can gather up enough courage to look back—he’s close now, which makes looking at him feel like a risk—his phone goes off and you try to tell yourself that that feeling is relief.

this fuckin guy, he mutters, then types a reply.

you smile to yourself over the rough affection in his voice. a private smile, all yours. you’ve lost track of time out here with him, and you’ve got no desire to find it again.

carmy’s not giving up, huh, you say.

what? it takes a second for his mind to catch up. oh, that’s not carmy. that was richie.

he’s so funny. you know you just say random names sometimes like i already know who they are?

richie’s my best friend, he explains.

and are you shaking him off too? you’re aware that this is a lot to ask, and you want the answer precisely because it’s a lot to ask.

to your surprise, mikey laughs.

richie? no. he holds out his hand, and you pass the cigarette back to him. richie’s not a guy you can shake off. his wife’s been trying to leave him for like a year, but he keeps hanging on. he’s that kind of guy.

you attempt to withhold the judgment from your voice when you repeat, for a year?

he shrugs. on and off, but it takes two to tango. it’ll work out.

okay, companionship only goes so far, no matter how much you like mikey. you’re not about to stand here and let a man tell you that keeping a woman in a marriage against her will is a good fucking thing.

it takes two to tango, but it only takes one to leave, you say. and i bet she has her reasons.

look, whatever she has, richie’s not a quitter, mikey says. fuck, i couldn’t shake the guy if i had a gun to his head.

you smoke in stony silence, thinking to yourself that this richie sounds like an absolute fucking nightmare. for a while, your thoughts and mikey’s veer off on such diverging paths that you’re almost about to make your excuses and go back upstairs, the feeling of camaraderie gone. and then.

hey, mikey says. there’s an odd note to his voice, nearly gentle. how did you shake your family, can i ask? what did you do?

you look over at him and hold that look for a long moment, fighting the urge to swallow.

there’s a lot you can give to mikey, and you’ll find out just how much in the coming year. but that. you’ll never give him that.

instead, you give him what you think he needs, what you’ve turned over and over in your mind during so many sleepless nights: the conclusion you finally came to, long ago.

you gotta make absolutely sure the house is on fire, you say. because if you’re not, if you leave your brother and live on, then you’ve done something unforgivable and you’re not even dead enough to escape.

there’s only one more thing you need to do before you turn yourself in, and despite the overwhelming urge to duck it—be a coward, find a way—you force yourself to walk all the way to richie’s apartment building. the exercise is supposed to wear you out, take some of the fight out of you, but it fails. now you’re just waiting for him with sore legs and recurring nausea.

you don’t have to wait long. one second, you’re grimly watching the smoke from your cigarette drifting upwards, and then there’s a flicker of motion down the street. you look, and there he is. richie’s coming towards you in long strides, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, a man on a mission. he’s clearly spotted you.

hey, he calls, when he’s still stupidly far away. what’s going on?

it’s okay, you want to say, but the words won’t come. as much as you’ve kept hidden from richie, you don’t like lying to him much. so you just put out your cigarette in case you need to leave quickly, and you wait.

when richie finally reaches you, he’s evidently curious, but you speak first.

how was ice fishing?

not too bad, weirdly enough. he settles in and lights himself a cigarette before continuing. maybe he’s under the illusion that this is one of your normal companionable nights, just happening in a different location. turns out carmy still sleeps better in a moving car, so i actually drove the long way home and i think it did him some good.

feels like it did richie some good too. he tried to take care of somebody and for once, it worked. you’re glad. he needed it, after that hell of a christmas.

you can sense his weary contentment, and you know you’re about to ruin it.

that’s good, you say quietly, and at the same time, richie says, what?

looking up into his face, your heart sinks right along with your hopes. his blue eyes are sharp enough.

goddammit, but he’s caught on. he knows something isn’t right, and you’re not asshole enough to try and claw back an ease that’s gone for good.

i gotta go away for a while, you manage to say.

how long is a while? he says, uneasy.

you can’t do this.

hey, he says, a little softer, and you have to look away. you shouldn’t have even come. you shouldn’t have even fucking come. five minutes with him, and you’re already fighting to keep your face under control.

can we go upstairs? it’s fucking cold. you feel exposed, visible to anyone who might drive by, and you can’t shake the rising urge to hide.

yeah, richie says. yeah, we can go upstairs. it’s not that cold out compared to your countless nights spent outside together, and he knows it, but he just opens the door for you.

the elevator ride is long and painful. you can practically smell the worry coming off him in waves, festering, so you don’t make him wait. as soon as his apartment door is shut and locked behind you, you say, how long i’m away kinda depends on the prosecutor.

you, uh. he runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. fuck. what are the charges?

we’ll see. i, uh, i have this feeling there’s feds involved. tomorrow i’m going to turn myself in.

fuck, he says again, hard. he runs his hand from his forehead back over his skull, then just stands there for a second, head half bowed and hand gripping the back of his neck. you want to comfort him, but shouldn’t. you want to run, but can’t.

instead, you take this opportunity to get in one last long stare. richie is the same as ever. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he smells faintly of smoke. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real.

richie says, what can i do?

he looks at you, and though his voice is subdued, you can tell he’s dead serious. thank god. you thought you’d have to beg for it, but here he is, offering. you really want to know?

he nods once, tight. anything.

that one hurts, because he knows just how much a person can ask of him, and he’s standing there offering it anyway.

i want you to stay out of it.

dead silence. a muscle tics in his jaw. why?

i don’t want to make things messy. i don’t want to cause trouble, and there’s—you try to eke out a laugh, downplay it. but your laugh is raw and you can tell in his eyes that you’ve only made things worse. there’s some fuckin trouble in this.

okay. he digs out his phone, swipes a couple times, and then points at the round blue logo of the jpay app. you see this? his voice is tight. i don’t know what makes you think you’re so special, but this isn’t the first time i’ve had a friend catch a charge and it probably won’t be the last. so you don’t need to look so freaked out, you’re not gonna infect me. i’m fine. i can help.

fucking richie. the one night you need him to be unreasonable, and here he is making arguments, using logic and shit. exasperated, you try to argue your way out of this.

you were dealing coke just a few months ago.

richie scoffs. so what?

fak found out about that, didn’t he? you give him a look. fak, richie. fak. fucking—

he raises both hands, palms spread in irritation, voice rising. would you stop saying fak?

irresistible. fak.

i don’t—

come on.

okay. he gestures widely, in an exaggerated motion used to indicate he’s the sole light of reason in a dark world of total bullshit. maybe i've been exaggerating a little. maybe fak’s not the worst guy in the world. i mean, he can be a lot. clingy, sure. but a snitch? nah. he told carmy, but carmy’s not a cop, so that's different. it’s fine. we’re fine.

i'm just saying. if fak knows and carmy knows, other people probably know too.

it’s not even relevant, richie says. so i moved a little weight, who cares?

look, i’m not trying to be a dick, but i don’t think the cops were were hunting that hard for you. if they start digging into me, that’s gonna change. cause i’m not a snitch either, and i know they’re gonna want me to flip, so they’ll leverage whatever against me, and… yeah, you can tell he’s not finding this convincing. a bad feeling is growing in the pit of your stomach. just get it over with.

there’s one surefire way to make him flinch, and you push that launch button, voice casual.

you helped michael get painkillers too, right? you say.

takes a second, but he finally admits, yeah. i knew a guy.

michael was not keeping it neat and tidy, you know what i mean? it takes so much effort to seem this careless. but it works. he looks a bit more like he should—guarded, almost suspicious.

what are you saying?

i’m saying i knew he was using within a month of meeting him. and. you can tell you’ve hurt him a little, but still, your arguments aren’t working, your wild swings aren’t working, he’s not listening to you, nd desperation wells up in you. is there nothing you can do? just, can you please stay out of this. you didn’t mean to say please, but it burst out of you. i don’t know what’s gonna go down, and i just want everyone clear of this. i know they’re coming for me, i know i’ll lose, and i don’t—i don’t want you anywhere near it all.

richie is silent for a moment, thinking hard.

you rub your thumb over your wristbone. can we just…

what’s your plan? he says. that’s what i wanna know. like, you’re not fighting here, and i don’t get it. what happens after you turn yourself in? you’re not gonna get a deal if you don’t talk, so what? you’re just gonna sit there and take the twenty-five to life?

twenty-five to life? you echo. richie, what the fuck do you think i did?

after one long moment of the both of you staring at each other, he hums a little james bond.

your face lifts into a wide, incredulous smile. you think i’m. he does. he absolutely does, look at him. you could kiss him. you could shake him. you start to laugh.

his face twists like he just got pinched hard. no, i—what do i know, man, i don't know that much about the law or whatever, i just—

twenty-five to life!

—don't get fucking offended, okay?

i'm not offended.

i'm just a well-read guy with a very active imagination, and maybe i got a little carried away, but—

his shoulders are up by his ears, he’s so defensive.

richie, you say firmly. i'm not mad.

what? there he is. finally listening. eyes looking directly at you, electric blue, raw current.

you hold that silence a little longer than you need to, just to feel it. then, deliberately giving each word its own due weight, you say, you thought i’d killed somebody, and you were gonna help me?

richie shrugs helplessly.

i thought you had your reasons, he says. i always think you have your reasons.

that shakes you to the core.

goodwill, you already knew you had his goodwill. but faith? jesus. you’re the last person on earth that anyone should believe in, but richie doesn’t know how wrong he is and you can’t tell him, so you just to stand there under the weight of his belief and try not to crumble. at this point, prison would be a fucking mercy.

you have to get out of here.

it'll be five years at worst, you say. your voice sounds strange even to your own ears, but you keep going. the feds will be shaking me like a fruit tree hoping some juicy information tumbles down, but everything i did was pretty boring. you think of the factory, the bodies laid out like so many logs. nonviolent, anyway.

doesn’t seem very james bond to me, he says you fuckin drama queen.

bottom line, you say, the thing is enough of a mess already, so just let me do my time and we can hang out after. i don't want you anywhere near this. you start heading for the door. i gotta go anyways, i have—

you serious? he cuts in, suppressed and flat. warning bells are going off in your head, but you walk on.

dead fucking serious, you say, unlocking the front door. i don’t even want anyone to know that we’ve met.

dead silence, and then, richie says, well maybe you don’t get a fucking choice.

you turn and meet his eyes. there it is again, that stomach-churning nausea that you thought you’d managed to quell. the plummeting feeling of having no control. it stops you in your tracks.

what? you say.

i mean, i’m not going anywhere, so fucking deal with it? the life has come back to his voice, and with it, all the anger. his blue eyes are sparking with it, he’s gesturing, he’s gathering momentum, and you try to stop him but you already know it’s useless.

richie—

look, i don't run when things get bad, i’m not that guy. i’m here. he smacks one hand into another. like i’m in it. that's the whole fucking point.

the point of what?

you know what i’m trying to say.

the point of what, richie?

his face twists. oh, don't do that. don't do that thing where you act like you know everything that goes on in my head.

but i fucking do, though.

yeah, well i fucking hate it.

if you hate it so much then why did you give it to me then?

his voice goes higher. i'm not just gonna drop you!

i am literally begging you to drop me. somehow, you’ve crossed the room, you’re up in his face and he’s not backing down and the words are flying so thick and fast as you talk over each other that you can barely make out yours, much less his. i want you to drop me, i specifically—i did so much shit so that you could drop me, i was so fucking careful—

i never asked you to!

i got rid of my phones and i stuck to my rules and—

i never fucking asked you to!

if you get involved, it's gonna be fucking awful and it won't help, it won't even help, if that's what you think—

i can help! i'm not, fucking useless, like. you guys always—

that one, you hear. you guys?

why don't you ever fucking talk to me? he says, like the words are getting torn out of him.

who the fuck do you think you’re talking to right now? for a second, you just look at each other. breathing hard. when you finally speak, your voice is quieter. richie, you are the only person i ever fucking talk to. but it doesn’t matter. there’s nothing anyone can do.

i don't believe you.

you don’t know how to get around that. after a beat, you say, okay, what is it, richie. cruel. what is it you're gonna do that's gonna help. you asked me to explain my plan, now it’s your turn. you tell me how you’re gonna help me with this.

fucking…he looks up for a second, and then back at you. i know what you’re doing.

you don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing at this point, but the way he’s looking at you is frightening. you could almost believe that he knows. and honestly, you don’t want to find out.

what am i doing, you say.

he turns and walks away, towards the bed. after a second’s hesitation, you follow. he sits down on the bed so he can crank open the window, light up, and smoke out of it. you stay standing. you really don’t know why you haven’t left yet. you were supposed to ages ago.

sit down, he says.

fuck you.

fucking sit down.

no.

jesus. he exhales, slow. you can see him settling a little. do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans?

what is this, storytime?

patiently, he repeats, do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans.

to make spaghetti.

he points at you. exactly. but the reason he was making spaghetti is cause he’d just gotten mikey’s note. deep breath. this isn’t a story he’s happy to tell you. see, mikey had left him this note on the back of a the spaghetti recipe, but i—i didn’t give it to carmy until there was this day. syd and marcus were gone. shit had gotten bad.

i remember, you murmur.

i was in the front, and i heard people yelling fire, so i came running into the kitchen and carmy was watching it all burn. just standing there. not moving. his eyes were open, but it was like he was asleep.

and that’s why you gave him the note?

yeah. i know i should’ve done it before. but.

he looks up at you, and you can see him appealing to you for some kind of mercy. maybe comfort. this is the thing he’s ashamed of. you understand that, you understand him, you understand shame better than anyone else, and there’s a sick comfort in it, knowing he’s that much more like you. at least he was able to change course in the end. you never did.

you don’t tell him that, though, because you’ve realized something else.

this is the thing he’s ashamed of, which makes it usable.

so i’m carmy, in your off-base and condescending metaphor, you say, callous. you're gonna come and save me? you're gonna put the fire out.

his eyes darken. no, you're not carmy.

no?

you're mikey.

fuck you.

so fucking selfish, he says bitterly. it’s as close to hate as you’ve ever heard from him. but you’ve gone so far, you’re not stopping now.

richie, what the fuck do you want from me?

you know what i want! his voice goes quiet when he adds, did really you think there’s anything that could keep me away from you for five fucking years?

you know what he means.

can’t put words to it, can’t accept it, can’t fucking bear it—won’t—but you do know, you know exactly what he’s trying to say to you, what he’s trying to give.

you don’t deserve it, but it’s not for you anyways, it's for michael. it's all for michael, and it would be beautiful if it wasn't such a fucking waste to love a man when he's dead. richie’s gonna throw everything he has onto the fire in the hope that it will quench the flames. that just makes it his pyre, but he’ll never see it.

okay, you say. my turn at storytime.

you sit down next to him on the bed, accept his cigarette. take a drag, then lean on the wide wooden sill as you breathe smoke out into the cold. lull him into it. relax his guard.

you thought you inherited me, right? you say. conversational. no heat. you were gonna take care of me for him, that was the plan. i’m mikey.

that’s not what i meant.

you have it backwards, is the thing. you can feel yourself sinking into it, talking like you have time, matter of fact, cruelty showing at the edges. like you’re an entirely different person, which is, of course, your goal. michael didn’t give a shit about me. i was just there. i was just a woman who happened to be conveniently close by, and lonely, and he fucked me. and that was fine, that was convenient for me too, but he got worse and it got out of hand. he got hard to be around. i found out he’d started stealing from me, so i broke up with him. he found a way to get back into my apartment anyways, and he guessed the code to my safe and stole pretty much everything. so i told him tina shouldn’t call me for help next time he overdosed. i told him he could finally die, for all i cared. and he did.

you’re looking at the sheets. you’re still able to talk, somehow. you feel numb, detached, like you’re watching yourself say it.

the only reason you know me is because i felt guilty. i was gonna take care of you for him, that was the plan, but now this is getting out of hand and i’m fucking done with it. so here goes. it wasn’t just money he stole out of my safe. go take a look in the police report. i’d bet my life that there was a sig p365 in his hand when they found him. that was mine. i’m the reason he’s dead. you want to be loyal to someone? be loyal to him.

you crush the cigarette against the fake wood of the headboard. ash falls on his pillow.

playtime’s over. stay the fuck away from me.

this time when you leave, he doesn’t stop you.

on the train, hollowed out and swaying, you are approached by an elderly woman. her eyes are rheumy, concerned.

are you okay? she says.

hm?

you’re shaking.

you look down at your hands in your lap. she’s right.

there’s nothing else to say.

[ next chapter pending ] [ masterlist ]

a huge thank you to all readers.

taglist: @garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned, @fancyvoidtragedy, @justficsandstuff, @fromirkwood — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky

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randomsillyfangirl · 10 months

Text

Snow at the beach - Pablo Gavi x Reader

Warnings: non other then slightly agnst ------------------------------------------------------------One night, a few moons ago.. You and Pablo had a really bad fight. So bad you decided to take a break. Not breaking up, just not seeing each other for awhile. But now, it was your two year anniversary.

Now today, on your two Years anniversary.. Now you arre just at home, watching tv. You were really missing Pablo. You had your phone switched off so no one could talk to you.

You were laying on the couch, watching brooklyn 99, wearing your night pyjamas (see the images at the bottom of the blog). You heard a knock at your door and didn't wanna get up, but you had an Amazon package coming in today and you would need to collect it. You were shocked to find Pablo at your door when you opened it.

You stood in pure shock. " I.. I saw flecks of what could've been.. For our anniversary.. " you said- honestly you didn't understand what was happening and when that happened your mind became a massive mess.

Pablo found it funny whenever this could happen. " what am i saying? " you laughed awkwardly. " I think it just might just been you, acting all confusing when you're like this. " Pablo said smiling, not making fun of you, but genuinely thinking you tried really cute in the moment.

You felt this relief passing by unbeknownst to you, sometimes you felt as if life is emotionally abusive, especially when you were away from Pablo.

Pablo hugged you quickly and tight. " it feels like time stopped when you left. But when we took that break, I became useless. Because time can't stop me quite like you did when you're away from me, amor. " Pablo confessed as you hugged him back.

Pablo pulled away from you and looked you up and down. " you're good to go." he said and you looked confused. And with that, he gently dragged you away from the door and shut it behind you. " I wanna show you something. " he said but you were shivering- " it's freezing! " you yelled.

Pablo took off his hoodie and put it on you, it went up to your knees so you were pretty warm now. Pablo took you both to his heated car and started driving to the beach. " we'll stay in the car, don't worry." he said chucking, " thank god." you said in response.

" I know it's no snow at the beach, but look at the waves.. " Pablo started but you weren't listening. You were falling inlove." it's fucking beautiful.. " you said and Pablo lord at you, he missed seeing that gorgeous look in your eye.

It felt as if you were flying in a dream. The stars seemed to be by the pocketful. " I missed you wanting me. Because I was wanting you." Pablo said with a sigh. You held his hand softly, " I was missing you wanting me, because i was wanting you too. " you said back.

Tonight feels impossible, but you were coming back to your lover, that you missed so so much. This scene feels like what you've once saw on a screen, like a love story. You've never seen someone lit from within, until you saw how Pablo looked at you. And you saw the same when you saw yourself in the window reflection. Your smile was like you won a contest, the contest of Pablos love. And you're so glad you won.

" I love you." Pablo said. You knew he did, you loved him too. You felt like you couldn't speak, afraid to jinx it. You smiled, " I love you more." you said and Pablo kissed you gently.

Can this be a real thing? Can it? You thought to yourself, you were totally inlove with Pablo again.

#Spotify #pablo gavi #ily pablo gavi #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #gavi x reader #pablo x reader

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scholastic-dragon · 1 year

Note

For the Christmas Prompts, would I be able to have “Snowball fight” and Mistletoe with Bayverse Raphael?

Thanks to turtle-babe83 I’ve started reading your works and I’m enjoying what I’m seeing so far!

Awwww thank you!!! That means a lot to me🥺

Raphael x Gn!reader

Tmnt Stocking Stuffers

Winter Wonderland

Word count: 900

Warnings: spelling mistakes, snow, turtle smootches, established relationship, idiots in love,

Summary: you "challenge" Raph to a snowball fight

You should've know better.

But do you regret it? No you do not.

Surprising your boyfriend was one thing, but sneaking up on a ninja was even better.

You'd asked Raph if he wanted to take a walk in the snow down by the old bridge and look at all the Christmas lights. He agreed and you got to work, buying thicker gloves and boots and getting a snowball mold so you could be prepared.

You texted him to meet out by the garage entrance, it was a short walk to the bridge and on an abandoned side of town so the boys didn't have to worry about prying eyes.

And thanks to April, the boys actually got clothes and boots to wear outside during the winter.

You got there 30 minutes early for your walk, building a large snow wall that would hopefully hide you from Raph. You had a perfect view of the garage door Donnie had installed, and set up next to a tree for extra cover.

You made dozens of snowballs, stacking them and being careful not to break them. Your nose was freezing and kept running, you had to constantly wipe it on the sleeve of your jacket.

Then you heard the door open, ducking down so only your eyes were visible, you watch him exit the garage. He's wrapped in a thick scarf and hat he made, wearing a modified jacket for his shell.

He walks about 20 feet from the door before stopping, rubbing his hands together and pulling out his phone.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. It's time.

Picking up a snowball, you slowly rise, raising your arm and chucking the ball as hard as you could. It flew through the air, smashing right into Raph's cheek, snow flying everywhere, sticking to his scarf and going into his mouth.

"What the hell-?!" He jumped, wiping his mouth, gaze landing on you.

Before he could finish his exclamation you were throwing more snowballs.

Regaining his senses, he ducked behind a tree, digging at the thick snow under his boots and started making snowballs.

He mumbled something that you couldn't hear, but you knew it was a warning of some kind.

You giggled, filling your arms and standing, throwing more balls at his shell. He sat back on his haunches, throwing a massive snowball right at you. It hit your shoulder, making you drop you stack and practically knocking you over.

Thankfully your hand landed on a tree that kept you standing, even if a little crooked.

As you tried to stand up normally, Raph kept throwing them, it didn't help he had great hand-eye-coordination and massive hands. The snowballs hit you every time and each one almost knocking you over.

Laughing harder, you quickly rush away from him, some snowballs hit your back as you ran, and others missed you completely as you ducked and dodged your way to the garage.

"Where are ya going?" He yelled, the humor evident in his thick voice.

The garage was the only safe space, Donnie didn't like snow in there incase it melted and ruined his stuff, so he demanded that you stomp your boots off and shake off any and all snow upon entry.

Almost slipping on some ice right by the door, you get your bearings and throw the door open, turning back to see him rushing toward you with a huge snowball in his mits.

You quickly shut and lock the door, ignoring him yelling your name. You laughed, brushing the snow off your jacket and out of your hair.

You stomp your boots on the mat and turn around, as you do, a giant snowball gets shoved into your face.

You gasp, shaking the snow from your eyes, seeing Raph standing right in front of you with a large grin.

"How? What-?" You sputter, spitting out snow.

"There's more than one entrance to the garage, numbnuts," He laughs, stepping forward to help brush snow off your face. "There's a reason we don't use this one often,"

"And why is that?"

His smirk grows, he simply points up, you follow and can't help the laugh that comes out.

A small clump of mistletoe is hanging right over the door.

"And which one of you romantics put this there?" You tease, tossing a small clump of snow at his chest.

"April did first off, and Dad made it a rule that we can't take down any of her decorations cause it'll make her sad," He rolls his eyes at the last part, then meets your eyes again, they jump from your eyes to your mouth.

"Seems like you're waiting for something...?" You tease, licking your lips.

"I think you owe me for attacking me with those snowballs," He leans down, turning his face and tapping his cheek.

"You're such a brat," You roll your eyes, lifting your hands, gloves still covered in snow, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, but you quickly pull away. "Are we even now?"

"Nah, it's a kiss per snowball, babe,"

"Then you owe me double for those bowling balls you hit me with earlier," You push at his chest as he steps closer, not that it deters or stops him. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you to his chest.

"I'll happily make it up to you," He kisses you, titling his head and stealing any teasing response you could retort with. He pulls back slightly, and you raise up on your tiptoes to keep him close.

You wrap your arms around his neck, one hand tracing his collar, feeling him shiver in your arms. You pull back his scarf and jacket collar and dump a handful of snow inside.

You'd never heard Raph yelp so loud.

tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @mysticboombox @strawberrycakeblog @dilucsflame33 @post-apocalyptic-daydream

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt imagines #tmnt headcannon #tmnt headcannons #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #christmas prompt list #christmas prompts #thanks for the ask!#tmnt stocking stuffers

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marvels-bitch-boy · 1 year

Text

Emerald Eyes Part 3: Chapter 6

Chapter 6 (Y/N's POV)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I ended up studying abroad for another semester and had a couple of things happen while I was over there. I had a hard time writing anything. But now that I've talked to a therapist and been back home I've found myself some time to write! I hope you all enjoy!

Master List , P1 Chapter 1 , P2 Chapter 1 , P3 Chapter 4 , P3 Chapter 7

Sitting in a pub you felt a pair of eyes on you. Your hair had grown out and you let your facial hair go with it. You felt completely unrecognisable. Finishing off your pint, you stood up and made your way out into the cold night air.

You knew where the silver-haired man would be at this time, with his sister coming out of a pub just a few doors down. You noticed a man on the opposite side of the street staring at the redhead. He had his face hidden by a ballcap. He started to follow the pair in front of you slowly, you watched as he continued and seemed to take side alleys that went right on their route. What he didn’t expect was you to yank him by the collar in one of these alleys.

Slamming him against the brick wall and holding him down as you waited for the footsteps you both were trailing to fade away.

“Release me before I make you” the voice made you roll your eyes. Fucking Vision.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you look at him with annoyance and rage that seem to be mixing together the longer you look at him. “Didn’t you get the message that none of them want to see your face after the accords!?”

He gave you a smug look “Is that why you lurk in the shadows as well? -or perhaps because you’re afraid of what they’ll say when they see who you really are” His words make you want to burn the synthetic skin that covers his face. The thought flashes through your mind for only a second before you took a breath.

“I swear to god if you even talk to her-” Suddenly you are cut off by a blast of some kind as it hits you in the chest. Fuck. The floor beneath you feels cold. The stones digging into your back like you are a shipwreck hitting the rocks. Your shirt feels heavy against your skin, your chest goes along with it. It’s a feeling you’re all too familiar with. “Fuck” Your hand goes up to cover the wound. Within moments you see Vision chucked through the sky. Landing somewhere in the distance with a large crash of the earth.

Attempting to get up, your hand slips from the blood that's coated your palm. Still making your way up you follow the sound of battle coming from the train station.

- - -

Fuck. You keep repeating it over and over again in your head as you take each step. Finally reaching the station you see Wanda preparing to fight against the attackers but their attention is shifted to a train nearby. You see a familiar silhouette emerge from the shadows and within seconds combat resumes.

Stepping out you watch as Natasha takes on an emaciated Skeletor. His robes are discarded as he begins to fight her with swiftness. You watch as he gets closer to her and the pain from your wound only elevates the fear you have for her. Before you could properly think your fist is raised and a blast of yellow and blue flame hit him like a truck and launched him farther away from her. She turned to the direction of his attack and her face was filled with surprise that dissipated as she saw the blood that now covered you. Your arm stayed up as you aimed one more blast in the same direction. “Move!” you felt the word rip through your throat seconds before the heat left your fist. The blast of fire ripped through the night air and rammed itself into the largest blue woman you’ve ever seen. Natasha had already ducked out of the way and watched as the large woman went flying like a rag doll. She lands next to the skeletal-like man, they both lean on each other and say something you couldn’t hear.

Actually, you couldn’t hear a lot now because you felt like you were about to pass out. Your mind went slightly fuzzy and you could only muster a few words before you hit the floor and you were pretty sure one of them was once again “fuck”

- - -

Waking up you felt almost a million eyes on you. The sensation stayed on you as you attempted to get up, your shirt was shredded around you and the sensation of dried blood was coating you like tissue paper and glue. Looking towards the eyes of everyone around you, finding that indeed every pair was locked onto you, each holding a different sense of emotion.

You thought for a moment… it felt like a pretty long moment actually. “How’s everyone been?” pursing your lips due to the silence that fell upon you all. “I’m doing great, how bout you Y/N?” you reply to your own question “Well I’ve been on vacation for a bit, sightseeing and all” You sneak a glance at Wanda who stayed near her brother. “-I’ve missed us” giving the group your best faux smile and a sigh. Standing up you wobbled for a second before catching yourself and taking in a deep breath “I need to get back to work, can I get a cab from here?” the attempts to lighten the mood didn’t seem to be working.

“Are you seriously not going to shut up?” you turned to see Sam leaning on the wall of the quinjet. “I mean, who is this? You never talked this much before”

“It’s the brain injuries, trust me they rearrange some stuff…” you try to crack your neck and loosen up “...made me fun-” you turn to Natasha “You’d know all about that, dyed your hair since then… looks good” A sly wink was given to her and you saw her flex her jaw, probably in annoyance. “I really do need to call my boss and let her know I’ve been taken” Holding a hand out you shrug.

“Can’t do that” the strong voice that rolled your eyes until they were in the back of your head reverberated through the jet.

“Why not? I’m in the private sector, I’m not on the run… it’s just so I can clock in?” you produce a face pout “I hate doing unpaid overtime”

“Just stop with the jokes, for god sake go back to being quiet!” the one voice you never expected to be yelling at you came from across the jet. Wanda. “Stop being this fake version of you!...” she had tears prickling the corners of her eyes “Just stop”.

Her words. She had no idea, none of them -except Nat. They all had no idea that this is the new real version of you. You couldn’t help it though, using the jokes to hide the awkwardness, the guilt you felt, it was all so easy to hide behind. “I can’t… I’m sorry, but this is me. Leave it or love it” You faced away from her, ducking your face from the rest of the wandering eyes.

The entire trip felt all-encompassing, you didn’t speak for the rest of it. Not even when Natasha sat down next to you. You just closed your eyes and tilted your head back. You heard Pietro whisper something about you, you didn’t care though. You couldn’t bear to hear him say anything bad about you. You had learned how to drown out certain sounds, you had to when you were stuck under rubble. It kept you mildly sane for the most part. You felt pressure on the side of your knee. Opening your right eye only a smidge, you saw the widow's knee press into yours. You felt the corner of your lips lift what felt like an atom. Sitting in silence for the rest of the flight you remained content with her choice.

- - -

After you wake up from a small nap on the jet you are helped through the compound by Natasha. It seems as though no one else would even lay a hand on you. The hallways were quiet. It reminded you of when you’d skulk around at night, walking to and from the library. You emerged from the hallway into the common room. You saw Rhodey and Bruce talking to General Ross. As soon as he saw the group heading in his direction, he and the captain began exchanging words. Ross only got a few in before Rhodey hung up on him. He had been projected like a hologram. It was so realistic to him being here, you could even see the detail in his face when he caught a glimpse of you.

Rhodey didn’t make eye contact with you but you knew he saw you. The way his body language changed as he talked to Steve and Natasha. It was obvious. She handed you off to Bruce who didn’t seem to understand why no one else even got near you. He attempted to make small talk when he brought you to the infirmary, you didn’t hate it. “So… where’d you go?” he continued as he lay you down on the gurney.

“Hell” you made sure to give him a smirk, lightening the response.

He didn’t really understand exactly what you meant by that, he didn’t pry either. “Sounds fun…” he kept his gaze down on your wound as he spoke “You seem more cheerful, you and Nat still together?” You remained silent and he just continued tending to your chest.

Thinking for a moment you decided to talk. You hadn’t had a real conversation with someone since helping Natasha almost a year ago. “No… and I don’t know if I’m more cheerful or just hiding at this point” He stopped and you worried for a second that you had said something you should have kept inside.

He sat up and put his tools to the side. “Why do you think you’d be hiding?”

You didn’t really have a full answer, just multiple short little ones. If you worked hard enough in your head maybe a sentence could form.

“There’s just been this… darkness- or maybe it’s just a hole..” you continued thinking “And I’m worried that I’ll- I’ll be stuck in it alone-” you had let out a deep breath before going on “-But I don’t want to drag anyone into it. Not her or anyone else.”

“I don’t think that’s true…” he seemed now to think of a continuation “This new you…-I just met him and I think that he’s already made his way out of the darkness enough- at least by himself…” you nodded your head in understanding as he got up “-it’s never too late to ask for help, sometimes you just need a hand” and with that, he left.

You sat up, looking out the windows of the infirmary. It was all so new and old at the same time. The life you had now was nice, but you just felt so alone, the shadows were all you seemed to have.

- - -

Finding new clothes seemed to be a bit of a difficult task, you had outgrown almost all of your old shirts that had been kept, and the pants too. You had to ask Steve if you could borrow something. Surprisingly you almost filled his clothes. You had overheard everyone discussing what the next steps should be. You felt like you needed some sense of fresh air. Slowly you inched your way out of the compound. You didn’t think anyone would notice you gone for a minute or two. You had swiped a phone too on the way out, as soon as you got far enough away you dialled her.

It took three full rings before she picked up, this had you puzzled and slightly concerned. Her voice was producing a fake confidence, that had you more concerned. “Hey there hot stuff”

“Valentina… how’d you know it’s me? -actually, never mind.” you looked around to make sure you were still alone “I had a bit of a run-in with some old friends -suffered a hit to the chest from unknown assailants… I’d love to get some intel”

She scoffed at your words “You think I know something about that? -well I do but still it's the principle” You heard her take a sip of something and clear her throat “There seems to be a bit of a pest problem coming from outta town… you might have to help them squash it”

“Yes ma’am- I’ll call you with any new details” You heard the sound of footsteps approaching you and hung up the phone before she could even make a snarky remark. You knew you’d get shit for it. You didn’t move, you stayed still and simply stared up at the sky. The sunset was beginning to fade and the night would soon replace it. “I never noticed before… the sun kinda makes the clouds look like cotton candy from here.” You tried to keep your tone as innocent as possible. The ground beneath your feet move and sink as the body that had found you joined your side. You turned to face her. “Can’t remember if you like cotton candy or not…” your hand gestures to your head as you talked “Whole brain injury and just all-around personality change” She didn’t seem amused.

“It’s kind of growing on me… -I mean except when you’re an asshole” You could sense the playfulness in her tone.

“Nat, I don’t want this- this new me to grow on you” You made sure to look as deep into her eyes as you could. You wanted her to know this was the truth. You needed her to know that you meant this. She looked at you with slight surprise. “Whatever you think is here right now-” you gestured between your bodies “-it shouldn’t be here. I need you to take back what you said in St. Petersburg…” you trailed off as you felt your voice catch slightly.

“No, I’m not going to take it back.” her brows stitched together as she looked at you “I’ll change it but I’m not going to take it back-” she took one of your hands into hers. The warmth of it almost sent bumps along your arm. “I’d stay by your side. Leave it or love it?” she took her free hand and set it up over your chest. Just past the bandages that covered you. You both stood so close to the other. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of her and you knew she could too “Well I don’t want to leave it”

Your mind was still. You had no thoughts for once, no joke to deflect how you felt. The thing was you knew this wouldn’t end well. You couldn’t go back to the team, and you knew sure as hell she would never join Leviathan. “I can’t come back here, you know that…” You took her hand away from your chest “If you won’t leave this…” and you took a step back from her “I’m doing it for you” Turning away from her you began to walk back to the compound. You couldn’t look back at her or risk changing your mind. You didn’t want to pull her into the hole that you’ve begun to fall into.

- - -

Stepping into the compound you went directly to your old room. You didn’t spare a glance at anyone else. Closing the door felt like a million pounds. The sound of it echoed for what felt like ages. Everything in your room that had once occupied it was gone. Sitting on the edge of the bed, like you had many nights before; you felt like a ghost. The sensation that you were in the wrong place didn’t leave. You sat in silence until it became unbearable. The room was pitch black but you had the way to the door memorized. Standing at the edge of the doorway you had a sense of deja vu. Imagining the different nights this had happened. The nights when you had simply gotten up to just knock on Natasha's door and lay with her. Tonight though you couldn’t do that. If you had even tried you knew you would never leave her side. You decided to go to the kitchen, if you found anyone in there you would simply go for a walk outside. Perhaps you’d see if you could snoop on the computers for a while. Your feet had dragged you to the kitchen and there wasn’t a single light on.

Turning on the light above the stove to illuminate the countertops you began making some tea. Waiting on the water to come to a boil you stood near the window, looking out at the night sky. The moon illuminated the water of the lake and the tops of the trees. You hear scraping footsteps approach from the hallway and you slowly turned to see who they belonged to. The silver hair was almost an echo of the moon. You felt your body tense up as he saw you. The two of you hadn’t talked at all. Well to his knowledge you hadn’t spoken since Berlin, you remember seeing him in a bar in Scotland. He was on the other side of the room downing pints while his sister went to the bathroom. You were going to head home for the night when he bumped into you spilling his glass on you, he began apologizing profusely but you stopped him. “Completely my fault-” You reached into your pocket and handed him a couple of pounds. You left before he could say another word. You considered doing the same thing now and just booking yourself out of the room but the reminder of the water coming towards a boil took the idea out of your head.

His accent was much thicker than Wanda’s “How long?” you looked at him puzzled. Maybe it was the look of sleep that covered his face or the lighting. He caught your look and continued “How long were you in Scotland?”

You looked almost taken aback by his question but you gave him an answer “Roughly eleven months…” The kettle whistled and you moved to pick a tea, you knew his favourite flavour and grabbed an extra mug on the way back to the kettle.

“I never saw you once…” he thought for a second “I probably did, didn’t I?” you nodded your head “How many times?”

Pursing your lips and handing him the steaming mug “I think it was about five times… spoke only once though”

He took the mug and stood still for a moment. He looked like he was finally realizing the moment he was in “Why didn’t you reach out to me after the mission?” this question made you freeze. He didn’t really know everything… none of them did.

“I was in the care of my employer, and I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone while I recovered” You took a sip of your tea and felt the warmth spread. “-I also didn’t know how you’d react to me… especially with how I was back then -I was so angry, I just wanted to burn the whole world…” you stayed quiet after that. Your words trailed over to him and you saw the next question bubbling to the surface.

“How long did you stay in the rubble?...-I’m sorry for asking, I just- we looked through it for weeks…” you knew he felt bad about it. You knew if you told him the exact length of time and what you went through, he would feel even worse. The thing was you didn’t want to lie to him. You couldn’t after all this time you wanted to be as honest as possible.

You moved to the nearest chair and took a seat. Staring at your cup as he slowly joined you. Looking at the steam that continued to flow out you took a shallow breath “I was there for almost a month, I passed out after a few minutes and kept going in and out of consciousness… my throat was so torn and shredded from screaming, I lost a lot of blood -a good amount- after I was found they put me in a coma to monitor me. When I woke up I was filled in on everything. Couldn’t walk for a couple of weeks, talking was easier though…” you took a sip and thought again “I had some pretty bad head trauma… the memories of being trapped kinda just come back every now and then, can’t stay alone for too long either”

He didn’t ask another question. He put a hand on your back, it didn’t move. “You know…” he looked like a toddler attempting to put pieces together in his head “I can stick with you tomorrow…if you’d like” he gave a small shrug and the light showed you the small bashful smile he was holding back.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” holding the mug to your lips you listened as he filled you in on the details. And jesus christ there was a lot that you had missed.

Taglist:

@littlewinchester15 @ilostafriend-blog1 @nektotersh @ironscarletwidowsoldier @lexi21pro @zyguard118 @diaryoflife @ethanwoods @rokkyy @ihaveanxiety71 @blackwidow-3 @hangingcurtain10 @iamsimpforpoppy @axienic @wubio @dakotastormm @cristin-rjd @itsyourgirlmalise @feedonme @itsyourboymichaeal @lattayhottay16 @yourfavdummy @virtuanosh7 @aloneodi

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

Text

━"God? Oh He's Dead"

━Tw: Mention of knives, general Sally Face stuff, ect ect

(Y/n) would own a bat with rusty nails stabbed into the side if they could.

Growing up in the country side where everyone knew each other was a fucking thorn in their side. Especially when you're known as the one to practice knife throwing for fun instead of showing up to meaningless parties every Friday night.

What made moving to this shitty apartment complex any more interesting? Apparently the answer lied within a blue haired boy and his punk ass brother.

Oh yeah. And the cult that was actively out to kill them all

━Notes: Got Sally Face brainrot. I'm a fic writer. You can peice the rest together

━Song: "Cigarette Aheago" By Penelope Scott

Part One

A rock slammed into the ground with a sharp crack, bits of the once smooth stone breaking off into a rubble and grey colored dust. Another one hit the same black pavement soon after, the projectile having come from a high enough place to split itself in two.

More specifically the top of a horrid looking building.

(Y/n)s legs dangled off an uncomfortable concrete ledge, a glorified pebble resting in the palm of their hand as they chucked it with as much effort as possible. A small grunt slipped from their lips at the motion of throwing the rock, scaring away a nearby pigeon that had been nesting next to them up until now. They paused in their throwing to watch the bird fly off, a shiny purple and green feather falling in its wake.

This whole place was shitty. The roads that were filled with potholes, the loose bricks barely keeping this building from collapsing, even the goddamn elevator (Y/n) had taken to get up here. It was filled with the stench of mildew and sweat, along with suspicious stains lining the walls in a splatter motion.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s better than their hometown. (Y/n) had hated the country side ever since they could talk and walk. The corner stores filled to the brim with knock off brands of chips and candies, how deer would prance through their backyard completely ignoring the garden they had spent all spring tending to, a school of roughly a hundred people that all preferred to stuff people smaller than them in lockers-

And the corn. The fucking corn.

They never wanted to see a single stalk of that goddamn crop for as long as they lived. You couldn’t walk five feet without running into yet another field of that shit in the country.

So maybe that’s why no tears were shed when (Y/n)s dad told them they were moving to the city due to ‘a business trip’. They were pretty sure it’s because he got fired from his job of eleven years and decided a fresh start would be better, but they opted to keep their mouth shut about that and go with it. Besides they would have done anything to get out of that hellhole at that point. It’s not like they had a lot of friends to give saddened goodbyes to anyways. I guess that’s what happens when you spend your free time teaching yourself how to fight instead of getting shit faced at cheap parties.

Nothing was worse than that place.

At least that’s what they thought until they met the Nockfell Apartment Complex.

Finally deciding to hop off the ledge, (Y/n) swung their legs over the side and slid down to the floor littered with loose food wrappers and brown leaves.

Their dad was probably wondering where they had wandered off to for the last hour or two. It’s not like there were a lot of places to go here anyways so they didn’t want to worry him. Not like they could of course- he was a bit desensitized to their lengthy disappearances at this point.

Still, they found themself back in the confines of that same metal box again, pushing the worn red button to get to their new apartment. It had only gotten halfway there before the elevator changed courses, stopping abruptly and opening its doors to let a pair of new faces on.

They wouldn’t have paid them a second glance if not for that mask.

It was the shorter one with his sneakers untied that caught (Y/n)s eye at first. He had bright blue hair that was pulled into two pigtails on the side of his head. They fell loosely by his ears, allowing (Y/n) to get a good look at the white mask he was wearing.

It was secured around the back of his head by two brown leather straps, clasped in place with metal pieces. The material of the mask itself looked smooth, the surface carved into a monotone expression with holes so he could see and breathe. He looked to be just a few years younger than them, if even that.

Their gaze drifted slowly from him up to the taller boy, still intruiged by the presence of the mask. Immediately they stumbled in surprise at the fact he was already staring straight at them with a wide smile, teeth and all.

He had the brightest brown eyes they had ever seen. Honey brown almost. It was a stark contrast to his tan skin and even darker hair; which was currently tied in a bun at the top of his head. Without the hair draping over his ears messily they could see the metal piercings of all different designs decorating his ears. Beyond that a baggy brown shirt hung off his lean frame, the band logo on it extremely familiar to (Y/n).

The both of them were panting and sweaty, looking like they had just ran a marathon to get to the elevator. It made (Y/n) wonder what they had been doing before this.

They gave a timid wave to them, an uncertain smile pulling at the corner of their lips. It grew into a more genuine one when the tall boy waved quickly back though.

It only took a second of the sound of metal gears from the elevator filling the silence before the bluenette to their left cracked and finally spoke.

”You new here?”

His question could have been mistaken for a statement with the way he said it. It made (Y/n) huff out a slight laugh at the tone.

”Is it that obvious?” They teased.

“But yes. You could say that.” (Y/n) responded, stuffing their hands in their pant pockets. “The vacant room on the second floor, 206? Yeah me and my dad moved in a day or two ago. Fun stuff.”

They watched as his grey eyes gave them a once over through the masks eye holes while they spoke. (Y/n) couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Normally that would put them on edge, but something about this kid seemed different. He didn’t give off the judgmental vibe most people did when engaging in their laid back and standoffish behavior. If anything he appeared to be sizing them up. As if (Y/n) reminded him of somebody.

”We’re practically neighbors then.” He spoke, his tone a lot more casual now. Less tense. Friendly almost. “Me and my dad live on 204, just next door.”

(Y/n) responded with a ‘that’s cool’, smiling down at him. It could have been their imagination but the slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes almost made him look like he was smiling at them too.

“I’m Larry and this is Sally, but you can call him Sal. Everyone does.” A new voice piped up, voice deep and casual. “Nice to meet you little dude. We don’t get lots of new faces around here.”

The teen—now known as Larry—never broke eye contact with (Y/n) while he spoke. He seemed content just talking to them, scanning their figure with his eyes lightly. They could have swore that a mischievous glint was present in his gaze.

They hummed lowly at the scrappy introduction, mentally laughing at the use of ‘little dude’. He didnt look but a few months older than them if anything. But (Y/n) just let it be and gave their own name in response.

It was quite for a while after that, save for the constant noises coming from the old elevator. At least it was quiet until Larry spoke up again.

”So you like G?OHD.” He stated gleefully. They would have been able to hear the slight smile in his voice even if they weren’t already looking at him.

They glanced briefly down at the shirt Larry was referencing to see the worn out band logo he had pointed out.

It wasn’t a well known group. Just a metal band from a few decades ago that had a sizable following. The only reason (Y/n) even knew about it was because their dad had gone to a concert once when he was younger and brought back some merchandise from it that they eventually found packed away.

They wondered how Larry knew about it then. In fact they couldn’t think of the last person who had even mentioned listening to them. I guess when you lived in an area as confined as the country, not many people wanted to hear the teenager who threw knives for fun talk about a band named God? Oh He’s Dead. If anything they avoided the possibility of it.

(Y/n) answered back that they did, asking why he had pointed that out of all things. (If anything most people questioned why exactly they had a pair of earrings shaped like boobs hanging from their lobes. Always a fun conversation starter.)

”No reason.”

Larrys crooked smile said otherwise.

With that the large metal doors opened, announcing (Y/n)s rather abrupt arrival on their floor. The ride had taken shorter than expected, although maybe that was the strangely comforting presence of the other teens speeding things up.

They tilted their head like a puppy, turning around to look curiously at the two one last time.

Sal had just waved quietly at them, elbowing Larry in the stomach when he did a dramatic bow in honor of their absence from the lift.

”I’ll be seeing you around little dude.”

And then they we’re gonna, off to a different floor to do god knows what.

Okay so maybe things were looking up.

#larry #larry johnson #larry x reader #larry face #larry face x reader #larry johnson x reader #sally face #sally face x reader #sal #sal fisher

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august-anon · 1 year

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War on Christmas -- Squealing Santa 2022

My @squealing-santa gift is ready, and it is for the very very cool @a-fluffer-nutter! From your BNHA ship list I went with EraserMic, and had lots of fun with your prompt of "The pairing celebrating Christmas or the holidays. Opening presents turns to chaos!" Though, it wound up being more post-gift opening/cleaning up chaos in the end. I hope you enjoy!

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Fandom: BNHA

Ship(s): EraserMic

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Aizawa/Switch!Yamada

Word Count: 1501 words

Summary: Hizashi and Aizawa get a little sidetracked while cleaning up the post-gift opening mess.

[ao3 link]

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Christmas in the Aizawa-Yamada home was turning out a bit more chaotic that year, compared to the celebrations of the past.

While Hitoshi had seemed perfectly content to sleep in until late in the morning, a boy after Shouta’s own heart, the combined energy and excitement from Hizashi and Eri had the whole household up when the sun had barely cleared the horizon. From there, the morning was a blur of messy breakfast, wrapping paper, and sparkly bows.

Now, they finally had a moment of quiet.

The moment Eri had opened her last, largest gift and found a pink, sparkly tricycle inside, Shouta knew it was over. While she would never demand it herself, they could all see how much she was itching to take it out for a ride, snowy lawns and icy sidewalks be damned. Hitoshi, perhaps seeing the exhaustion in Shouta’s eyes, or maybe just wanting to get out of the house because of the flirtatious looks Hizashi kept shooting him, didn’t hesitate to offer to take her out for a ride.

And then it was just the two of them, finally having a moment of privacy, getting to enjoy each other’s company… if it weren’t for the mess.

For so many years, when it had just been the two of them, there had always been so little to clean up. A few pieces of wrapping paper here, a handful of dishes there, and then the house was clean once more. Now, however, their living room was covered in brightly colored foil paper, all ripped to shreds. The dishwasher and sink were overflowing with dishes from cookie baking, large dinners, and sweet breakfasts. The coffee table was covered in frosting and edible glitter from Eri’s (and, admittedly, Hizashi’s) efforts. The house looked like Christmas had exploded, and not in a fun, festive way, and Shouta decided that that certainly wouldn’t do.

So, despite all Hizashi’s whining for attention, Shouta moved on to cleaning. They had plenty of time for Hizashi’s dramatic forms of affection later. Right now, Shouta wanted to be able to see the floor.

And then, as Shouta tried to gather up some of the stray pieces of colorful paper scattered around the tree, he felt something hit him in the back of the head. Looking down, Shouta saw a balled-up scrap of wrapping paper.

“You’re supposed to be cleaning,” Shouta said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not making more of a mess.”

Hizashi gave him an innocent look. “I don’t know what you mean, Sho.”

Shouta narrowed his eyes. Fine. Two could play at that game. Instead of immediately retaliating, Shouta only huffed and turned back to his own trash bag, shoving the balled-up paper inside and continuing to clean. He heard Hizashi let out a quiet sigh on the other side of the room and the rustle of him continuing to clean. That was when Shouta struck.

Quickly, he balled up several scraps of paper, doing his best to make it look like he was only trying to make the trash fit better. Then, he took his arsenal and chucked one directly at the back of Hizashi’s head. Hizashi yelped and whirled around, a hand raising up to where the paper hit him as he gave Shouta a startled look. Shouta smirked, throwing a second balled-up scrap and nailing Hizashi directly in the forehead.

“Oh, you’re on Sho!”

Shouta scoffed, wider grin tugging at his mouth. “I may not have started this fight, but I’ll certainly finish it.”

And then the room became a whirlwind of bright, flying paper. They had bought the pretty, decorative kind this year, for Eri and Hitoshi’s first holiday with them, which meant they were both likely to be shampooing glitter out of their head for weeks. Shouta wondered if they would ever get it out of the carpet.

Hizashi laughed the whole time, loudly and easily, dodging sloppily (despite the fact that Shouta knew he could do better than that, they were Pro Heroes after all) but throwing with alarming accuracy. Shouta, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. He was much more suited for this kind of war than Hizashi, with his skillset as an Underground Hero, but when he finally cracked, barking out a laugh when he accidentally knocked Hizashi’s glasses right off his face, he started to get a bit sloppy himself. There was a sort of fun in that too, not aiming to be perfect the whole time. It was a game, after all. A silly bit of fun. He could afford to not be perfect.

He would still win, anyway.

At least, he would have, if Hizashi wasn’t a dirty rotten cheat. With a battle cry, Hizashi broke from his side of the room, pelting a laughing Shouta with wrapping paper ball after wrapping paper ball as he charged, eventually tackling Shouta down to the ground.

“Hey!” Shouta snapped, trying his best to sound authoritative despite the lingering laughter in his tone. “Get off!”

Hizashi only laughed, pressing his weight further onto Shouta. Shouta scoffed and reached up, grasping around for one of the wrapping paper balls to shove down Hizashi’s shirt. Hizashi gasped in faux-offense.

“I’ve won, and you’re still trying to sabotage me?”

Shouta let out a grunt. “You didn’t win, you filthy cheat, you– ah!”

Shouta’s arm shot down in defense, but it was too late. Hizashi’s devious fingers were already buried in the hollow underneath his arm, scribbling and scrabbling away at the sensitive skin. Shouta bit out a curse, scrunching up his face and squirming underneath Hizashi in a half-hearted escape attempt.

Hizashi gasped in faux-offense. “Shouta, kitten, you’re accusing me of cheating?”

“Even more-so now,” Shouta ground out, refusing to give Hizashi the satisfaction of his ticklish laughter so easily.

“Why, kitten, I would never.”

Of course, the words were accompanied with Hizashi immediately darting forward and burying his face in Shouta’s sensitive neck, so clearly he wasn’t doing a very good job of defending his own actions. Shouta knew he should’ve grabbed his capture scarf off the hook in their bedroom that morning, just in case, because now without it, Shouta had nothing to block Hizashi from nibbling and nuzzling and huffing out breaths that unfortunately sent Shouta squealing.

Hizashi huffed a laugh against his neck, which certainly didn’t help Shouta’s predicament. “Wow, Sho. I think that’s a new record, huh?” He blew a quick raspberry against one of Shouta’s weak points. “That may be the fastest I ever got you to laugh, huh?”

Shouta had never been a man of many words, so he figured a simple “Fuck you!” would suffice as a reply.

But, Shouta realized, with Hizashi’s new focus on one of Shouta’s weaker points, his fingers were less focused and intense, fumbling and half-hearted as Hizashi sought out better reactions with new methods. Shouta had control of his arms again. And Hizashi had far more weak points than he did.

Shouta’s hands shot out, wrapping his arms around Hizashi’s back and rolling them over, scratching his fingers in-between Hizashi’s ribs as they went. Hizashi shrieked, barking out a loud laugh, tilting his head back with the force of it. Shouta shrugged his shoulders up to try and rub the remaining ticklish feeling away (and keep Hizashi from getting any more ideas).

“Not fair!” Hizashi cried out through his laughter.

Shouta raised an eyebrow. “Not fair? It wasn’t me who brought tickling into this, Zashi.”

Hizashi twisted underneath him, probably trying to get leverage to throw him off, but Shouta wouldn’t allow that. He pushed Hizashi back down, planting his legs firmly on either side of Hizashi’s hips, and finally enacted his true revenge.

His fingers jumped from tickle spot to tickle spot, wiggling and spidering and scratching as swiftly as they could. Hizashi wailed in response, his laughter going near-hysterical as his senses were overloaded, not being able to keep up with how quickly Shouta was switching spots. His hands were always two steps behind in defense, never knowing where to jump next to stop Shouta.

It was a good thing Shouta knew how much he loved this. Otherwise he might actually feel bad about the tears of mirth slowly building up in Hizashi’s eyes.

And then the front door burst open, revealing their two children, both seemingly far too energetic for having been sloshing through slush and snow for the better part of an hour. Shouta halted in his attack, opening his mouth to greet them even as he started to remove himself from Hizashi’s waist, when he was tackled back to the ground himself. Shouta shot Hizashi a glare, wishing the kids were still outside so he could spit out a curse or two at being so sloppy in his own defense. Hizashi winked at him, then turned his beaming smile on their children.

“Hey, wanna see what Sho looks like when he really smiles?”

Maybe family tickle fights would become another one of their new Christmas traditions, after this year.

#squealing santa #squealing santa 2k22 #ss2k22 #tickle fic #my writing #bnha tickling #lee!aizawa shouta #lee!yamada hizashi #ler!aizawa shouta #ler!yamada hizashi #ticklish!aizawa shouta #ticklish!yamada hizashi #bnha #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #erasermic

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coco-bean-1218 · 6 months

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"I can't do this anymore. I love you. But it's not enough." with eugene/claire please omG! i need more angst with them!!

(maybe it's in the church after the breaking point? or, even more angsty, claire and chuck have gotten together and confessed but eugene has been left behind with his unrequited love... :()

HAHSJSJSJSHHSHSHSHSHSHHS

OOH, THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD!!! 😈

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January, 1945

Easy Company had taken Foy. After being exposed to the bitterly cold winds outside for so long, they sought shelter in a small, humble convent. The convent's interior was adorned with beautiful paintings and intricate stained glass windows. The tranquil atmosphere inside was soothing, with candles casting a warm glow and the choir singing melodic hymns.

Claire and Eugene were seated in the back of the church, tending to the wounded. Despite the chaos and suffering around them, they were grateful for this moment of respite amidst the turmoil. Claire, in particular, was relieved to sit and take a break. Her wounds, suffered a couple of weeks prior, were causing her discomfort, as she had not been able to properly heal.

Sitting there beside Eugene, she took a deep breath, her eyes feeling heavy. The scent of burning candles filled the air, and the comforting melodies of the choir enveloped her. The peace and serenity within the convent provided a momentary escape from the hardships of war. She laid her head gently against Eugene's shoulder. She noticed, in particular, the cold look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles. Despite his efforts to hide his feelings, she knew that something was weighing heavily on him.

"Eugene, what's wrong?" Claire inquired, even though she already knew the answer.

He hesitated," I can't do this anymore."

"I know," she whispered, "It's horrible."

He shook his head, "No, that's not what I'm talking about."

She lifted her head off his shoulder and turned to face him, "Then, what are you saying?"

He turned to her, his eyes piercing through her, "I love you. But it's not enough."

Claire froze in place, her mind struggling to comprehend Eugene's words. She had always known there was something deeper between them, a connection that went far beyond the chaos of war. But now, faced with his confession, she felt a mix of emotions intertwine within her.

"Eugene," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hymns. "What do you mean it's not enough? We have each other. Isn't that what matters?"

Eugene's gaze softened, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "Claire, you and I, we've seen things that no one should ever have to see. We've lost friends, witnessed unimaginable horrors, and we carry the weight of this war on our shoulders. But I can't keep pretending that love alone will be enough to get us through this."

"But Eugene," she pleaded, grasping his hand tightly. "Without it, what do we have left?"

His grip on her hand trembled, mirroring the turmoil within his heart. "I don't want to lose you, Claire," he confessed with raw vulnerability, "I almost did."

Claire thought back to that day, a little over three weeks now. She remembers the shell landing just feet away, sending her flying.

"But I'm here. You didn't lose me," she said, her voice filled with reassurance. "We both made it through, and we can continue to make it through together."

Eugene's eyes welled up with tears as he squeezed her hand even tighter. "I know, Claire. And believe me, mon chérie, I want nothing more than to keep fighting alongside you. But I can't bear the thought of losing you again. I can't bear the thought of waking up every day, not knowing if this will be the last time I see your face."

But, despite his words, Claire remained composed. She showed no signs of tears in her eyes, and her voice remained steady.

However, what they didn't know is that just a few pews away, Liebgott, who was chatting with Ramirez, had heard everything Eugene had said.

His mind was now filled with conflicted thoughts as he listened to Eugene pour out his heart to Claire. He had seen the way Grant looked at Claire when he thought no one was watching- a mixture of admiration, desire, and longing. If Eugene's feelings were reciprocated by Claire, it could shatter Grant's world and tear the company apart.

#wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #ask game #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

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mako-and-tails-and-stuff · 4 months

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Mako Mermaids Femslash Feb Day 3

Day 3 Cake Weilan/Ondina/Mimmi, 582 words, Rating G

Weilan hummed away as she dumped out the flour into the measuring bowl, scrunching up her nose as the flour dust flew up. She cleared the digital display with one finger. 186g. Weilan pouted and dug around the drawer at hand’s reach to find a spoon. Spoon by spoon she removed the excess until it finally reached the necessary 125g.

Perfect.

Now for the sieve. Sieve. Sieve. Sie -

“Weilan? What are you doing?”

Weilan jumped and her arm flailed out catching the bowl and sending it flying off the edge of the worktop and smashing on the floor in a mess of glass and creamed butter mixed with sugar. At least the flour was still safe in it’s measuring bowl.

She just stared at the shattered bowl for a second before turning up to look at Rita.

“Making a mess.”

“I can see that,” Rita raised an eyebrow.

“I’m trying to make a cake. Ondina and Mimmi are fighting so I figured cake might bring us all back together.”

“Want some help?”

“Yes please!”

“First things first, you get tidying the floor. I’ll get everything we need ready. Mise en place, Weilan. Helps every time.”

“I don’t know what that means but if it means grab everything as I go then that’s exactly what I do,” Weilan grabbed a wad of kitchen roll and scraped up the worst of the butter mix.

“Watch your fingers.”

Weilan held her hand over the mess and gathered each bit of glass slowly in her hand, “you want it fixed or dumped.”

“Fix it if you can. Be good practice.”

An hour later Weilan pulled a fresh baked still steaming sponge from the oven. Warm golden brown and it smelled so damn good it was taking every bit of self control not to just bite into it.

“Perfecto!”

“It worked?” Rita asked from the attached sitting room.

“It worked! Now to ice it.” Visions swirled her mind of piped roses and love hearts. Or maybe fondant icing.

“Let it cool first Weilan or it won’t work.”

“Okay fine.” Weilan dropped her daydreaming and left the cake on the counter. She slipped off the oven gloves and haphazardly chucked them on the counter as she crossed the boundary from kitchen to sitting room.

“Can I join you guys?”

“Sure.”

Weilan hopped over the back of the armchair in the window she had unofficially claimed as hers and settled in. Rita was sitting on the couch with her feet up on the fluffy footstool. Veridia lying beside her, stretched out across the rest of the couch with her head on Rita’s lap, fast asleep.

“Aw cute.”

Footsteps and chatter came drifting through.

“That sounds like them, Weilan,” Rita warned.

Weilan leaped up, “Wait no don’t come in here!”

Too late, Ondina and Mimmi both rounded the corner.

“Why not?” Ondina demanded the exact second Mimmi squealed, “Ooh cake!”

Weilan sagged, “it was meant to be a surprise. I was going to ice it and everything for you guys.”

“For us?” Mimmi asked.

“Yeah, you're my girls and you were sad so I made cake.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” Mimmi hugged her.

“Yeah thanks,” Ondina gave Weilan a private happy smile. Weilan blew her a kiss in return.

“We’ll help ice it, won’t we Ondina,” Mimmi broke off from Weilan but kept one arm around her, the other sneaking out to pull Ondina in too.

“Course.”

Mimmi gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, “love you guys.”

#mako mermaids #femslashfeb2024 #mako mermaids femslash feb #ondina x weilan #ondina x mimmi #ondina x weilan x mimmi

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everythingsinred · 1 year

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Mikan (pt. 8)

This will be the final part of the three-part culture fest! Mikan has had a lot of fun with her friends so far. In particular, she's learned a lot about Natsume in theory but he's not really interested in painting himself in a better light. Today we will discuss how the culture fest wraps up, and especially how the very end shakes things up for Mikan when it comes to her feelings for Natsume.

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Chapter Twenty-Three

It’s the performance day of the festival, and it’s the somatic class’ time to shine. Class B comes by despite Ruka’s insistence that they don’t, and they find out he’s opposed to their presence because he’s playing Snow White. Ruka is not happy to be under this kind of attention, likened to a “real girl,” when he never wanted the role in the first place. (And I can’t help but feel like Ruka must have ditched his culture fest duties so often to hang out with Natsume instead, not just because he wanted to make his friend feel better, but because he also hated working with Narumi on this musical.)

Mikan asks Koko about the sticky balls he bought at central town and when he offers one, she makes a comment about how she’d have nobody to throw one at, even if she took it, but she’s looking at Natsume the whole time and she does end up taking it (presumably to chuck at Natsume the next time he annoys her).

I'm so messed up and insane about this stupid, pointless exchange. There's not anything to analyze. Why am I even writing this essay?

And then disaster strikes: the musical equipment ends up crashing and falling, the sticky balls fly everywhere, and a child only narrowly misses being crushed by a spotlight. Narumi quickly adapts and utilizes what he can of the performance, enlisting “understudies” to replace the vital actors who have been slimed by the sticky balls.

Somehow when Mikan sees Natsume again after being pressured into playing a role for the sake of the child he’s now attached to, he’s dressed up as a wild cat!

Natsume is not Ruka. Ruka gets moody when people call him cute and girly, but all that does is encourage the attention. Natsume is scary. It doesn’t matter that he’s dressed as a cat, most people wouldn’t dare to say anything out loud because they’re afraid of how he’ll respond. Though Sumire is also unafraid, squealing over how cute he is, Mikan is boldly laughing at him.

Nobody has been antagonized by Natsume more, but she’s still the person least afraid of him. She finally has something to tease him for, after all, and she’s not gonna miss out on the opportunity when he never misses the chance to tease her. That’s what their relationship is based on, it seems: making fun of each other. It’s interesting that Misaki’s warning to keep clear of black cats seems like it was ages ago. Mikan is long past viewing Natsume as nothing more than a terrifying menace; he’s just a rude guy she knows now. With a little time and effort, they could even be friends. She made fun of her friend Ruka, so why not tease Natsume too?

She starts petting his little cat ears, making fun of him, calling him cute, until he snaps, flicking her forehead. They end up bickering and fighting a little until he totally sells her out and volunteers her to play the role of the prince.

I love their silly little dynamic during the culture fest. She is supposed to be ever at his mercy because of the genie thing but that doesn't stop her from annoying him anyway.

He is apparently so angry about wearing this costume that he will punish anyone for teasing him a little, even if it means using up one of his wishes. So Mikan is forced into playing the prince (a huge role) with very little prep time, and she seems to be the only one backstage opposed. She eventually gives in and dresses up in costume.

Poor Mikan, who wasn’t really at fault for any of the chaos that took place backstage, is now in an uncomfortable position, where the success of the musical rests partially on her. But, trooper that she is, she refuses to complain about it and instead sucks it up. It’s nice that Ruka comes over, because he was also forced into his role. He promises to help her out and they agree to do their best together. This is the first example of something that will be recurring throughout the manga: Ruka being a pillar of support for Mikan. He is always willing to help her out and be there for her, even if it’s something that neither of them wants to do.

He's so much more helpful than Narumi. At least Mikan has an ally in the somatic class or this would have been a lot worse.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mikan has her hair down for her role, something that makes her insecure. She feels weird having her hair down and worries that it looks strange since she’s usually wearing pigtails. She asks Ruka if it looks okay, and he evades the question, pointing out the obvious--that he’s never seen her like that before. Very unhelpful.

Self-conscious, she says she wants to put her hair up but Natsume yells at her for no reason. Luckily for her, her friend Hotaru is there, who will be blunt and tell her how it looks. When Hotaru tells her that it looks good and that she should be more confident, she finally feels better about it. What she’d wanted all along was some sort of reassurance and for some reason, boys are incapable of giving it.

Poor Mikan... This is so scary.

We can see another example here of Hotaru showing those little glimpses of kindness when it really matters. Though she begins the exchange with teasing, she becomes earnest when she realizes how much it matters to Mikan in the moment. Mikan is usually self-assured, but even a girl like her has lapses in self-confidence. Every part of this role is uncomfortable, being forced onstage with no real preparation, not being Yuri, having her hair down--it’s all far outside her comfort zone. Mikan likes being validated and reassured, especially in moments like these, so Hotaru’s compliment means a lot.

The play commences and when Mikan’s part is finally up, the audience is upset that beloved Yuri has been replaced. Mikan is insecure again. She wants to help the somatic class, but the murmuring from the audience is enough to make anybody uncomfortable. She’s lucky that the prince’s role has been narrowed for her sake, so most of the time she’s backstage, watching others perform and reacting to the inevitable chaos of Narumi being in charge of a musical. When it’s her turn again, it’s the final scene. She’s determined and doing a good job of reading the cue cards set up for her. She prepares to give Ruka a fake kiss on the forehead, but apparently Narumi wants her to smooch him on the lips for real.

That’s not anything Mikan has prepared for! It’s unfair too, because she’s doing the class a favor, and this is asking too much. Mikan is innocent, just a child. She’s never had a crush, let alone kissed somebody, and now she’s being put on the spot for something she didn’t want to do in the first place. Ruka sees the cue card and assures her that she doesn’t have to do it (and he’s able to look out for her and put her needs first because Narumi’s demands are unreasonable but also because he never cared much about the success of the play to begin with; it’s not worth it for Mikan to be forced into this), but Mikan doesn’t want to be the reason the play is ruined. She already feels guilty for not being Yuri, for not being the prince the audience wanted. She’s no actress, either, and all she wants is to make up for the sticky ball incident. So if Narumi says that’s what she’s meant to do, then even if she doesn’t want to, it would be unfair of her not to.

Screw you, Narumi.

So she decides to do it. She won’t do it the way Narumi wants. Even if she’s complying, she’s aiming for the side of the mouth and to be quick and abortive about it. But she doesn’t even get that far, because something collides with her head, interrupting her, and the lights go dark.

The play is over. She didn’t have to kiss Ruka.

But even though it didn’t end up happening, it almost did, and it’s uncomfortable.

In the anime, Ruka is a little morose, but he and Mikan make up quickly after the play. The episode ends with them having fun and even including Natsume. The chapter does not end that way. Instead, they can’t even look at each other and it’s awkward, and Natsume isn’t involved. Ruka isn’t too sad, I don’t think, because he seemed to be genuinely against Narumi’s cue card and would have understood that whoever threw the thing that interrupted Mikan did it with her best interest in mind (and Ruka’s too, because it would’ve been his first kiss too, and he also didn’t deserve to experience it in such a way). Instead, I think they’re both just uncomfortable about what almost happened at Narumi’s command. Though, Ruka might have a slightly different discomfort because of his crush on Mikan.

Ruka is so cute in these panels with his little blush.

I do think it was shitty of Narumi to do that to Mikan, bargaining off her first kiss for the sake of “sizzle.” Additionally, Ruka also didn’t want the role of the princess either, and if Ruka hadn’t peeked his eyes open to glance at the cue card and see what was keeping Mikan from continuing, he might’ve ended up ambushed with a kiss, which is also incredibly unfair to him. But I suppose in a school where exploiting kids is the norm, this would be tame compared to some of the other things kids are forced to do. It’s just unfortunate.

Especially because all Mikan wanted to do was help. She’s not in the somatic class. She didn’t bring the sticky balls. She didn’t cause the accident backstage. But in the end, she ended up carrying a huge burden that the other Class B kids didn’t have to carry, even the ones who did bring the sticky balls. It’s just sad, if we think about that from Mikan’s point of view, how something that should have at least been romantic almost ended up being staged and pressured onto her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

We finally get confirmation on Narumi’s end that Mikan is Yuka’s daughter. He had suspected it before, and the similarities were all too much to be a coincidence, but now he’s sure. And for what. Everything is falling into place. He’s the one who brought Mikan here for his own selfish ends, but now he cares about her. He knew from the beginning that Mikan would be treated differently (and he also treated her differently, giving her a dangerous entrance exam), but now that he cares about her, he is suddenly concerned.

But Mikan is not present for that conflict. She just watched the festival parade and is now watching the closing ceremonies, where she can finally see the headmasters for the first time, and her attention is naturally drawn to the ESP, who is a kid. Tsubasa explains not to draw their attention, because they’re sketchy, but to especially beware the ESP, the sketchiest of them all.

Alice Academy is a crazy school. Mikan already knew that. But every new thing she learns just serves to make the school seem crazier. From her perspective, being a newcomer to a fascinating world, principals who don’t age and kids who become headmasters are just more examples of what a wacky place the school is, instead of anything genuinely concerning.

Mikan watches the prizes get awarded. To nobody’s surprise, the technical class takes home a trophy, and even Hotaru gets awarded for her hard work. Mikan is very proud of her friend, but nobody in the SA class expects it when they too are recognized for their efforts. All of them are shocked.

Mikan and her struggle to fathom that her class's attraction (and by extension her own alice) has been appreciated to this extent.

Mikan wanted to participate in the culture fest from the beginning. She wanted to show off to the school that her class could do something amazing too (and, in doing so, also showcase that her alice wasn’t useless or selfish as she always fears it is). Their goal from the start was to have fun and help their guests have fun too. They certainly weren’t trying to get a trophy and thus never thought they’d get one.

But they did. Their efforts have been noticed and now they’re being given a shout out.

Mikan is naturally overjoyed and proud of herself. Without her, the SA class wouldn’t have put up an event at all, but because she refused to give up, they couldn’t either, and now they had a trophy to show for it.

Narumi comments on how much she’s grown. Mikan is quickly making friends and deep connections. She’s thriving, making the most of her circumstances. Yes, Mikan will be in deep waters in the future. Her life at the academy will certainly not be easy, but Narumi believes that she can make it through.

And I do believe that Mikan is thriving more here at the academy, with these friends, than she would have on her own back home. Though she’s still a newcomer to this place, she’s found ways to fit in, making more friends than she had back at her village. She misses her grandpa, of course, but she’s being allowed to grow and flourish here in a way she never would have if she’d stayed.

When Mikan and Narumi see each other, he congratulates her and gives her a surprise: a letter from Jii-chan.

Natsume told her not to trust any teachers, but Narumi has been doing his best to prove he can be trustworthy.

A long time ago, Narumi told Mikan to trust him, to believe that he will do what he can to fix things. And now he has the letter in his hand. This is his proof, his reward to her for her faith in him. She can trust that after that fateful night, her letters have been delivered. Natsume warned her not to trust any teachers at the school, but so far her trust is paying off.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Time for one of my favorite chapters in the whole manga. This is the chapter I’ve been waiting for.

This is the last day of the festival, the day of the after-party. Mikan finds out that there’s a legend surrounding the after-party, specifically that dancing with somebody at the Last Dance means you’ll be together forever. There’s three big romantic hook-up events at the academy (the Last Dance, the Christmas Ball masquerade, and Valentine’s Day, I’m assuming, particularly regarding the alice stone exchange), and all the girls in school are excited about it.

Except for Hotaru and Mikan.

Hotaru is uninterested in romance, more fascinated by some other, creepier school mysteries, and Mikan has never had a crush, so romance isn’t on her radar.

But the other girls are in a frenzy, and the most popular boys in class are getting harassed about it. Girls want to dance with Ruka and Natsume, and that shocks Mikan. Why would anyone want to be Natsume’s girlfriend? It’s impossible for her to even imagine.

Exhibit 1000 of Mikan feeling insecure because she's not experiencing what other people are. "Not that I care." Well, obviously you do!

Still, she feels left out. She wants to care about romance and girly stuff, just because other girls care, not out of an actual romantic drive. Mikan is--like I’ve said before--a pretty shallow person, as expected of an immature child. She wants to be liked and she wants to fit in. When her circumstances differ from others, she can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with her. That’s why she’s always comparing her classes and circumstances to others’. So when she can’t click with all the romance frenzy in the classroom, she feels sad and left out. It’s kind of silly.

Higuchi Tachibana is really good at this kind of story arc. With the Reo Arc, for example, the story began with Mikan voicing the desire to listen to Narumi's advice and befriend the two people she disliked the most. It ended with her bonding with both of them. This chapter is a contained story, but it's similar in its framing. Mikan spends the entire chapter self-conscious about romance, panicking about not having a crush. The story must resolve, so this issue must be addressed somehow.

In any case, she feels weird and uncomfortable, insecure and wondering if there's something she's missing.

Until Mikan is suddenly the subject of rumor.

People posit that she’ll want to dance the Last Dance with Ruka, since they kissed and all during the musical. Mikan tries to defend herself, denying any and all romance allegations, but the attention only grows. Now girls from outside their class are gossiping about her, the girl who kissed Ruka and somehow managed to score the role of Natsume’s partner--a role a thousand times worse than playing a prince in a musical. Ruka and Natsume have shot the other girls down after all. It’s probably because they chose her instead: an ugly little girl who doesn’t deserve to affiliate herself with Ruka and Natsume, school heartthrobs.

Mikan gets ticked off, and starts screaming that she would never dance with Natsume, let alone go out with him! She doesn’t mention Ruka because that’s awkward, seeing as she did almost kiss him for the play and she doesn’t want to focus on that. But insulting Natsume feels safer. They don’t even really like each other that much and all they ever do is fight, so if she can get gossipers off her back by fighting a little more, then it all works out.

He literally didn't do anything! She's mostly being accused of being involved with Ruka, but it's Natsume that she singles out. Thrilling!

Mikan doesn’t really consider that she could be hurting his feelings. It’s hard to imagine he has feelings to begin with.

Eventually, the after-party is finally starting, everyone is dressed up, and she’s ready to start having fun. But romance starts seeping in again: Tsubasa and Misaki are practically married according to Megane, Otonashi has a boyfriend, Anna and Nonoko have their own crush, and even Hotaru is surrounded by admirers. (Again! There is so much focus on romance and Mikan being the odd one out regarding it, that the end of the chapter simply must resolve this issue in some way.)

Mikan is alone in her immature world. She starts panicking, because she’s left out again, the one girl in the class who is this immature, it seems. She’s never had a crush--how is she meant to fit in? But at least Hotaru is indifferent to her suitors, so Mikan has somebody to cling to and relate to.

Until Natsume and Ruka show up again--unwelcome sights.

Natsume literally didn't do anything but she's so angry at him anyway. She's only angry at him because girls wanna date him!

She doesn’t want to be around Ruka because it’s awkward after all that happened--and didn’t happen--at the musical, and all the resulting gossip. But she also doesn’t want to see Natsume because she’s angry at him for other people gossiping about her. How could ANYONE want to date Natsume? Even just the idea of people wanting to date him annoys her (curious!). He hasn't really done anything to personally earn her ire this time. Her mood sours again, very easily.

It's possible she's so mad at Natsume because he's the center of so much romantic intention--with so many girls having crushes on him. She doesn't understand romance at all and is now quite insecure about that fact. Additionally, it could simply be unwitting jealousy, that the constant reminder that he's popular with girls annoys her for a reason she doesn't even understand quite yet. I'm not sure!

She walks away, eager to avoid them, so that she can begin dancing. Mikan isn’t good with negative feelings. Higuchi Tachibana specifically designed her to forget her problems easily, and this is a long time for Mikan to get all worked up about something, especially since she doesn't fully understand what she's upset about to begin with. She just wants to have fun and get her mind off things. But for some reason, suddenly Ruka is bumping into her.

It’s uncomfortable, because all that kiss stuff has left things awkward between them, but since they’re on the dance floor anyway…

They smile at each other, and in no time at all, they’re dancing and it’s fun. It might start off a bit tense, but the awkwardness is quickly forgotten. Mikan is suddenly not thinking about romance at all. She’s just having fun with a friend. She thinks to herself that she was silly for worrying about fitting in. She should be prioritizing having fun with her friends, not forcing herself to think of romance, especially when she doesn’t understand it.

Why can't I like them platonically? You can't make me do anything!!!

She moves on to dance with somebody else, and then her feelings only get more cemented.

Narumi, Iinchou, classmates from SA, even Yuri--they’re all proof that dancing is fun and that worrying is stupid, especially when it’s about romance.

Until she’s alone on the floor for a moment and making eye contact with Natsume, who’s also alone for once. Her mood sours and she notices that his does too. He turns his head away in a huff and Mikan is momentarily offended that she’s the one person he refuses to dance with. But the thing is, she’s the one who said that first. She had singled him out and blamed him for people gossiping about her, but she’s still hurt that he’s giving her the cold shoulder. They stand there for a moment until somebody comes along that he could stomach dancing with.

Why is Natsume different, huh? Why does he stand out? Why is he the one she refused to dance with, the one she singled out? Natsume is different because of who he is, and because she chooses to make him different. Blah blah blah!

In the anime, Natsume doesn’t dance at all. He avoids the whole party for the most part so Mikan can’t take it personally when he doesn’t dance with her. But he has been dancing the whole time here, just like her, if we can trust Mikan’s comments about her being the sole exception. So her mood is soured again. Not a surprise, because Natsume always annoys her and ruins her mood.

She goes to the bathroom to calm down during a break and when she comes back, through a secluded path, she happens upon Natsume again, who’s feeding some animals. This time they’re all alone, with no question of dancing. She immediately reacts with anger and dismay, but Natsume doesn’t say anything for a while, and it dawns on Mikan that she took her anger out on him. He may be a jerk most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he’s always the bad guy. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong this time.

I don't have anything to say here, but how cute. She stands here. She could just keep walking but she stands still for a moment, almost like she's willing to wait until he says something or until she has the courage to say something.

In the anime, Mikan is bright and eager to dance with him. She doesn’t care about the issues from before. But Manga!Mikan is not just more stubborn, she’s more self-conscious. Now, even though she’s not really mad at him anymore, she’s still uncomfortable, unsure of how to talk to him. She’d be too embarrassed to ask him to dance right then because she’d be too embarrassed to say anything to him.

Mikan gets this way with Natsume sometimes, and I'll talk more about it during the Z Arc, but her insecurity around him manifests in withholding her feelings. She doesn't usually act this verbally evasive around anybody else. When she's genuinely indignant, she can confront anybody, including Natsume. But her feelings for him feel so particularly vulnerable that she consistently struggles with saying them out loud. Like apologizing, for instance. Even just saying, "Sorry I took my anger out on you," is hard for her.

This moment directly parallels the moment when the culture fest was announced. She had run into her worst enemy when he was playing with some animals, reacted with knee-jerk hostility, only for him to confide in her in his roundabout way.

This goes a similar way.

He’s first to break the silence, ignoring the tension and instead complaining about how stupid the culture fest is again. But Mikan knows better. She knows he’s just hurt about being left out. So she asks him if he had fun. For him, that’s irrelevant. For her, that’s the only thing that matters. He confesses that this stuff never had anything to do with him. She had been right that day in the haunted mansion: Natsume is indeed locked away mentally in a place where he can’t have fun no matter how much people around him are smiling. His life is different from the rest of theirs. Mikan has been given hints about this for all the time that she’s known him, but the extent is still lost on her. How could somebody be so far removed from the rest of them that he can’t even have fun once in a while?

We know already from Natsume's POV (and we all know even without the essay to be honest) that this warning is very well-intentioned, even kind. I think Mikan can tell too, that he's being serious in an odd way, that he's telling her something important. She wants to understand because she always wants to understand him and always will.

Then he tells her cryptically that she should stay in the light and away from the dark. He’s talking in riddles and it makes no sense to her at all. What on earth does that mean? Mikan notices that he’s not acting the way he usually does. He seems serious, and he isn’t even insulting her like he usually does. He’s not usually so evasive and strange. He’d usually just annoy her or do something rude. He’s not acting normally, so she’s concerned. He doesn’t want to clarify and in no time he dismisses her and insults her, right back to normal.

Mikan loses her patience. Every single time she gives him a chance, he ruins it! Every time she looks for something deeper, something Ruka swears is there, she ends up disappointed! There is nothing deeper. He’s not different at all! He’s just a jerk like he’s always been, probably going out of his way to torment her for his own amusement. Relationships don’t work if there’s no effort; she’s the only one trying here, so why even bother? So she scolds him for calling her mean names all the time when she has a perfectly good name that he seems not to know even though everyone else does!

It’s ramping up to be another fight. She’s sure he’ll just pull out another insult and then they’ll go back and forth forever, with him just proving for the ten thousandth time that there is very little to like about him--

But then he does say her name. Softly and seriously and gently. “Mikan.”

Twice.

Sparkles don't always have to mean something. But they mean something here.

Then he tells her to leave and that his last wish is for her to quit complaining about what he calls her. And that’s it.

Mikan leaves without another word.

This scene directly parallels the scene from chapter eleven. During that moment, Mikan was finally able to see a different side to Natsume. He was more than she’d initially assumed. He could get his feelings hurt. He could feel left out too. That scene helped soften her feelings towards him a bit. From then on, she hated him less and less until she felt like they could even be friends if he put in some effort.

This scene does a similar thing. It also helps turn Mikan’s feelings around. But instead of turning her feelings from hate, this time, her feelings start solidifying in a particular direction.

Natsume has never called her by her name before. But he said it now, in a weird way too. He was serious and the whole mood of that moment had been strange and tense. For that moment, she saw a glimpse of something, maybe something like what Ruka was talking about, something deeper and better than just a jerk with a sharp tongue. He seemed sad and cryptic for a moment, like he wanted to tell her something important, only to give up. And then to say her name like that…

When Mikan rejoins her friends, her face is red and her heart is thumping.

Jeez!

When Mikan danced with Ruka, she was able to forget all the awkwardness between them and just have fun. She realized, by dancing with him, that stressing about romance was stupid, that she should just have fun instead.

Now, after seeing Natsume, there’s the opposite reaction.

For most of their relationship, the only part of Natsume that was at all appealing was his air of mystery, the promise of a puzzle with no promise of being solved--a tired metaphor by now, I’m sure. But this moment is different. She saw a little glimpse of something she really liked.

This chapter is important because it’s the chapter where Mikan’s feelings become solidly romantic. He said two syllables and it turned her whole head around. It changed everything.

Exactly ten chapters ago, his feelings did a full 180. Now it’s her turn.

I'm not saying her feelings did a 180 like Natsume's. He went from hating her to loving her in a matter of seconds or minutes, depending on your own personal interpretation. But Mikan has been giving him the benefit of the doubt for a while. She's been looking closer at him. She's the slow burn one, and I think it's here that her feelings turn from fascination and intrigue to a bona fide crush.

Of course, Mikan’s feelings develop much slower than Natsume’s. She’s also not as closed off and secretive and she doesn’t have his same martyr complex or circumstances. But she is oblivious, naive, and immature. She’s not used to crushes, so it takes her a while to figure out her own feelings. Not to mention, Natsume is extremely confusing, going from hot to cold to hot again endlessly and without reason. It’s hard not to be confused by feelings in normal circumstances, let alone with somebody who’s so incomprehensible he drives you crazy. But from now on, that’s what she has: feelings for Natsume. Very embarrassing.

But the chapter ends with Mikan dancing the last dance with Hotaru, and dancing makes her forget her worries again, once more forgetting about romantic drama. The festival can end safely, with something sweet and carefree, instead of all the stress that Natsume brings.

Conclusion

The culture fest has finally come to an end! The musical somehow ended safely with 0 kisses and the afterparty was a blast!

We did it, boys! We finally made it to crush territory. Mikan is so hard to analyze because she doesn't understand her feelings so it's really hard to plot the actual timeline of them. But I'm doing my darnedest.

Tomorrow we will talk about the aftermath of the afterparty. Mikan isn't aware yet but she has a crush on Natsume now and he will not make those feelings easy for her at all.

Weekends are so nice! There's a storm here where I live and my mom hates it because she doesn't like the cold but I like the excuse to drink hot chocolate. I hope you are happy with your weekend wherever you are. And if you read this in the future when it's no longer a weekend then I hope your weekday is pleasant. Eat good food. Listen to absolute bangers. Think about NatsuMikan. Do this and your life will be sparkly and great.

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bouncingkadachi · 1 year

Text

Silvered in the Moonlight

Summary: Kyle's spoiling for a fight, except they’ve already fought. He’s said his piece already. He’s said more than his fair share of his piece, truth be told, but then so had Astrea, and look where it got them. He should let it go now.

Too bad he was categorically awful at letting things go.

Word Count: 4,676

Note(s): that night flying scene from HTTYD but make it MonHun. Set post-game with gratuitous descriptions of Pomore Gardens. Getting kidnapped by a Rathalos and then accidentally unlocking a heart-to-heart.

Also available on AO3!

Dinner is a tense and angry affair.

It’s a shame, really. There’s a bubbling pot of tomato soup hanging over the fire, sweet and fragrant from the fatty tomatoes used. There’s fish, skewered and set to roasting in a ring around the flames with a generous sprinkling of salt, until the skin turns crispy and the flesh flakes off with minimal resistance. And there were donuts, obviously—piled high on waxed paper and drizzled liberally with warmed Lamure honey. It had all the trappings of a picturesque dinner for a picturesque campsite, given how nice Pomore Gardens was at this time of day, when everything was washed in soft sunset orange, the breeze wafting in from the sea carrying just the slightest tinge of salt. It had everything, except for the air of tranquility that it so desperately deserved.

Kyle snaps another twig and pokes at the embers. He is stuck on the previous hunt, fury still thrumming hot and heavy in his veins. He keeps a firm grasp on that anger, because the alternative is to open up the floodgates to worry, to fear. Anger is easier, even if it clawed at his chest like heartburn.

Across the camp, Astrea scrapes a whetstone along the edge of a blade with such ferocity that it screeches under her hands. They’d argued the entire way back from the hunting grounds, spat vicious words at each other all throughout the search for a suitable campsite, and had dissolved into stony silence only when they had split up to actually pitch camp. Both fire and meal had been prepared with brutal efficiency, accompanied only by chewing from the donuts that Tsukino had hastily stuffed into Navirou’s mouth when the Felyne had attempted to make the grievous mistake of intervening.

Kyle stabs his stick deeper into the flames. He’s spoiling for a fight, except they’ve already fought. He’s said his piece already. He’s said more than his fair share of his piece, truth be told, but then so had Astrea, and look where it got them. He should let it go now.

Except that he was categorically awful at letting things go. He tosses the burning twig into the fire and stands up. Instantly, Astrea’s eyes are on him, hard as flint and colder than steel. “If you didn’t have Ratha,” Kyle starts, stalking around the fire, “would you even pause once to use your brain in a fight?” The words are familiar, because the problem with picking a fight when you’ve already fought less than an hour ago is that there is often no new material to fire with. Thankfully, Astrea was too angry to care. Whatever she sees on Kyle’s face when he parks himself right in front of her has her curling her lip in answering disdain.

“You have no right to say that to me,” she hisses. Her hand is shaking around the whetstone, as though she can’t decide whether she wants to crush it in her grip or chuck it at Kyle’s head. “I told you we should’ve retreated when that Qurupeco started calling. You never know what kind of monster will be called, and guess what happened!?” She throws up her hands in exasperation, sending both sword and whetstone flying. “A Boltreaver! BOOM! And what were you doing then? Nothing!”

“I was absolutely doing something!” Kyle yells, incensed. “You have to target the throat sac and break the beak for those guys! What did you think the sonic bomb was for? And who was the one who threw themselves at the blasted Boltreaver’s tail and got shot way to the back!?”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you were actually paying attention when I told you it was calling for help!” Then, immediately after: “Actually, you know what? I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. No, really! I don’t!” She spins on her heel and marches over to Ratha, who perks up at her approach but otherwise doesn’t move.

“You can’t just leave!” Kyle shouts back, stomping after her. “We’re in the middle of the Gardens and you’re—what—gonna navigate all the way in the dark to the Shelter?”

She rolls her eyes, and Kyle only catches it because she’s had to angle her body towards him as she hauls herself onto Ratha’s back. “Please. You’re annoying but not nearly annoying enough to kick me all the way back to the Shelter. And it’s still light out,” she scoffs, settling in as the Monstie experimentally stretches out his wings. “I am going to go and enjoy my evening with Ratha—maybe catch the full sunset from somewhere peaceful and quiet. You are going to stay here and calm down or whatever it is that Hunters do when they try to return to being more pleasant company. Do some self reflection or something. I don’t care anymore.”

The color floods hot and angry onto Kyle’s face. He goes to snarl something—she can see his mouth moving—but Ratha’s already spread his wings and is lifting off, clearing the ground and the spluttering boy with ease. She sighs as he gains altitude, scrubbing a hand down her face as he climbs up in lazy circles.

“He didn’t have to be so rude about everything,” she grumbles through her fingers. Ratha tips his head back towards her and she huffs, leaning forward and patting the warm scales protecting his neck. “Maybe I should take Orgo up on his old catfight suggestion. What do you think my chances are, Ratha?” Her Monstie only gives a snort and a shake of his head, and she laughs in faux offense. “Oh, please, I should be able to get at least one good—”

Anything else she’s about to say is cut off with a scream, as Ratha twists and dives towards the ground with no warning. With no saddle to grab onto, she’s left with bracing herself against the rigid spines on Ratha’s back. Like this, dive-bombing towards the ground, she can see the exact moment when Kyle looks up and all the color rapidly drains from his face. His eyes are huge, and for one delirious moment she wonders if Ratha is using the blue as a target for which to lock onto. The next thing she knows, Ratha is shifting in mid-air, and then there’s a thud as they crash into Kyle. The momentum would have sent him straight into the campfire had Ratha’s claws not curled around his shoulders, finding purchase in the pauldrons of his armor, wings beating rapidly as he shoots back up into the air on a near-vertical take-off. There’s screaming coming from underneath them—at first, she just thinks that it’s Tsukino and Navirou who are doing all the yelling, until she realizes that the screams don’t diminish in volume no matter how high they go.

She leans over Ratha’s shoulder and gapes. Kyle is actively clutching at one of Ratha’s legs, his own kicking madly where they’re dangling in mid-air. He turns wild eyes to her when he belatedly notices that she’s staring at him. They narrow impressively even as he clings harder, scrabbling against Ratha’s rough scales.

“What the fuck!?” he shouts, which is frankly a sentiment that she can get behind. “Get me down from here this instant!”

“Uh,” she says, making a pointed glance to the ground a good terrifying distance below them. Kyle makes the mistake of looking down as well, and goes even paler. She didn’t even know such a thing was possible, and now she’s starting to get a little concerned. “Yeah—um—we’re going to wait on the whole dropping thing—”

Ratha chooses that instant to roll into a spinning dive, because of course he would. They hurtle through the air, weaving wildly through the trees, muffled unintelligible shouting coming from Kyle every time they brush past the tops of the branches—sometimes so close that Kyle has to curl up to avoid smashing his knees into them, oftentimes with so little warning that they do so anyway. When his shouts start becoming clear enough that they could make out individual words—Hunters truly had a some colorful vocabulary—Ratha actually drags him even closer to the trees, like Kyle was a battering ram to be used solely for kicking up huge showers of blossoms.

He emerges from their latest tree coughing, leaves and twigs and blossoms practically glued to his armor and hair, wheezing and out of breath. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s just about plastered his face against Ratha’s leg, as though he might stick there through sheer determination alone. “I give up,” he croaks, voice cracking with strain. “Please, I’m begging you—put me back down on the ground.”

Ratha does not put him down on the ground, despite Astrea’s very spirited attempts to get him to do so. Instead, he circles for a bit until he locates the largest tree in the area, and drops Kyle none-too-gently onto one of the topmost branches. He looks a bit green now as he dangles miserably there, which really doesn’t look very good in the light of the sunset. Eventually, he collects himself enough that he can wobble precariously up onto the swinging branch while Ratha hovers in the air nearby. All three of them are silent for the longest time, broken only by the regular beating of Ratha’s wings and the heave of Kyle’s chest as he pulls air back into his lungs.

“OK,” he says eventually, after trying and failing to get a word out several times in a row. “OK, fine—I’m sorry. I was out of line earlier. You’ve proved your point.”

“I really wasn’t trying to prove a point,” Astrea protests, though the words sputter and die when he glares weakly at her. Petals and leaves slake off of him with every sway of the branch.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” she tries again, shifting uncomfortably. She had truly—genuinely—just wanted to get up in the air and take a breather, before the indignation that Kyle was so good at stoking up in her got the better of her and she tackled them both off a cliff. Nowhere in her evening plans had she factored in Ratha swooping down and yanking him into the air for the world’s worst joyride.

Kyle straightens into a wobbly bristle, though the uncertain look he gives to the distant ground really undermines how intimidating he looks. He seems to be wavering on how to best clamor down on his own, and she’d have probably let him take his sweet time to figure it out if only he hadn’t just pitifully screamed himself hoarse. Currently, he looked like he’d sooner fall out of the tree than do anything as coordinated as climb it.

She also had genuinely no idea where Ratha had taken them in the Gardens anymore. They’d hit so many trees and done so many spins since unceremoniously grabbing Kyle up from their campsite that just navigating back in the dying light was going to take some time, even from the air. She liked to think that she wasn’t that mean.

Decision made, she extends a hand, wiggling her fingers a little in the way that she does when she wants to call Fish to her. Kyle eyes it warily. Several long minutes pass before, looking supremely unhappy, he starts edging along the branch towards them. Thankfully, Ratha obligingly drops a couple inches down, and Kyle clamors on with little difficulty. He does, however, spitefully refuse her hand which results in a rather awkward scrabble, but there’s so little real estate on Ratha’s back that she can still feel him trembling behind her.

“I don’t know where we are,” he confesses quietly once he’s settled.

“Ratha’ll get us back,” she reassures him, paying no mind to the incredulous little snort that escapes his mouth. To her unrepentant Rathalos, she says: “C’mon, Ratha. You got us into this mess, the least you can do is get us out.”

With a sound that can only be described as a laugh, Ratha twists, clearing the tree in a few easy beats of his wings. It’s not the smoothest of lifts, which has her frowning because she knows that Ratha can do better, and then she’s yelping as Kyle’s hands latch white-knuckled onto her shoulders. Ratha—the insufferable, ungrateful reptile—doesn’t even spare her a single glance backwards as he accelerates with no warning.

What are you going to do if he actually strangles me, she thinks sourly, grumpily digging one of her thumbs into the base of one of his larger scales, pressing underneath to the tough leathery skin. Ratha just gives a good-natured flick of his tail and banks into a wide turn. Grumbling, she reaches up to pat at the back of one of Kyle’s hands in an effort to get him to loosen his grip. It works, but barely.

The wind’s picked up some now, rolling in cold and brisk. Ratha takes them out to sea in a rocky path that has Kyle groaning miserably, head dropping between her shoulders and sending with it another puff of leftover petals. She sneezes as they whip past, but otherwise, it is quiet for a long time, with Ratha picking every draft of air he can find and running headlong into it. It’s enough to make even her feel faintly nauseous, though she grits her teeth and weathers stubbornly through it.

“I’m reflecting,” Kyle finally mumbles into her back, although she’s not sure if he’s addressing her or Ratha or both of them. “We were both careless in the last hunt despite having legitimate concerns for each other's safety. I should have addressed them better though.”

“Yes, you should have,” she answers hotly, irritation flaring up briefly in time with a particular bit of turbulence before they both fizzled down to nothing. She heaves a sigh. “I’m sorry, too. It was unfair of me to say you weren’t doing anything when you were already trying to deal with the Qurupeco.” They’d had a flexible enough plan going in, and the reality of the matter was that she’d gotten flustered when the second monster had descended in a rage much faster than anticipated. She’d opened them both up to attack, and so had been reckless in trying to rectify her mistake. Getting blasted back by the Boltreaver’s electricity had hurt just as much as the flood of relief when one of Kyle’s arrows had sailed over her head to fend off a second strike.

She chews nervously at her bottom lip. By now, they’ve completely cleared the Pomore coast, and all that was spread before them was a wide expanse of glimmering surf, stained in all manner of oranges and pinks and reds. “I just thought that you were there, and you’d definitely cover for me one way or another,” she confesses in a small voice that tapers off into a joyless laugh. “Sorry. Should’ve known that eventually you’d get tired of carrying all the weight around here.”

Kyle goes uncharacteristically stiff, then peels himself off of her. She can feel him frowning at the back of her head, and so stubbornly keeps looking straight ahead, even if that means having the light reflecting right into her eyes. “I’ve never felt that,” he says, confused and angry all at once. After a moment of judgemental silence, he amends: “I haven’t felt that for a while.”

“A while—”

“No, listen,” he says. She tells herself that it’s only the tight urgency in his voice that has her compelled to turn towards him. He’s looking at her like he does one of his monsters, gaze sharp and clear and utterly focused. It’s a little unnerving, actually—even now that they’re friends, smug annoyance was still generally his go-to expression whenever their eyes met. “Sometimes I want to shake you because I have no idea what you’re thinking, but you generally tend to know what you’re doing and you have fairly good instincts—”

“Are you trying to insult me or—?”

“Not the point!” Kyle snaps harshly. “The point is that it’s the same for me, alright? It’s not like everything works out exactly the way I want it to all the time, even if we have instinct in droves and work ourselves to the bone. But I still trust you. I trust you even if you mess up, because I know you do the same for me. I’ll pick up the slack if you need to drop back, even if it’s annoying at the time of, because you’ll do the same with the same amount of complaining. This is a two-way street. Don’t you ever act like it isn’t.”

She stares at him. Blinks in baffled confusion. Stares some more, before finally tearing her gaze away, looking embarrassed. “Wow,” she mutters. “Wow—just—wow. You’ve clearly been putting some thought into this.”

“Shut up,” Kyle hisses, face flaming. “This is all your fault for putting me in this position in the first place. Are you happy now? Can we please get back to camp so that I can forget this ever happened in the first place?”

This manages to pull a laugh out of her. “No, no, no,” she says, any timidity fleeing her voice and being replaced only with teasing amusement. “This is now going to be one of my most treasured memories. I need to keep this for when I am old and gray.”

“You are the worst,” Kyle declares loftily. She just tosses him a cheeky little grin over her shoulder and turns back around.

Night creeps up on them as Ratha, no longer up to his petty mischief, catches a thermal and climbs into the sky in graceful spirals. As the moon climbs and brightens with them, Pomore Gardens is transformed into something spectacular far beneath their feet. The multitude of blossoming trees are silver in the moonlight, not a sliver of pink remaining, and so bright that they seemed to glow all on their own, soft and inviting. In the dark patches between them, dotted here and there, were monster dens that Kyle could just about make out if he squinted. And if he had to take his eyes off the ground, finding the whole thing too dizzying, it was only to see more stars than he’d ever seen before in his life. The waves breaking on the rocky cliffsides sent up silver spray, while further out to sea, the horizon took on a warm purple tinge.

For one brief moment, he wondered if there were any monsters out. There had to be—plenty of monsters were nocturnal by nature—and he’s just about to voice his concerns when he sees the bubbles rising. The alarm is immediate, rising only higher when Ratha tops out of the thermal and starts dropping, slowly but steadily, towards an open patch of clifftop with a lazy beat of his wings. There’s a Mizutsune rolling around there, doing some sort of mesmerizingly complicated dance amidst a veritable swath of shimmering bubbles.

His attention is dragged away from the dance by a gasp of delight from in front of him: “Look, over there!” Hidden beneath the heavy branches of the nearest blossoming tree was another Mizutsune, rather drab compared to the first, and keenly interested in the display in the clearing.

Very quietly, Ratha climbs back up into the air, skirting around the bubble show. For one terrifying moment, Kyle swears that the dancing Mizutsune spots them. When it rears back its head, Kyle is convinced that they’re going to be blasted out of the sky with a pressurized jet of water. Instead, the one hiding underneath the tree chooses that moment to come bounding out, accompanied by a shower of silver petals. The first one blows out a continuous stream of little bubbles as its partner dances over. They catch on the petals, capturing them like how Kyle’s seen aggressive Mizutsune try to corner prey and Hunters alike, only far gentler. The contrast in their behavior now from anything that Kyle knows is astounding. He keeps his eyes on the dancing figures even as they grow smaller and smaller, until finally Ratha sweeps back inland and the pair are swallowed up by the night to dance away in peace.

“They’re prettier than I ever imagined they could be,” Astrea confesses quietly, tone colored with awe. “Everything’s prettier than I ever thought it could be, actually.”

“Hard not to be when the Gardens are touted as spring eternal,” Kyle manages after a moment of startled surprise. With nothing but the moon and the stars to provide light, the lightly-colored highlights in her hair were as silver as the trees they were flying past. Kyle had never noticed that before.

She chooses to ignore his snarky quip. “I don’t think I had the time or the means to appreciate it the first time around,” she says instead. “And we didn’t really get to fly at night then. Pity, really—it’s my favorite time to do so.” Her voice is wistful and faraway. “It feels like there are hundreds more stars than you’ll ever be able to see on the ground. And when you go out over the sea, it feels like you could go anywhere. Alwin says that that’s what Grandpa liked best about it, too.”

Kyle hums quietly. He can just about place a person with the name, though what he remembers most clearly is just an unfairly handsome Wyverian face pulled into a tight frown as sharp eyes looked Kyle up and down and found him lacking. He distracts himself with a glittering golden rare den off in the distance, winking like a beacon. “Did your gramps also see the Mizutsune dance?”

“Who knows. I know Alwin went at least once with him, because he had quite a few stories about the Gardens, but I’ve never heard anything particularly about Mizutsune before.”

“If he hadn’t, he’d probably have liked to see them. He’s got that Legiana too, right? Could’ve flown besides Ratha and all that.” Kyle is trying for casual, though he’s pretty sure he misses by a wide mile and lands solidly in something bitter instead.

“Mm, Shaulk would look pretty in this landscape,” comes the dreamy response, which only exacerbates the bitterness. The worst thing, Kyle thinks, is that he can’t even refute it—a Legiana would look absolutely beautiful amidst all the soft silver blossoms, bright markings standing out even more starkly against a velvety backdrop pinpricked with stars. Meanwhile, Kyle had probably woken up half the neighborhood earlier with his screaming. The contrast in the two images is disheartening.

“But it’s better like this. I want to have this all to myself.”

“Oh,” says Kyle, a little dumbly, and still very disheartened. “Sorry I’m here, then.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she laughs, although her tone softens into something wobbly when she reaches back to squeeze his hand apologetically. “I meant that I want to go to all the places that my grandfather did and see them with my own eyes, only this time without his ghost taking over. I want to carve out something that’s wholly mine.”

Kyle turns the words over in his head. He gets it, he thinks. His ghosts were all still alive and kicking, thankfully, but the shadows they cast were equally long. Sometimes Kyle would look back on himself from the past year and wonder at how he ever managed to start stepping out from them. Then he’d have spats with Astrea and her continually baffling Rider ways that were so vicious that he’d wonder if he ever did.

“It’s all very confusing, isn’t it?” Astrea asks, when Kyle fails to come up with something to say in a timely manner. In his defense, he’s a bit distracted—she’d turned back around to address him again, and it’s with a certain amount of despair that he realizes that it’s not just her hair that’s silvered in the moonlight. So are her eyes, looking rather uncertain. “We can drop it if you’d like. I just figured that you’re the only friend I have that would get me, even if just a little. I mean—I like Ena and Alwin a lot, but it’s hard to talk about separating myself from Grandpa with them. Same with Kayna. As for Cheval, he gets antsy about discussing the past because he thinks that he has to reciprocate. And I’m still paying back Avinia for what happened before so it would just feel awkward, you know? So that leaves only you.”

“I’m flattered,” Kyle says dryly. He instantly wants to kick himself when her face falls. “No, really—I am. I’m not good at this.”

“Clearly.”

He grumbles, poking at her cheek until she turns back towards the front. “I’ve got four older brothers. And my dad, obviously. I get trying to chase after a legacy. When you mess up it feels like you’ll never get it right. If you do something right it feels like there’s immediately something else that you have to live up to. So I get it—I get wanting to have something that’s entirely your own.” He swallows, focusing intently on the steady beating of Ratha’s wings.

“No one in my family’s ever ridden on a Rathalos, you know? No one’s got a Rider best friend. I’m sure they’ve come to the Gardens before but no one’s ever been rammed through the trees or seen dancing Mizutsune from the air. I like that—having this just for myself. It’s no problem to share it with you.”

“No problem to share—” Astrea repeats, flabbergasted. “You’re really something, you know that? Absolutely horrid. I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” But she’s lost the uncertain slump in her shoulders, which was the most important thing. “Fine then. Two can play at this game. You’re decent enough company when you keep your mouth shut.”

“Yeah, because it takes one to know one,” Kyle mutters without heat. Ratha does a cheeky little shimmy at that, causing him to clutch back onto Astrea’s shoulders. “Fine! Fine! You’re the greatest company I’ve ever known.” He pokes his head out from around Astrea’s shaking figure to glower at the back of Ratha’s head: “Does that please you, you great big menace?”

Astrea bursts into laughter, the force of it nearly knocking her head right into Kyle’s. “You’re the best, Ratha,” she says fondly, to which the overgrown lizard answers with a pleased rumble. Then, quieter: “And you’re actually decent company even when you’re infuriating, Kyle.”

He scowls, although he’s surprised to find that he’s largely unbothered. “I let you treat me like a battering ram and I’m still only decent company?”

“Maybe you should try not being a major jerk beforehand, then,” Astrea replies dryly. “It’s fine, though. I liked being pleasantly surprised when you made it up to me later.” A pause, then: “I like knowing that I have you at my back, even when you are being insufferable.”

Kyle buries his face in his hands with a mortified groan. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I’m sure one day you’ll learn to accept truths with grace,” Astrea says mildly. “Next time, let’s go night flying in Loloska. There aren’t many trees to run you through there. We can do some other stupid thing, like try to catch the aurora.”

“Planning ahead, are we?” Kyle asks. “Sure, why not. You can suffer through some Hot Drinks too, while you’re at it, since you’re always spraying the mist in my face.”

“Maybe I’ll just invite Avinia instead.”

“You won’t,” Kyle says with a confident grin. “We’re carving something new for ourselves out from other peoples’ shadows, aren’t we? You’re stuck with me now.”

“How awful,” Astrea says, even though she doesn’t bother to hide her answering grin. The faint light of their camp flickers through a distant break in the trees. “Guess I’ll just have to make the most of it, then.”

#WOW I am on a roll lately #monster hunter stories 2 #monster hunter kyle #Monster Rider Astrea #Annie writes #this has also been in my drafts forever so I am glad it is finished now #Have some lighthearted shenanigens after what happened last time

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