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sweetberrysmooch · 3 years

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HC: And There Was Only One Bed (Affectionate) [pt. 1]

(Zzzzzzz.....)

(This is unfortunately gonna have to be in several parts, mainly so I can get something out to you guys while still being able to work on the rest ^^)

Basic sleeping hcs with ya boys, and sort of... smell hcs? Idk, I got into a mood and couldn’t stop writing about smells so here it goes lol.

Characters: Dream, Techno, Wilbur.

Warnings: There’s mentions of nightmares in Dream’s and a emotional breakdown in Wilbur’s, but that’s it.

Song Recommendation: Dream A Little Dream Of Me- The Mamas & Papas.

Up Next- Quackity, George, and Bad. [pt. 2]

Hope you have nice day today <3 Enjoy!

Dream:

Depending on where you’ve fallen asleep, Dream will kind of work with your position before he lets himself relax.

He prefers it when the two of you are in your bed, with him near the closest door and on his back and with you sleeping against his side, arm stretched over his middle. It’s a good way for him to be between any intruders that may come and to still have you close. But no matter where you are, he has to make sure that he can protect you before he lets his guard down.

Another position he likes is when you’re tucked against his chest under his chin, sitting on his lap or curled up together in bed. Being tall with a broad chest means he makes a pretty good pillow, so use those puppies when you can 👀👀

Smells like a forest, most times. Almost like wild honey, but it’s a very delicate smell. You don’t notice it until your first hug, when you were upset and crying and he pulled you to into his arms so you could hide your face. Now you smell it everywhere he is, in your house, on your bed, even your clothes smell like him. Neither of you say anything, but he slowly begins leaving his soap at your house. Just in case, y’know, if you ever run out.

Other times, when he seems a little more... off, he smells like the beginning to a storm, like ozone and petrichor. Those days he doesn’t speak that much, and keeps you at arms length. He sits quietly and watches your doors and windows with obvious intent, and is gone before morning. You don’t think he even moved from his spot throughout the night, much less slept there. You don’t see him for a few days afterwards.

Usually he remains as still as a log, but sometimes he has fidgeting fits where he twitches and grumbles to himself. Sometimes you’ll even catch him speaking full-on sentences, though they don’t make much sense. Mostly normal out of place stuff, but once you heard him talking about someone called DreamXD, and figured you’d ask him about his oc the next morning.

He has nightmares often too. It’s hard to tell when he’s asleep but he’ll wake up sweating and trembling and lean over you to check you’re still breathing. He won’t ever tell you what they’re about, but it isn’t hard to guess when he buries his nose into your hair and holds you tightly like you might leave him.

If the two of you aren’t sleeping in your house or completely alone, he won’t sleep until you are. Sleep loss doesn’t quite affect him like it does others until after a pretty long time of not doing it, to which he’ll become surlier and more angry until he eventually just clocks out. He wakes up extremely well rested 2 days later and the process repeats. Sleeping at your house is the closest he gets to proper sleeping, and it’s the only time he can ever feel truly relaxed when doing so.

When he can’t fall asleep, he goes straight to watching you. He gently plays with your hair and fiddles with your fingers, relishing in how unmarred and soft they are in comparison to his much rougher, bigger ones. It’s a sure fire way to get him to mellow out and relax, and he finds that sleep ends up coming much quicker.

(Dream wakes up in warmth one night, with rain knocking on window panes instead of what ever shelter he could scrape together and a fire crackling far off. He deduces immediately that he’s in someones house, and it doesn’t take long before he notices the owner, asleep in his lap.

Your legs are slung over the arm of the padded chair he’s sitting in, a book (one of his own, he acknowledges, an older version of a well known storybook that he has memorized already) loosely held onto in your hands, and your head rests on his shoulder.

He expects to feel worried soon, the fear of you getting close to him reappearing to ruin another close moment. But it never comes. All he can feel is the safety and comfort you always emanate, driving away his tension and soothing his mind. He closes his eyes, and falls back asleep.)

Techno:

Techno is very very touch starved ^^; While he may not be the only one on this list that is, Techno is definitely the most…. shy about it. He won’t ever directly ask to sleep next to you, and will actively try to avoid that. He’s afraid of making you uncomfortable but also of being close to you in general? It’s an odd mix of emotions, like eating mints and a hot pepper at the same time and then feeling hell fire burn inside of your body. Anytime the two of you have to sleep in the same room as each other, he will immediately offer you the better spot and go find a chair to sleep in, and he won’t accept a no.

The most you can do is make the choice to go sleep next to him. It’ll weird him out a little before becoming overwhelmingly endearing when he processes the fact that you would rather sleep next to him than somewhere more pleasant. When you’re asleep however, he’ll pick you up and move you to the place where he wanted you to be. He’ll drape his massive cape over your body and (after assuring himself six different times that you are in fact asleep) softly press a kiss to the crown of your head. If he runs his thumb over your cheek once, then thats his business.

Later on in your relationship though, after he relaxes and settles a bit, it’s pretty unusual if you don’t fall asleep next to him. He still won’t outright ask for it, but he kinda just hopes that when he starts his nightly routine before bed that you’ll just join him without needing to be asked. Having you there helps him sleep better, you act as both a silencer for the voices and someone to hold close when he’s at his most vulnerable.

When sleeping in bed together, he prefers to pull you close and curl around you in a half pulled fetus position. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, and actively clings on to you when asleep. It's an impressive feat if you can break free from his strong arms while they’re wrapped around your middle, and you leaving inevitably wakes him up. He’ll go searching for you then, barely awake, just to pull you back to bed to be his teddy bear again.

And speaking of the voices, while generally they’re loud and insistent, occupying his mind more than he does at times, their reaction to you baffles him so much. In place of the usual screaming is gentle mumbling, quiet whispers about how nice you look today or how pink and soft your cheeks look. It’s a welcome relief, and no matter how he hard he ignores the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, he’s glad to know they care for you as much as he does.

He also smells pretty nice, it’s this natural musk he has mixed with a muted minty scent. The mint smell comes from this fancy soap Phil had gotten him a while back that he hadn’t given much thought about until you said something. Techno’s already a clean kind of guy, but after hearing your praises of his smell he almost begs Phil to get him more.

Snores, but in a quiet reserved way. Sometimes he makes soft cute noises, like little happy sounds when you snuggle into him more, or bashful grumbles when you kiss him before bed.

(Sunlight flickers through the blinds of Techno’s room, streaking across your face and waking you from sleep. Sighing quietly, you lift your head a little and stretch as best you can while being held in place at his side, before snuggling back into your spot, fully content to stay there for the rest of the morning.

As you enjoy the moment, you savor the gentle snores that rumble in his chest, his strong heart thumping beneath your ear, and the way his hand kneads your hip as he wakes.

‘It’s a good morning to sleep in.’ Your mind says quietly, and with how he rolls over to face you and kiss your forehead, it seems Techno thinks so too.)

Wilbur:

The way Wilbur sleeps really depends on what Wilbur it is.

To start off though, a few general things. He’s a neat sleeper, doesn’t snore, doesn’t move a whole lot, and smells pretty nice too. His smell also came from a fancy soap he got from Phil, but it smelled like sugar and lemons and it was a lot heavier than Techno’s. He would always take showers before bed because he knew you liked how it smelled, and often he would offered to share it with you (so that you would smell like him). Once he was exiled, he didn’t have the liberty of bathing as frequently as he used to, and he stopped using the fancy soap because he thought it felt tainted. He’d end up smelling like stale air and gunpowder, though he’d never tell you what the smell was from.

With sleep, if it’s pre-Pogtopia Wilbur, you get a fairly standard sleeping arrangement of him crawling up into between your legs to flop down on your stomach with a sigh, waiting impatiently for you to get comfortable and curl around him like you usually do. Your hand comes to cradle his head closer to your chest and he nuzzles into your collarbone before falling asleep near immediately. The two of you wake up tangled completely together and immensely comfortable. Wilbur used to sleep in on days like that, quietly savoring the peace that came with you and your generous hands that would slowly brush through his sleep-messed hair. Even after the election, when he starts descending into madness, the memories serve as a final comfort to him.

Post-Pogtopia Wilbur (Vilbur, if you will) is a stark contrast to his old self. He’s more bitter, more reserved, and even more paranoid. He doesn’t sleep with you anymore, at least never consistently, and the only times he does is when he’s so emotionally fraught that he passes out from the stress and lack of sleep midway through you trying to calm him down. You usually end up just kind of holding him close, praying that when he wakes up you can settle him before he works himself up again. You fall asleep like that, tired and restless.

(He rouses from sleep a few hours later, curled up in your arms and still exhausted from the breakdown. Your chest rises and falls slowly behind him, face smushed into his hair and completely relaxed.

For a moment, all is calm again. He can pretend that it’s just how it used to be before the election had happened, that the two of you are back at home, happy and stable.

His hands tremble when they reach for yours, and he grants himself the freedom to cry while you’re still sleeping, ignoring the fact that the next day will be just like the last, and that nothing has changed.)

See you next time :D

#mcyt x reader #c: dream #c: technoblade #c: wilbur #hc: and there was only one bed (affectionate)#dream x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader

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poppysmc · 3 years

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I Don't Know How You Do It But I'm Forever Ruined

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for so so long, unfinished with a different song and Im just obsessed with this song right now so I thought I'd go ahead and post it.. sorry for the mistakes I don't have a beta so they're all mine. I'm just slowly getting back to writing again, please be patient with me. ❤️

Song: Off my face - Justin Bieber

(One shot)

Last and certainly not the least…. Ms. Morgan Hughes, she’ll be gracing us with her angelic voice, singing… uhh… Off my face? Thomas reads the cue cards, slightly puzzled, he thought Morgan would be doing stand-up, he and Morgan’s posse endured long nights of practicing her stand-up routine and now she’s just gonna sing, it’s not even vetted on.

He glances to the side, silently confirming if it was right. Morgan nods and smiles nervously. He in turn smiles back, giving an encouraging thumbs up and a whisper of ‘good luck’ as she takes to the stage.

Some of the audience chuckled at the name choice, adding to the ever growing lump lodged in her throat. This is definitely not her best idea and before she could go ranting about the title, some of her friends clapped and cheered, giving her a slight boost of confidence.

She wrote thet a few months ago, absently plucking at the guitar strings. She’s got the same few chords stuck in her head for week. Only god knows how she pulled the lyrics out of her muddled brain.

How does one go about sharing her feelings for someone who has no idea? Said someone sitting front and center with a scowl, sitting next to her parents. She has no idea she wrote it for her, she sighs in relief.

For a split second she could see Poppy’s attention snap up to her, smirking and raising her eyebrow in question. Morgan rolls her eyes at her and settled into her chair and just like Poppy’s face never moved, her scowl was back in place, listening to Chloe rant about her talent to her right.

She starts plucking out the intro, it’s now or never.

One touch and you got me stoned

Higher than I’ve ever known

You call the shots and I’ll follow

Sunrise but the night’s still young

No words but we’re speaking tongues

If you let me I might say too much

Sometimes people just enter your life and burrow themselves so deep into it that for the life of you, you couldn't remember when it all started. This case was different, Morgan could vividly remember a day it all changed, how it became harder for her to even look Poppy in the eye for more than a few seconds. How her warm touch roughly pulling her back to the argument now seemed to burn through her sleeves, pressure slightly softer. She used to meet her hot gaze, faces only inches apart spitting out vicious insults without thinking much, now she didn’t have the same fire in her veins she seemed to have arguing with Poppy.

The need to antagonize her fizzled into something else, a warmth that threatens to overtake her made itself a home in her chest.

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

Morgan wanted to stay home, as much as she enjoyed parties, it wasn’t something she wanted to do regularly. Sometimes it gets a little too much to handle, the music felt too loud, the people got too close, the eyes on her felt stifling. She wanted to be free just this one night out of expectant looks but Zoey is too convincing, her puppy dog eyes are too powerful for a mere mortal like herself. She made a condition to just be at the party no over the top expensive clothes, just herself.

“I’ll come but just to be your glorified chauffer.” She dresses herself in something simple, a pair of black pants and flannel. “I just want to be invisible this one night, Zo.”

“Fine by me, but if your fashion choices end up splashed all over The T tomorrow don’t come crying to me.” Zoey shakes her head, the slight dig on her wardrobe is softened by a thankful grin.

“You get dragged on The T once, and no one lets you live it down.”

“Because I’m pretty certain I said don’t go out in that, it’s suicide. So yeah I would never let it go, you wore socks with your flip-flops and had the audacity to show yourself in public.”

“It’s not even my fault, sunny ran out the door. I had no time to check what I was wearing."

“You’ll never learn. Whatever will you do without me?” Zoey smirks and shakes her head affectionately. "Stop stalling and let’s go. My carriage awaits dear chauffer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Please allow me to escort you down, boss.” Morgan bumps her shoulders with Zoey as she passes by to grab her jacket. She opens the door and offers her arm, Zoey laughs and loops her arms around hers.

The party was already in full swing once they arrived. The music was blaring; the bass makes Morgan’s chest thump along erratically with every beat. “Text me, okay? I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Sure. Thanks for driving.” Zoey winks and beelines for the bar. In a few seconds she loses sight of her.

Morgan trudges through the house, the crowd gradually thins as she makes her way farther to the back. She exhales in relief finally free of the maze of drunk students with no boundaries, nobody seemed to pay attention to her, thank god for the dim lighting. The backdoor swings open, she breathes in the crisp night air. The door shuts and party fades into muffled thumps. She sat on the porch steps, her side leaning against the banister, oblivious to the pair of eyes quietly observing her.

After a minute of silence, Morgan sucked air through her clenched teeth, surprised at hearing someone pointedly clearing their throat behind her. The rate in which her head whipped back almost made her dizzy. When she recognizes who the person was, she could already feel the headache coming through, she almost swallows her tongue in disbelief. Of all the people she didn’t want to see her tonight was Poppy, yet here she was, alone with her.

“What are you doing back here?” Poppy asked, voice devoid of any venom just genuinely curious.

“Do I need permission to be? Who made you queen?” Morgan scoffs, the slight bite in her voice comes through and makes Poppy smirk.

“Belvoire.” Poppy cheekily answers, earning an undignified snort from Morgan. The slight tension momentarily forgotten.

“Should have seen that coming.”

“The party’s raging inside and little miss newbie sits here. What are you doing, really?” Poppy asks not unkindly, voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

“I could ask the same to you.”

“I asked first.” Poppy frowns impatiently.

Morgan sighs, opting to just answer just to avoid trouble. She didn’t have the energy to make up excuses nor to argue. “I don’t feel like partying today. I’m just waiting for Zoey to get flat out drunk and drive her home. My turn.”

“It’s- It’s overwhelming inside. I just want to be alone for a while.” The honesty in Poppy’s answer momentarily throws her off.

“Do you want me to go?” Morgan asks, feeling like she’s intruding. This must be the longest record they ever had being civil to one another, actually speaking without the sarcastic comments and the insults. It makes her feel out of place and awkward.

“You could do whatever you want. I’m not the queen of anything right now.” Right, cause technically it's Chloe. There’s something in her tone that makes Morgan’s heart clench, yet she shrugs it off as the bass from the party. To Morgan’s never ending surprise, the blonde pats the spot next to her on the bench. “The floor is filthy.” Poppy clarifies when she makes no move to stand. A disarming smile crosses her face, Morgan guessed her hesitation must have been showing.

Morgan stands and dusts herself off. “Who are you and what have you done to Poppy?” She asks with a grateful smile, sitting down the furthest she could from the other girl.

“I have half the mind to kick you off this bench.” Poppy grumbles.

“There she is.”

Poppy huffs out a half laugh and after that there’s just silence. After a while she could see the slight tremble in Poppy’s hand in her periphery. She wordlessly shrugs off the coat she’s wearing and offers it to the other girl.

“What?” Poppy blinks, eying her coat suspiciously, making Morgan chuckle in disbelief.

“You’re cold. Take it or go inside.”

“Fine.” Poppy slips on the offered garment, appreciating the warmth it gave to her cold limbs. She wasn’t thinking while she burrowed herself further, letting Morgan’s scent envelope her. She stared at Morgan, feeling guilty for a moment. She moves closer, Morgan shivers when their shoulders touched. "Thanks." Poppy whispers, if it wasn't for their proximity, Morgan might have missed it. She hoped the shadows hid the small smile spreading to her lips.

“I’m sorry for taking your coat. I just couldn’t go back inside. I-” Poppy trails off, breaking her gaze away and staring farther up the yard.

“It’s okay, I offered. You don’t have to explain anything.” Morgan understood, after today everything changed, she lost her spot to one of her friends. Morgan was somewhat surprised that instead of Poppy's explosive anger, she opted to just sit here and mope.

She jumps a little when her phone vibrates in her pocket, she could see Poppy smirk in the corner of her eye.

"Jumpy."

She reads the text and taps a reply, frowning. She turns to Poppy. She doesn't even know why she's explaining but it felt wrong to just go without saying anything. A part of her wanted to make this moment stretch a little longer, so she hesitates.

“Apparently Zoey doesn’t need me to drive her back. So... I guess I'll head back home." Morgan stands not having an excuse to stay longer and makes her way to the door, hands hovering over the door knob to open it but not before doing something stupid like asking her so called enemy if she wanted to drive around for a while.

“So… Do you still want company? We could drive around for a while?” Morgan mentally chastises herself for the suggestion. Of course Poppy would say no it’s not like she-

Morgan looks back at Poppy, she sees her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. Morgan’s gaze flickers down to her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they looked. The moment passed and she breaks her gaze away just as Poppy decided.

“Sure but let me just get my stuff.” Poppy stands and makes her way to the door, Morgan standing motionless, hand over the handle. She reaches for it, her fingertips grazing Morgan’s, the slight static made her pull her hand away abruptly.

“Sorry.” Morgan breaks through her short circuited brain and moves to hold the door open for Poppy. “I’ll wait for you out front.” Morgan makes her way back through the crowd, her mind reeling at what happened back there and what mess she got herself into.

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

She continued singing, her eyes accidentally meeting Poppy’s gaze again, her scowl was replaced by an unreadable expression, attention now focused solely on her and Morgan almost faltered. She breaks eye contact and stares at the back wall, ignoring the burning gaze upon her from those familiar eyes.

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

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The sound of the door opening breaks Morgan out of her deep thoughts. She could see Poppy walking towards her with a sour expression, she's still wearing Morgan's coat.

“What happened to you?” Morgan’s warm hands reaching out to her, settling comfortably on her shoulder. Poppy stares at her hands, she pulls it away like she’s been burned.

“Just drive.” Poppy mumbles, trying hard to be composed but failing.

“Where to?” Morgan pretends not to notice Poppy's agitation, barely glancing at her so she won't feel uncomfortable. She unlocks her car slipping inside while Poppy stares at the abomination in front of her.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful but your truck is… I don’t know how to say it without offending you? But maybe it could use a good wash? Like you drove through mud to get here. I don’t know, maybe we could go to a carwash, my treat.”

"That’s about the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me, and you said a lot of insulting things before." Morgan rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean that Betty, you just got a little mud on you.” She murmurs quietly.

“You named your car… Betty?”

“What? No I didn’t.” Morgan could see Poppy’s amused smirk even in her periphery.

“You’re such a dork.” Poppy can’t help but laugh at her mortified expression.

Morgan distracts herself from the rapidly rising heat on her neck by fiddling with the radio before driving off. The sweet sound of the guitar filtered through the car and she smiles triumphantly, previous embarrassment pushed to the back of her mind. She doesn't notice Poppy's expression soften.

Morgan drives her car through the carwash. They watched the water and the soap assault her car, the material of the brushes made a repetitive sound along with one of her favourite songs. Poppy had her seat leaned back, watching the machine rid the car of dust and mud. There was something mildly intimate about it, Morgan could move her right hand then they would be grazing Poppy’s, she could do it, she wanted to do it. But all she could manage was a slight twitch in her pinky, her hand doesn't move any closer.

“Do you ever feel like there’s a hundred people around you in a room, yet you feel alone?” Poppy breaks the silence, tilting her head slightly to the left to look at Morgan.

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes people may be looking at you yet feel as if their staring right through you, like your nothing. Oh! Like a ghost.” This makes Poppy chuckle.

“Yeah like that. It would have been easier if we were ghosts at least then you know why.”

“Did you feel like that back at the party?” Morgan wanted to say how that would have been impossible that no one could have seen her, she’s seeing her now. She wondered how could anyone ever take their eyes of her, she always seemed to be the brightest thing in any room she entered and now even in this dingy carwash she looked so radiant. How sometimes she thinks that she picks fights with her just for a chance to be bathed in her light. Thoughts she doesn't think would ever cross her mind trickled slowly and became a raging river. Now that she found herself here with her, without anything familiar to fall back on, anything just to distract herself out of her dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was easier to be alone than surrounded but feeling alone. Do you get it? At least I know, I chose to be alone.”

“I get it.” If she had the ability to say more she would have but these few pathetic words are all she could manage. This time her hand reaches to squeeze Poppy’s. A quiet comfort to reinforce her words, she understood.

“Thank you.”

Whatever atmosphere they created in that moment fell apart when Morgan had to move her car forward and exited the wash.

“Where to now?”

“Your turn to choose.” Poppy mumbles, still staring blankly outside.

“Okay, I know a place. You're gonna love it."

“I’m not going to let you pick anymore.” Poppy complains, standing in front a fluorescent lit diner. It almost glowed but in a weird way, like a bat signal for the weary.

“Hey! They make the best food.” Morgan steps forward and drags her companion along when she hesitated.

Warmth and the ambient sound of cutlery grazing the plates makes Morgan smile. She always came here when she’s feeling lonely, missing her parents, their farm or when she’s stressed from school, for trying to fit in like a robot.

“Come. Don’t just stand there.” Morgan looks back at Poppy, her breath caught in her throat. Poppy looked ethereal against the most basic place there ever is. If you said diners were some kind of portal to somewhere else she’d accept it and move on, for she looked like she existed out of place, alien, untouchable as she was beautiful. For the second time this day her gaze flickers to Poppy’s lips, she realizes that she’s saying something and Morgan’s mortified of being caught staring like a fool.

“What? Is something on my face?” Poppy is thankfully oblivious.

“No, it’s perfect.” Morgan quietly whispers while Poppy checks herself in the diner’s window, her words falling into deaf ears.

Morgan balls up pieces of her straw paper places it over some torn up tissues, stacked together. She’s fidgeting under Poppy’s presence; she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She's startled when Poppy lightly grasps her hands stopping it from tearing up another piece of paper. It’s been minutes of watching Morgan tear up even rectangles of several tissues, a girl could only take so much.

“You’re making a mess.” Poppy chastises her like a child. She would have laughed but Poppy still hasn’t let go of her hand, it’s making her blush like an idiot.

“Sorry. It’s just that the food is taking a while huh?” Morgan stealthily tries to take her hand back but Poppy only holds it tighter. When they're not arguing, Morgan found that she doesn't know how else to act around her.

“Stop tearing paper like confetti.”

“Sorry.” Morgan sheepishly apologizes and Poppy lets go of her hand, hiding hers under the table, flexing it, she could still feel the warmth of her hand in hers.

The food arrives and Morgan smiles widely. Poppy stares, pretending she's interested in what food Morgan ordered. She admits to herself that for all the times she stared at her she never noticed how beautiful Morgan’s smile was. Arguing doesn't leave one space to insert a smile. It made her heart skip, imagining how it would be like if it was directed at her.

She almost misses Morgan stealing a fry off her plate. “Hey! If you wanted some you should have bought your own or at least politely asked.” Poppy mock glares at her companion, taking one of the crumpled balls and flicking it, hitting Morgan right between the eyes. They watched as the paper landed right into Morgan’s half empty milkshake glass.

"Your face!" Poppy laughs, wishing she could have captured it on camera.

Morgan found that she liked Poppy's laugh when it was genuine. “You better buy me another. You ruined mine.”

“What? It’s almost all gone anyway. All the needless calories you’re consuming will bite you in the ass someday.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Just have the rest of mine.” Poppy slides over her milkshake, Morgan grins and takes a sip right into Poppy’s straw. Poppy noticed first, eyes widening. Did She just… A revolting question crossed her mind, how would ‘Morgan’s lips feel like pressed to mine.’ Shes never felt jealous of a piece of plastic before in her life.

Morgan freezes when she realized what she’s done. She just had an indirect kiss with Poppy through the straw. “Sorry. I got excited.”

Poppy opens a new straw for her water, blowing the other end right into Morgans face, another bulls eye, she’s killing it. “Don’t overthink it.” She dismisses the act but her brain does summersaults inside her skull.

They finished eating, the last few of Poppy’s fries stolen right under her nose. She pretends she doesn’t see her sneaking a few of the fries away, she just lets her. Mind preoccupied with important things like Morgan’s lips.

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

Can’t sleep ‘cause I’m way too buzzed

Too late now you’re in my blood

I don’t hate the way you keep me up

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Even if she doesn't look or at least tries her hardest not to, she could feel Poppy's gaze on her, burning, willing her eyes to look back. There's something wildly intimate about singing a song to someone and in the sea of strangers you know it's just for them. No matter how many people sang it, to another, to themselves or just for the heck of it, the song only belongs to the person you made it for. Just for her. They could never feel the way she felt when she wrote it, how her feelings were entwined with every word.

In her periphery she could see Poppy stand and make excuses to her parents. She left, she didn't see where she went, she doesn't dare look anywhere near where she was, she's a coward like that. All she could feel is disappointment. It takes everything in her not to show it on her face. Was it too late to change her talent to stand up?

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

"Come on Poppy, pick a place already. I've been driving around for hours! People will think we're stalking someone around here." Morgan whines in the driver seat taking yet another turn around the block.

"It's been exactly 20 minutes. You're such a baby." Poppy looks at her phone for any places that might still be open around this time. "Turn right, that's not right. Right! Not left."

"Great, now were going in circles. Pull over." Poppy grumbles.

"What?" Morgan looks confused for a moment but does what she’s told anyway, parking along the street.

"Get out." Poppy moves to exit the car.

"What are you..?"

"I'm not gonna hijack your car, just let me drive. You suck at following directions."

"...."

They switch seats, Morgan slumps and mopes in hers. Poppy fights back a smile.

“Would you look at that it only took 2 minutes.” Poppy smiles smugly.

“I did all the navigating you only had to turn once.” Morgan complains, getting out of the car and looking around the parking lot. “What the hell Poppy, a 711? You could have told me, I could have turned anywhere and found one.”

“Like hell you could. You don’t even know your left from your right.” Poppy laughs at Morgan’s offended expression. They walked in, shoulders brushing together and Morgan shivers, insisting to herself that it’s because it’s cold.

Poppy smiles, victoriously pulling out what they came here for out of the fridge.

“A freaking capri sun? We drove all the way here for that?” Morgan complains, ready to throttle Poppy. Though there’s something endearing in her expression, that proud smile for finding something she was looking for.

“Just go find something you want.” Poppy shoos her away, grabbing a few more pouches of juice. She shakes her head and walks off in search of snacks.

Morgan comes back with an armful of sweets and chips.

“We just ate. What are you doing? Take these back, I won't buy you all these.”

“You said something I like. I like them all. Come on aren't you rich?” Morgan dumps her haul in the counter, the cashier looking back and forth from them, looking for a sign that it’s okay to scan the items.

“Are you just an overgrown kid or what?”

“Pop, you just bought a juice in a pouch, you have no right to judge me.”

“Fine.”

Morgan carries three bags worth of snacks back to the car, Poppy not attempting to lift a finger just because she paid.

“Your turn. Pick a place.”

Minutes later they're on a cliff overlooking the city. Fading notes from a song playing in Morgan’s car filtered to the back.

“I'm surprised you didn't get lost.”

“I don't suck at directions. You're the one that sucked at giving them.” Morgan says in self-defence. She unlatches the back so they could sit on it, holding Poppy’s waist, helping her up. If Poppy noticed her hands shake, she didn’t say anything. They sat closer together, leaning against the side. She could feel the cold seeping into her shirt, making her shiver. Poppy notices and moves to take Morgan's coat off.

“No. Keep it on.” Morgan stops her, cold hands over equally cold ones.

“But you're cold.”

“I'm not.” Morgan attempts to refute it but her hands are freezing.

“I can see your teeth chattering.”

“I like it on you.” She smiles softly.

“What?”

“I don't want you to be cold. Just take it, don’t be stubborn.”

“If you speak of this to anyone, I would personally kill you in your sleep.”

“Why would you do- oh.” Morgan stared in confusion, then realization.

Poppy moved to sit in the space between her legs, leaning her back into Morgan, taking her hands and wrapping them to her waist. Her hands rubbing over Morgan's freezing ones. To say that she was now warm was an understatement, she was burning from the blush that overtook her body.

“If you wanted to be near me so bad you could've just asked.” Morgan grins, chin propped on Poppy's shoulder.

Poppy huffs and attempts to get up. Morgan's arms stop her, wrapping tighter, keeping her in place. “Don't move, I might freeze to death.”

“That's what I thought.”

They had a toast with the Capri sun pouches, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. They sat there talking for hours, the company was too enjoyable to give in to exhaustion or cold.

From the time they were talking Poppy shifted her position, now sitting on Morgan's lap, staring up at her while she told a story about their farm animals, making her scrunch her nose in disgust at one of her retellings.

They stared at the sky surprised to see the day chasing the night away. How long have they been talking? Morgan looks at her phone and even more surprised that it's nearly 6am. Time went by so fast.

“I always wanted to see the sunrise from here. Thanks for the company.” Morgan smiles softly, running her fingers through her hair to distract herself from Poppy.

No one mentioned how one of their hands are still interlaced together or how Morgan's thumb drew circles on the back. Especially not Poppy's lips softly grazing the underside of her jaw.

They watched in silence, both aware that as the night was done, so will this new moment they found together.

“I'll take you to back to your dorm.” Morgan reluctantly says, unwilling to move. It was Poppy who moved off her first.

Morgan slides off the back of her truck smirking at Poppy. “Want a piggy back ride?”

Poppy scoffs. But positions herself anyway, her arms wrapped on Morgan's shoulders, Morgan's hands holding her legs securely as she closes the small distance to the front of her car.

They drove back in silence, neither speaking of the moment, afraid it will be over soon.

Morgan stops her car in front of Poppy’s sorority house, tapping her fingers anxiously against the steering wheel. No one talked nor moved for a minute or two, they just stared at each other feeling the change in whatever relationship they previously held. Poppy’s alarm goes off, effectively ruining their moment.

“I guess... I'll see you later. Good Morning, Poppy.” Morgan smiles softly, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles going white, stopping herself from reaching out.

“I’ll… see you later. Thank you for driving me around.” They both know they will see each other but not in the same capacity as tonight, they will be back to being rivals, enemies, whatever the school made them out to be. She could see Poppy fighting a losing battle against herself before she reached out and kissed the corner of Morgan's mouth. She turns away like nothing happened and exits the car without looking back.

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

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Morgan stands and bows to the applause, yet she felt empty. It all felt useless somehow, she wasn't even there to hear the rest of it. She makes her way backstage, turning the corner as the next talent comes up. She felt like running but before she could turn and walk away, Poppy pushes herself off the wall and approached her. She gulped, unsure of what to do.

“Your voice is very beautiful.” Poppy tells her, voice almost as soft as a whisper. She's searching Morgan’s terrified eyes for something. “The song, did you write it?” She asks all the while moving closer, hands fiddling with the lapel of Morgan’s suit.

All she could do is nod, not trusting her voice at the moment. She takes a step back and another and another until her back is against the wall but Poppy follows her every step. Thank god they seemed alone or she would have burst into flames in embarrassment. Poppy steps closer until their bodies are almost touching.

“Who did you write that song for?”

“I...”

“Tell me.” Poppy looks up almost pleading, wanting to hear what she hoped to.

“It’s for you.” Morgan presses herself even more to the wall, wishing it would just swallow her up. She closes her eyes but it flies open when she heard Poppy gasp. “Are you surprised or?” Morgan trails off, observing Poppy’s expression going from astonished, to happy and outright tearing up.

“I can’t believe you wrote that song for me, I thought that there was someone else.” Poppy breathes in relief, Morgan’s hands wrap around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Just you.” Morgan says breathlessly. Watching her break into a smile made all the nerves she had vanish. She pulls her into a tight hug, smiling when she feels Poppy sink into the embrace. Her head leans on her shoulder and she rests her cheek on her hair. Poppy pulls back and smiles before leanig up and kissing Morgan.

#poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #fanfic #we dont hava capri sun only zesto #one shot #please go easy on me whoever reads

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katavicbun · 3 years

Text

As promised (actually I don’t think I promised it but whatev) here is the girl talk snippet from “It’s Not Over. We’re Not Done.” chapter 15. If you haven’t read it ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798473/chapters/70625382 plu plug plug) then you’ll be confused, but like... if you want contextless post-DR3 “Nagito has friends” fluff, who am I to stop you?

Back in the Jabberwock killing game, Nagito almost enjoyed the motives that they were given. As soon as the 77th class had been thrown into the thick of it, Nagito had been beside himself with anticipation at seeing brilliant Ultimate hope persevere against the depths of tragedy. But he didn’t think he’d be happy about a new killing motive again.

Granted, the reason was much less nefarious this time around.

The First Blood Perk: there would be no trial or punishment for the first blackened. They would be free; or whatever that meant in the context of the simulation.

Nagito was looking forward to telling Hajime the relatively good news, but once his game-watching shift was over, it looked like Kazuichi had beaten him to it.

From what Nagito could hear at a distance, it sounded like Kazuichi was putting a bit too much emphasis on how “Kokichi is being an absolute dick to Kiibo”, but the tension in Hajime’s expression lessened with the actually-important news.

Even when Kazuichi left, Nagito stayed where he was, indecisively shifting from foot to foot. Hajime hadn’t reacted well at all when the two’s relationship had been outed the day prior. He was slowly warming up to showing casual affection when they were alone, but when others could see them…

Hajime finally noticed Nagito fidgeting on the other side of the hall, his face softening further, a small but genuine smile gracing his face. The sight went straight to Nagito’s heart, speeding it up to double-time.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten this lucky.

But before either could call out a greeting, two hands slapped over Nagito’s eyes as someone leaped onto his back.

“Ah?” Nagito said in subdued alarm.

“Nagichan spotted! Deploy, deploy!” Presumably Ibuki screeched in his ear, as he bent under her weight.

“Oh, wonderful! I was worried we would not be able to meet today,” Sonia chirped, somewhere to Nagito’s left. When Ibuki slid off and he regained his sight, Nagito saw the two, plus Komaru, beaming at him expectantly.

“Do you… need something…?” Nagito blanked.

“Uh, yeah!” Komaru exclaimed, as if he were missing something very, very obvious. “We haven’t talked about-“

She cut herself off when she spotted Hajime in earshot, looking as baffled as Nagito felt.

“Ha! Ha! Hajiman!” Ibuki hooted, “Nagi is needed in another castle!”

She and Komaru grabbed both of Nagito’s arms and tugged him back in the direction he’d come from.

Murder, maybe? No, probably not.

Sonia smiled brightly and gave a brisk wave to Hajime. “Do not worry! We shall return him to you soon!”

Komaru and Ibuki giggled madly at her word choice as they dragged Nagito away. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure Hajime’s face began turning a concerning shade of white.

Komaru threw the door open when they reached her and Toko’s room. The three girls filed in without hesitation, but Nagito stopped at the doorway. Wasn’t it inappropriate for a man to enter a girl’s room? It wasn’t like he had ever done that before. Nor had he ever wanted to. However, the protest never had the chance to leave his mouth before he was pulled in, too, the door slamming behind him.

It came as no surprise that Toko was already inside, curled up under the covers. She seldom moved ever since they were locked inside the hotel, still wracked with guilt and self-horror from what she had done to save Komaru from Tsumugi’s crowd. From who she had let Genocide Jack kill.

“Hello, Toko,” Nagito said quietly. “Is Nami bothering you?”

Toko made a small noise of negation.

The only parts of her that Nagito could see was the tangled purple mess of hair sprawled across the pillow, and her hand, absently petting his dog lying beside her. Evidently, at some point during the past two hours or so, Nami had slipped inside, like the spoiled pet she was.

“Tell us everything!” Komaru urged excitedly, jumping onto the mattress to sit with her girlfriend. Sonia knelt delicately on the floor on Toko’s other side, and Ibuki flopped down next, yanking a very confused Nagito with her.

“Everything...? Komaru, we were on the same shift,” Nagito reminded her.

“Huh? No, not about the…” Komaru trailed off. It seemed like their merry group of twenty-three was split down the middle when it came to how to deal with their situation. Hajime couldn’t stop talking about it, but Komaru was trying very hard to talk about literally anything else.

Ibuki interrupted. “So are you and Hajiman, like, ooey-gooey lovey-dovey, or are you…” She made a variety of random sound effects that Nagito was afraid to interpret.

Sonia and Komaru were leaning forward with sparkling eyes and wide grins.

Ah.

“I… um,” Nagito stuttered, completely unsure of how to answer. The room suddenly felt very warm. And small. “Not… Not the second one. I think.”

“Ooey-gooey boyfriends!” Ibuki squished his cheeks as Komaru and Sonia shot him with rapid-fire questions.

“When!?”

“Where?”

“Who confessed!?”

“Oh! Have you kissed?”

Nagito managed to pry Ibuki away from his face. She bounced away, unbothered. “A week ago, in the hotel hallway, it… depends, and…” Nagito stopped. What was he even allowed to disclose? So much of this was uncharted territory; he still wasn’t used to having friends in the first place. He still wasn’t used to even calling them friends, despite them insisting it was so.

“He’s blushing! They totally have!” Komaru accused proudly.

“My goodness, the both of you must be so sweet!” Sonia clasped her hands together under her chin. “What did you talk about?”

Nagito had replayed the moment an inappropriate amount of times in his own head; maybe it would be nice to talk about it out loud. And they were asking. “Hmm… Hajime said he loved me, and let me kiss him.”

The three girls had frozen smiles on their faces, like they were expecting more.

Ibuki blinked. “Ah… aww?”

“I’m sorry. Was that too much?” Nagito frowned. He was trying to get better at determining when he had been talking for too long.

“D-details…” Toko mumbled. So she was listening.

“It… was nice…?” Nagito ventured.

“What did you talk about?” Komaru prompted. Sonia and Ibuki nodded.

Oh. Just a little more, then. “I told him that I fell in love with the Hajime inside Izuru and the Izuru inside Hajime. Then he requested that I stop saying things like that if I continued rejecting his advances. I reminded him that it was for his own wellbeing, and he told me that for whatever reason, he believed that I wasn’t an utter detriment to his quality of life. He even said he was sad when I died!” Nagito closed his eyes dreamily at the memory. “He said many kind things, and allowed me to kiss him. He smiled!”

The girls looked considerably less excited.

“I… I am… more confused, somehow.” Sonia cocked her head, her eyebrows upturned.

“Wait, hold on, did Hajime say he loved you before?” Komaru asked. “When you were in Towa with us, you said it was one-sided.”

“L-lying…” Toko muttered.

“No, not on purpose!” Nagito quickly clarified. He tried not to lie when he could. “Hajime also said it on the boat ride back to Jabberwock, after we escaped Aozora.”

“Well well well!?” Ibuki shook her fists, pumped up again at the prospect of more gossip.

That memory wasn’t quite as pleasant.

“When Hajime was fixing my prosthetic, he wanted to know why I sacrificed myself for him, and allowed myself to be captured in his place. Of course, I reminded him that I loved him,” Nagito recounted. It seemed like an obvious question at the time. Now that he had hindsight, though, he wondered if it was simply a way to steer the conversation. “He said he felt the same. He tried to kiss me, but…” Nagito winced.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t let you. Because I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You think I’m doing this because of Izuru!?”

Nagito shook his head. “...Well. Like I said. It was… for his own good.”

Sonia gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, Nagito, I… I am so sorry!”

“You’re… sorry?” Nagito repeated. Not quite the reaction he was expecting.

“I told you that Hajime was fixing your arm because I thought you wanted to talk,” Sonia explained mournfully. “I knew how you felt, and I could tell Hajime had feelings for you as well. You both acted so odd afterwards. I should have picked it together!”

“‘Put’,” Toko corrected.

Calling his and Hajime’s actions “odd” was a bit of an understatement. Hajime tried to explain himself, and reconnect, and care for Nagito. But Nagito pushed him away. He was cruel.

“Um, question?” Komaru spoke up hesitantly. “You keep saying that avoiding him was for his own good. What do you mean, exactly?”

“Is it Nagichan’s luck?” Ibuki asked.

Nagito shook his head. If it were anyone else, or if Hajime was 100% “Hajime”, it would have been. Something terrible would have happened to him, just like his parents. But Hajime’s own Ultimate Luck nullified the negative aspects.

Well. Not Hajime’s luck. It was-

“You are talking about the simulation, then?” Sonia offered after a pause.

No, not really. Nagito wasn’t in the mood to correct her, though. Plus, the Jabberwock killing game was a massive roadblock between the two of them.

“I never saw the simulation, though. What happened?” Komaru asked.

Sonia and Ibuki avoided Nagito’s eyes.

The Jabberwock killing was also the massive elephant in the room.

They all waited for Nagito to explain. He didn’t. He figured the extent of his actions would best be described by the ones he hurt.

“Ah. Well,” Sonia said after his silence became apparent. “Nagito, um… he was a little…”

“Wacko?” Ibuki supplied.

Sonia looked at her sharply. Nagito nodded in encouragement.

“Nagichan tried to hurt Imposter. And everyone. And Hajiman... is also part of ‘everyone’?” Ibuki continued with uncharacteristic discomfort. Her details were very lacking. Nagito thought it would be best to fill in a bit.

“Not out of self-preservation, either. I simply thought that by introducing despair, it would persuade our classmates to fight for their own brilliant hopes. When I failed, I tried to convince the others to do the same,” Nagito explained. The words were familiar, but even he noticed that his tone lacked the enthusiasm he once spoke with. It felt less like the ramblings of a devotee, and more like an objective, emotionless retelling. “I found out our past identities as the Remnants of Despair, and used my own life to try and take theirs. After all, it was the only use I could think of for myself.”

By the deafening silence following, Nagito came to the conclusion that this was not the planned topic of discussion.

This was all news to Komaru. Still, she didn’t look surprised. It probably sounded very consistent with her and Toko’s experience with him.

“But we have forgiven you!” Sonia insisted, covering his hand with hers. “You have proven that you are a good man, many times now. And… we have all done… terrible, terrible things.” Her voice dipped down at the end of her sentence. As pure-hearted as she was now, Sonia, too, was a Remnant of Despair.

“Hajiman totally thinks so, too!” Ibuki piped up, the positive momentum picking up again. “He’s gone gaga!”

“First impressions aren’t everything, either!” Komaru added. “I mean, look at me and Toko. The first time we met, we were totally different to each other than we are now.”

“It wasn’t the first time we met,” Nagito blurted out.

Oops.

“You… knew each other when you were students?” Sonia deduced. “I did not know that.”

“Oh no, Nagichan didn’t like Reserve Courses…” Ibuki recalled. There went the positive mood again. However…

“I met him when he was no longer a student,” Nagito corrected, his tone flattening out. He met him when he was no longer Hajime.

“I see. Hajime feels guilty because Izuru hurt you?” Sonia asked quietly.

Yes, but not the way she meant it.

Nagito wasn’t planning on explaining much further, but Toko spoke again, her voice muffled under the blankets.

“W-where did you g-go when you l-left Towa? Th-the f-first time I-I mean.”

Nagito’s head shot up.

“Wh-what Tsumugi said…” Toko murmured.

“Nagito Komaeda, Ultimate Lucky Student number two, psychopath hope-bitch, Izuru’s personal puppy dog!”

A sharp inhale from Sonia, a gawk from Ibuki, a sympathetic sound from Komaru.

The questions popping around in their minds were practically audible, but they knew enough not to voice them. It wasn’t like they didn’t understand what Toko was implying, either.

Nagito felt that familiar, peaceful feeling of resignation fill his body, pasting a blank, cheerful smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you planned on talking about today. Though, if it’s any consolation, I’ve found this conversation enlightening. It’s good to remember your roots, isn’t it?” Nagito mused. “‘Hajime and Nagito’... it’s pretty nonsensical and twisted, hmm? His claim to care for me is… impossible. And so is yours-”

Nagito was cut off when Sonia tackled him.

“Do not dare finish that thought!” She cried, squeezing him much tighter than he figured she would be able to. “I do not claim to know how Hajime feels, but I know how I do!”

“Sonia…?” Nagito blinked, trying and failing to untangle himself.

“You are sweet and kind. You saved my life, even after how we have treated you!” She insisted, cheek squished against his shoulder.

Ibuki leaped at Nagito from his other side, nearly knocking him and Sonia to the ground. “Ibuki’s crazy, too, it’s a-okay! And she was wrong, Nagichan would never hurt his neighbors’ pets. Nami-Mami is so happy!”

The dog’s tail thumped on the bed at the sound of her name.

“Plus, Nagi’s got the voice of a princess, and he lets me play with his floof!” To illustrate, Ibuki plunged one of her hands into his hair and ruffled madly. Nagito really didn’t like it when (most) people touched his hair, but he was too surprised at the moment to protest.

Two more arms wrapped around his shoulders as Komaru laid on her stomach to reach them from the bed. “I know I haven’t really known you for too long, but I wanna get to know you more. We didn’t get off on a good foot, but you’re so different now!”

A hand landed on his head.

“I-I j-just do wh-what Komaru does… sh-she makes friends w-with w-weird people, b-but…” Toko muttered.

Nagito felt tears prick at his eyes, but he was too cocooned with affection to be able to wipe his face. “Ah… that’s… thank you,” he murmured.

He jumped when he felt a light slap on his scalp.

“Also, come on! Hajime is totally head over heels!” Komaru scolded playfully. “When you talked to him on the computer back in Towa, he was so happy you were okay, I thought he was gonna, like, explode!”

“I-it was gross,” Toko agreed.

“And Hajiman tried so hard to rescue you!” Ibuki squealed. Nagito flinched at her proximity to his ear. “Ibuki heard he carried Nagichan all the way back to the bus. Like a knight and a princess!”

Nagito wasn’t sure he liked Ibuki’s insistence of him being a princess, but she meant well.

“And I have never seen Hajime as happy as he was when you were together.” Sonia said, pulling back to put a hand on Nagito’s cheek. “We are not defined by our actions in the past. Who you are now is most important, and the person that you are now is the one we all love.”

Being loved: it was an experience that Nagito never really had. Of course he wouldn’t recognize it.

“After everything… I think you should allow yourself to believe what you are told.” Sonia smiled gently. “Don’t you?”

Change didn’t come easy. It didn’t come quick. It came in increments, in short bursts, in relapses and two steps back, and in growth.

One gesture couldn’t change everything. But it could help the process.

“I… I love you all, too,” Nagito said thickly.

********************

Nagito knew he’d made Hajime lose his cool quite a bit back in the day. But not like this. Never like this.

The hole Hajime had punched through the wall watched them like a single black eye, the resulting drops of blood on the carpet almost visible, even in the dark. Hajime’s eyes were puffy, and the bandage on his hand was bulky and rough.

When Hajime had gotten out of the shower, Nagito was laying on the bed and feigning sleep. He wasn’t sure what he could even say to Hajime, and decided that acting was the least offensive thing to do. He kept his eyes shut, even when he felt Hajime’s bore into him. Even when Hajime laid down and clung onto him for dear life. Even when Hajime hooked his legs like a vice around one of Nagito’s, and gripped his shirt enough to make it ride up, and buried his face so far into the crook of Nagito’s neck that he worried his breathing was compromised.

Maybe it was to prevent Nagito from leaving and trying to sacrifice himself. Again.

Or…

“I think you should allow yourself to believe what you are told. Don’t you?”

...Or maybe Hajime just wanted reassurance that Nagito was there. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

“I love you,” Hajime whispered shakily to the supposedly-sleeping boy, his breath warm on his skin.

Hajime wanted Nagito to be scared about the prospect of his own demise. But how could he be?

Right now, Nagito had everything he wanted. He had… friends. A makeshift family. He had Hajime.

For once, Nagito was happy.

#out of context the last part sounds like domestic abuse i can't stress enough how much it's not #it's not over we're not done on ao3 #danganronpa #Nagito Komaeda #Hajime Hinata #sonia nevermind #ibuki mioda #komaru naegi #toko fuwaka #komahina #hinakoma #fluff #angst #fanfic

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday, jbsaucy!

Happy belated Birthday, @jbsaucy! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 16th, and that you celebrated in style! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

For this year, I am recently divorced and trying to get the nerve up to get out there. So I would like to request a 30/40s Everlark, post divorced meeting

Jbsaucy

Dear Jbsaucy I hope you had a wonderful birthday. I apologize for the lateness, and I hope you had a wonderful day. This prompt BTW was amazing and I had a great time writing it. It was a blast. Thank you to Norbertsmom for Betaing

Rated T

Title: OFF THE MARKET

-kpkpkpkp-

Divorce sucks. SUCKS.

Getting divorced sucks, being divorced sucked.

But nothing, not the tedious nature of dividing unwanted movies, the fear of root canals, or getting a speeding ticket, compared to dating. Dating, ladies and gentlemen, after being married for ten years sucked royally.

ROYALLY!

After my divorce, my attorney suggested I get a hobby or join a club. I really wasn’t a social person. Not much of a talker, and avoided any and all spotlights. It was this fear of the spotlight that originally brought me in contact to my now ex-husband, Darius.

My best friend Gale pushed me to do one of those karaoke nights. I panicked and ran straight into Darius. He thought I was cute, and I was grateful he went up with me to the karaoke microphone. He sang and I laughed. The rest is history; the marriage only lasted ten years. But I knew we weren’t right for one another, partially because Darius was a very sexual person, for me sex wasn’t important. I got more enjoyment out of getting my teeth cleaned. He found someone who revved his engine and I got the fica and dates.

Yup Dates.

How did that happen you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you I followed my divorce attorney’s suggestion. Preface-OUTSIDE OF A COURTROOM NEVER EVER FOLLOW YOUR DIVORCE ATTORNEY’S ADVICE.

With that warning sign, I digress. Taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wait for it... I joined a book club.

It was the only natural course of action. After our divorce I got all of the books. You see one of the things Darius and I loved to do was go to bookstores. We’d buy all of these books with the intention of reading them, and we never did. We had bookshelves filled with books from the 100 Must-Read Classic Books by Penguin. So after my divorce, I sat in my newly minted apartment with a box of wine and all of these books.

I was looking at the boxes, my divorce papers jutting out. Amongst them there was a note - with the name of a book club, the real 451 book club, with an address. I called them the Squad 451 or the Squad. The women were a hodgepodge of personalities; the right blend of sweet and crazy. There is Mags, the motherly type. She has boatloads of grandchildren. Then there is her neighbor Greasy Sae who runs a diner in town. I used to go to her diner as a kid and consume her mystery meat soups. The older woman is bawdy and half of the things she says makes me blush redder than a red bean. Next is Annie, a shy, slightly mad girl who is a librarian. Delly has the personality of the southern bell who wears pink and believes in romance. I’ve known of Delly forever; she and I went to the same high school.

Foxface, has one of those names with multiple consonants and vowels but prefers to go by Foxy or Foxface. She is freakishly smart and sometimes, I think she has blackmarket dealings because she’s so secretive. Then there is Effie, the middle aged, tightly wound woman whose book choices are as repressed as she is, like Jane Eyre. And last, but not least, is my divorce lawyer, yes the very same one who suggested I get a hobby, Johanna Mason who is, well, a sex fiend.

I started meeting up with them, and six months after my divorce, that’s when the ladies conspired against me and set up my profile on one of those dating websites looking for men, for me. I had no idea, and on my birthday, they presented me with their “gift.”

It was the gift you didn’t want, like a pimple on your wedding day or the runs before an important interview, or bad breath before a first kiss.

Greasy said that if I didn’t use my, well, feminine - looks around - petals. That they’ll dry up and turn into ugly petunias. I announced sex wasn’t important, and even friged Effie said a lady needed to literally, figuratively, and metaphorically, occassionally let her hair down.

I said NO.

I demanded.

I scowled.

Nothing helped.

They created a profile based upon themselves, and yet through describing themselves they pegged me. I was nurturing. I had a sexy edge. I was introverted, and yet mysterious. I was smart, honest, loyal and a closet romantic. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll hunt you down, even after I’m dead.

They split me up like a kid of divorced parents being schlepped from one house to the other. They set themselves up in teams and each team got to pick my dates. And everytime we met for a book club meeting, I was to dutifully report on the date. Based upon their success, a second date would be permitted.

It was a simple proposition.

I was naive. A stupid idiot, or as Bugs Bunny say’s, a maroon.

Because I hadn’t really ever been out there.

To be honest, I met Darius right out of high school, at my first college party, and we were married - okay it wasn’t a big wedding. It really wasn’t a wedding at all. It was a spur of the moment, we got drunk and ended up at one of those Elvis chapel impersonators. Annnnd bada-bing.

I never really dated, so I agreed with the book club’s plan, because how hard could dating be?

And thus began my nightmare.

I must state, or emphatically note, not all of my “dates,” were catastrophically bad. To be fair, most of the time I wasn’t interested. Delly said I wasn’t romantically pulled. Johnna said my engine wasn’t revved up. Greasy said if the man didn’t make me want to orgasam with a look, then he wasn’t worth my time. I posed this question to the universe: How in blazing blue inferno does a man make a woman...well you know, with a look? Was that even possible?

A hazy yellow fuzz enters my head and my mind wanders. I conjure up blue eyes and translucent lashes that never tangle.

Sigh.

…. (my brain just short circuited at the thought of large hands)

Earth to Katniss.

Okay sorry, I spaced out for a little bit, and their words spurred me on to continue my journey. And one year after my divorcce I had stories, no I have battle scars. To prove my point, the following are my top three worst dates. In no particular order.

Date Disaster # 1 was with an artsy type at a chique Italian restaurant. He arrived late, and was drunk, high, or both. Then fell asleep on his plate of bolognese. Yup, in his plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. I paid for my half, tucked my tail between my legs and left.

Date Disaster #2 was with a small man with glasses and a massive intellect who didn’t stop talking about flamingos. FLAMING PINK FLAMINGOS. My brain shut down. I didn’t hear the music in the jazz themed restaurant. I didn’t even taste the heat in the gumbo. The only factoid I remembered when we said goodnight was that flamingos were gray when they were born. I couldn’t even tell you how they became pink. The man was the human form of anesthesia for my soul.

Date Disaster #3 was a nice man. We laughed. And everything was going well. We ordered drinks, a cranberry and soda for me, the bartender special for him while we waited for our table. Turns out he has a milk allergy and the bartender special had milk. When we sat down at the table and we were talking about our hobbies, his stomach began to grumble loudly. He became pasty and then as the waiter brought out our appetizers, he threw up all over the place. It was a good thing that throwing up didn't bother me, but it bothered our waiter who gagged. Needless to say, I burned the outfit I was wearing.

Those were the top three...but there were more, just simmering to become the top one. And for a time I thought I wasn’t made to date. But the ladies had faith and they were really trying to choose nice, interesting guys. However, nothing, nothing that I could ever imagine could top my latest date.

I’m rushing along the sidewalk. I don’t want to be late, but at the same time, I don’t want to tell them how much of a calamity my latest date was, but to be completely honest, I don’t want to miss it. Tonight is also the night the group meets at Mellark’s. The friendly cafe style bakery with its rich and yummy pastries, both savory and sweet. It is my favorite place to meet. Squad 451 meets twice a month in different locations, including one of the two meeting rooms in the library, one of the community rooms in the Justice Building, and on our birthdays, we meet in a restaurant, but the bakery on Main Street is our favorite location. The Mellarks owned several locations. The flagship store was always managed by one of the original family members.

If George Senior, or the middle son Ryan Mellark is at the helm of the bakery, they allow us to cavort in the shop until close. When his older brother George Junior or their Mother Muriel was in charge, we tended to be quiet, relegating our conversations to the books. When Peeta is in charge, there are free cheese buns and chaos.

Please, stomach gods, let Peeta be there. I skipped lunch today because I had a deadline. I also forgot my wallet at home. Thankfully, my license was at the bottom of my backpack. I need food before my stomach eats itself. I am starving when I walk into the bakery. When I see Peeta, I stop. His blue eyes meet mine and my stomach flip flops. He gives me a slow sweet smile, before his eyes slide back to the customer who is ordering.

“Katniss,” Delly squeaks, waving frantically.

Somehow, my feet carry me over to the table and there is a plate of cheese buns and I thank every celestial being in the universe. His buns are heavenly. Sitting down, I take a napkin and snatch one. My mouth waters and my lashes close as I bring the cheese bun to my mouth. The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and the hint of dill, assuage my nose, before I bite into one of Peeta’s coveted flaky concoctions. The combination of the oozing cheese, the herbs and the buttery bread elicit a moan from deep within my being. These freaking cheese buns will be the death of me.

“Wow.” Peeta’s voice causes my lashes to fly open.

Peeta is standing near me with a cup of tea; his face and neck splotchy and red.

My mouth is full of delicious food, but I forgot how to chew.

Delly is looking between us. Her pale blue eyes quizzical, like when she’s trying to understand a concept or theme in a book.

“Okay, bitches,” Johanna says, slamming her brief down. “Where’s the rest of the motley crew?”

“Mags and Greasy just arrived,” Delly answers absentmindedly.

“Hey, Peeta, I need a strong black coffee.”

“Sure,” Peeta says, all the while staring at me. I finally remember to chew. “Here Katniss, your tea.”

Taking the paper cup, I can’t help feeling bashful. “Thank you.”

“Peet,” the girl behind the counter calls.

Whenever Peeta is here, the business is brisk. He is charming. He was always charming, even back in high school he was the most popular guy, not only because of his looks, but because he was genuinely nice. I, like all of the other girls, had a mini crush on him.

Looking over his shoulder he says, “I’ll be right back with your coffee, Jo.”

Now Jo is looking between him and me, but hers is a wicked grin, like right before she nails a sleazebag who doesn’t want to pay for his children. I quirk an eyebrow, clueless as to what has Johanna showing off her predatory gleam.

“Oh, it’s chilly outside,” Mags says.

“It’s colder than Rudolph’s balls outside,” Greasy says, her gruff voice is booming. Several patrons look at her. Greasy does not care. She’s well past her sixties and it’s her motto that she should live each day as if it was her last.

In walks Effie, Annie, and Foxface, and they all say, “Hello,” in unison.

The book of the month is actually a YA fiction called, The Fault in Our Stars, about teens with a terminal illness. I cried when Gus...I tear up once more...at the memory. But I know we aren’t going to discuss Hazel’s predicament with her parents.

“So,” Delly says, bouncing in her chair.

I can’t help but grimace.

“How did it go?” Foxface says. She has an accent, but I can’t place it.

“He looked like he belonged on one of those erotic books Johanna loves to read,” Greasy says, grabbing a cheese bun.

She’s not wrong. Gloss was a blond adonis, with slate blue eyes. And abs that have a flipping twelve pack, I ought to know, I counted them. The words are out of my mouth before I am aware of what I am saying. “He really does with a twelve pack,” I say drinking my tea.

“Did you say twelve pack?” Johanna sat up.

My eyes widen.

“Wait, why are you blushing Katniss?” Foxface narrows her eyes.

“Did you and he…” Annie trails off. Her doe eyes are wide.

“Did you have your first sleepover?” Effie leaned in.

“Or did you dry hump him like a horny-toad dog?” Greasy’s voice bounces in the bakery.

Peeta’s pauses , wiping down the counter and looks directly at me.

“NO!” My voice sounds half strangled.

Jo and Delly exchange a look. “Peeta,” Delly calls him over.

Oh, no, no, no, I say to myself, eyeing how quickly I can get from the back corner to the exit. It is one thing to tell the squad, it is another to have Peeta know. I think I can sprint around the chairs and clear the table near the door like an olympic hurdle jumper.

Peet walks over. “Hey Dells, can I get you ladies anything?”

“Katniss was going to regale us with her latest date,” Delly says.

“She’s going to tell us how she knows her date has Thor’s body.”

“You’re dating?” Peeta asks, looking at me intently.

He doesn’t know I am dating or rather, being raked through hot coals.

“Oh,” Foxface chortles. “She’s dating.”

“Remember the guy who was texting with his mother during the entire date,” Effie said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mags saids grinning.

“Only the part when he had Katniss talk to her, and it turned out she was psychoanalyzing her to make sure she wasn’t an ax murderer,” Annie said laughing.

“Or what about the guy who kept on mentioning his ex and cried through the crème brûlée,” Greasy slaps her knee, laughing.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Man, those are pretty bad,” Peeta says.

I hold up my finger. “No, those are tame.”

“Tame?” His blue eyes are sparkling. “You mean there are worse dates?”

Delly snorts. “Oh there are worse. I am so glad I am out of the dating pool.”

“Yeah, Gale just loves you,” Annie sighs.

Delly and Gale met when I joined the book club. And while I floundered, they fell in love and now Delly was pregnant.

My eyes shift to Annie. “It’s so much easier when you fall in love.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I met someone,” Annie says softly. “He wants to meet all of us.”

I wonder what type of guy would date quiet, shy, introverted Annie who sometimes says things that remind me of that song from those Freddy movies from the 80’s. I shake my head. Then I narrow my eyes. “Bring him to the next session,” I hear myself say. I want to meet this man, and make sure he will take care of my friend.

“Really.” Annie clasps her hands.

I nod, but I notice Peeta is looking at me with this strange gleam in his eyes. “Ah...yeah.” My voice sounds breathy. I frown, wondering why the heck I sound like one of those girls. You know the ones that always appear in the music videos washing cars and dancing on super yachts. Darius was fascinated by those girls, heck, his new girlfriend looks like one of those girls.

The women are chatting with Annie about the new guy in her life.

“We'll discuss Annie’s beau later,” Mags holds her hand in the air. “I want to hear about Katniss’ date.” Her white hair spills over her shoulder as she fixes me with a look. “So tell us, how do you know Thor has a twelve pack?”

Somehow or another I knew the scrutiny on Annie would be short lived. My time to shine would come, but when I open my mouth to speak I can see a conspiratorial glance between Mags and Annie. And it hits me that they chose this man, because he looked like Thor. I scowl at the women who set me up on this one. Mags and Annie both have a pink tinge to their faces. I would have expected this from Jo or Greasy, but Mags and Annie, well it’s INCONCEIVABLE!

I begin to speak. “He asked me to meet him at the edge of town, near route twelve.”

“Isn't that where Ripper’s place is?” Effie questioned, and she couldn’t hide her revulsion.

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘P’, thinking of the bar that disguised itself as an eatery. It was a seedy diner with cracked linoleum floors, yellowing formica, booths that had patches, blinking lights, and rickety chairs.

“That’s where he asked you to meet him?” Mag’s sounds outraged. “That place is…is-”

“- a bedhaven for unsavory characters,” Foxface finishes.

“You're brainless,” Jo mutters darkly. "Ripper's isn't the type of place you can go to Katniss. You should have called me."

As protective as I am about my friends, so is Jo. She's tough on the outside but has a really soft center. It's what makes her a perfect shark in the courtroom. Not that Darius was a jerk during our divorce. He actually wasn't. Johanna was present at the restaurant where he announced he wanted a divorce. Johanna later said it was my face, the vulnerability I tried to hide was why she took my divorce pro-bono.

“I drove and brought my bottle of mace.” I know what everyone was thinking. The area in town where Ripper’s is located at, made the bad side of town look like a tourist destination. I didn't mind meeting my date there. I was looking forward to a basket of fries. Ripper's had amazing beer-battered fries.

I've been to Ripper's once. I was with Gale and Thom who needed to score fake IDs. I ordered the fries, since I wasn't there for an ill gotten identification. But let me tell you, those fries. Oh! Holy mother of fries, no other fries can compare.

Shivers!

I love food; it's why I'm a food critic now. What's so funny is that it was those fries that began my career as Buttercup, the elusive food critic. Back then I was Buttercup, the fussy eater. I blogged about them, no, I lavished them with love. I love my job. I can go into any restaurant, order anything on the menu, blog about it and get paid handsomely. And, most importantly, I can do it anonymously. Not even Darius knew I was Buttercup. He thought I was a boring housewife. Getting back to the fries, I wasn’t deterred from getting my fries.

“So then what happened?” Annie asked.

“He was there waiting for me. He stood up and smiled. And he's massive-"

"Just like a book cover," Foxface mutters.

"He said his name wasn't Anthony, it’s Gloss.”

“Gloss?” Everyone said at the same time.

“Yup.” I sighed. “It was a sign. I should've left." Damn those fries!

“So Gloss…" Peeta's sparkling eyes are on mine, his are an amazing hue of blue, like the indigo milk cap mushrooms. "Looks like Thor." He frowns. "Thor with the long hair or short?"

"Long." The women around me answered as one.

Peeta turned those gorgeous eyes back to me.

Thor isn’t my cup of tea. I shrugged to show my indifference. "Gloss was sporting the Ragnarok look, short hair with facial hair."

I swear I watch Peeta mouth, "short hair."

"Anyway, we sat at a booth. It was packed, actually." That should've been clue number two. Men at a joint like Ripper's at 8:30 on a Friday night, it was by the highway, plausible. But packed with just as many women. "The waitress who took our drink order could barely hear me."

"Was he nice?" Annie asks.

"He was sweet." Truthfully Gloss was a sweet guy. He talked about his mother in a positive way, even if she gave him the name that was another descriptor for shiny objects. "He was attentive too. He told me his mother worked in the makeup industry. "

"That doesn't sound too awful," Delly says.

"He sounds delightful." Mags pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. The gang is getting tired of the story and I hope they will move on to the reason we are gathered, discussing the book we were reading. I begin to reach into my backpack because I really hate purses.

"If he's so delightful, why did he ask you to meet him at Ripper's?" Johanna says in her cross examination voice.

I wince as I take out my book.

"Yes, you must explain." Foxface demands.

"It's not nice to leave us dangling." Effie levels a look at me that has me squirming, feeling like I was being summoned into the principal's office.

"I wanna know how you know Gloss has a twelve pack," Greasy says.

Peeta looks at me expectantly.

Anndddd were back. I sigh. Will he run for the hills when I tell him? Most likely.

"We were talking about dancing.” My voice loses all it’s warmth. “I don't dance."

This causes a rumble of laughter and giggles amongst the women. Peeta looks confused. Finally Delly wipes the tears from her face and gasps, “You should never dance. Ever!”

"That poor man’s toes,” Mags says, her shoulders shaking.

“Do I need to know?” Peeta looks between them.

“I don’t dance!” I growl. The group erupts into another bout of laughter.

“It was a scheme, a dirty underhanded scheme,” Effie says.

The guy I was supposed to date was a dance instructor. He used the dating app as a way to drum up business. When the women meet him, he pairs them with guys who were there for a lesson. He paired me with a poor man named Harry. My nerves got the better of me, because I don’t like to be touched. Harry’s hands were sweaty. Harry tried to dip me as per my date’s instructions. I tripped, and in the process his toes were crushed, and I ended up with a sprained ankle.

When I arrived in crutches to the next book club, well, that was one of those dates that simmers at the surface vying to be in the top three.

“Gloss didn’t believe me. He said anyone can dance. I told him no, and explained that there are people who are predisposed to fly in airplanes, and some who get motion sickness in a car. “

“What happened next?” Foxface asks, moving to the edge of her chair.

“He went to the jukebox.”

“Oh no,” Johanna mutters. “Did he end up in the hospital?”

“Is that how you know he’s got a twelve pack?” Greasy questions. The ladies, and Peeta are all staring at me.

I shake my head. Why couldn’t there be a rush of customers right now? It is calm and I know the odds are against me.

“Spill it!” Johanna demands.

“Well, he queued up a song and waited a beat, and then Lenny’s Kravits’ American Woman started blaring. Gloss started sauntering and spun and did the splits on the floor. Next thing I know, the women in the place go nuts. They surround him, like a rabid pack of wild dogs.”

“Wait, what!” Delly exclaims her pale eyes bright, she grips the book in her hand.

“That doesn’t happen,” Peeta says.

“It does to her,” Foxface said, her eyes shining with ferocity, like the eyes of those women at Rippers.

“Shut it blondie,” Johanna orders.

“Yeah,” Annie says.

Taking a deep breath I continue. “He started dancing...hips…” my brain flashing to his hips gyrating. “...jutting out and…”

“Ohhhhh yeah,” Greasy cackles.

“Gyrating, his hips gyrating,” Foxface gasps.

With eyes closed I nod. “His hips were doing that all over the place. He then jumped on the table and proceeded to rip off his shirt. He shouted my name and told me his next move was his favorite. He spun onto his knees and slid up in my face before dropping his drawers.” I lower my eyes.

“What,” Delly squeaked. “His pants?”

“It’s like Magic Mike,” Mags whispers.

I know the movie Mag’s is referring to. I’ve never seen it. “Yes.”

“Was he naked-” Foxface began.

“-or was he wearing-” Annie cut Foxface off only to be cut off herself.

“A G-String!” Greasy shouted excited.

I shook my head no. He wasn’t wearing anything, I can feel the heat burning my ears.

“Well don’t stop! What happened next!” Even Effie has lost her sense of propriety.

“As I looked for an escape. It’s then I noticed the poster on the wall, for the Slag Heap.” I pause and sigh, “Men’s Magic Friday Night Extravaganza, and Gloss was the headliner. I realized he’s a stripper.”

And the place erupts in laughter.

“What did you do?” Peeta asks.

My eyes connect with his.

“I slunk down to the floor and crawled my way out...drove to the hospital and made my sister administer a tetanus shot.”

“Can I have his number?” Johanna says laughing but her eyes are dead serious.

Peeta is smiling at me and I grab a cheese bun because they are as delicious as the man staring at me.

Eventually we do get to the book, and it’s a pretty good discussion. Peeta let us stay until closing. Mags and Greasy are the last of the ladies to leave. It’s just me and Peeta since he let the staff go home. I’m loitering because I feel like I need to explain to Peeta why I let the ladies talk me into dating.

I’m putting up the chairs on the tables when Peeta comes out.

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet.

“Katniss.”

“Peeta.” We both say at the same time, followed by a nervous chuckle.

“You first,” Peeta insists, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Dating wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn't?” He raised an eyebrow.

I shake my head.

“So what happened?”

“The ladies, they got me a year long subscription for my birthday, and knowing I wouldn’t go through with it, they choose who I date...until I find someone,” I can feel the heat rising from my neck and reaching my cheeks, “I like.”

“Really?”

I nod, incapable of speaking. I cannot stop watching the way he blinks, those darned translucent lashes that never tangle.

“Dating is pretty brutal.”

“Yeah,” I snort because dating is horrible.

“My family is constantly setting me up. I went out with a girl who sang through the entire meal. She chose the pasta and sang On Top of Spaghetti.”

“What?” I laugh.

“That was my dad’s doing. My mom’s choice was a lot scarier. She made me do an obstacle course and made me do it three times until I beat the time she wanted me to reach.”

“Wow.”

“I was dressed in dress slacks, a nice shirt, and a tie.” He deadpans, “I even had on dress shoes.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugs.

I couldn't help but smile.

“Dating sucks until you find someone who makes you laugh, someone who makes dancing easy.”

He approaches or maybe it’s my own feet that carry me to him. But it doesn’t matter because when his arm slides along my waist, and the other cradles my hand, I have no fears. There is something familiar with him as I dance with him. A slow shuffle, that has the room spinning but none of it matters because I feel at home.

“Will you dance with me Katniss?” His voice rumbles in my ear and my heart is pounding in my chest.

His scent is a warm heady mixture of spices, dill, vanilla, and cinnamon.

“Would you go out with me Katniss?”

“Yes,” I answer, and just like that my dating profile goes up in flames. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially off the market.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by mega-aulover

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xddaengx · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home: Spoilt

⚬ Pairings: Jimin x Reader ft Hoseok x Reader

⚬ Warnings: Mentions of Death | Mentions of Neglect? | Angst |

⚬ Word Count: 3.6k

⚬ Summary: With you and hobi getting ready to move, Jimin has started isolating himself from you - watching the two of you from afar, as happy as daisies, though as much as he seems to hate your new companion - he can’t help but want to be apart of the family.

⚬ Author’s Note: This is a repost of the second part of the Welcome Home: Series (as I wanted to change some minor things). I am hoping to post the third part very soon, so please stay tuned. You can find the masterlist for my series HERE. And if you would like to be added to my tag list just let me know. (either in the replies to this post or in an ask)

“Hobi, I don’t know if this is a good idea.” You say softly to the dark haired hybrid - who stands in the kitchen wrapping your ceramics in newspaper before packing them away in a large cardboard box.

“What do you mean? Why the second thoughts so suddenly? I mean, you already put down your deposit on the house and you said if you were going to live anywhere - you wanted to live somewhere out in the country, somewhere secluded.” He responds, stopping his motions of wrapping up kitchen ware moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I thought this was your dream house.” He adds as he sit besides you.

“I thought so too, but when I told Jimin the other day he just had me second guessing some things.” You respond, looking through the photos of the house on your computer.

It really was your dream house.

It was everything you had dreamed of escaping to when you and your ex-fiancee were still together.

“What do you mean he was making you second guess things?” Hoseok asks as he leans his head lightly on your shoulder, looking at your computer as you continue to flip through the photos.

“I don’t know - he just seemed so upset, so betrayed. It just made me realise how heart broken I would be to have to leave him behind. He was my only friend for four years after I moved here - he was always there for me and now I feel like I’m abandoning him.”

You had told Jimin that you decided to move almost six days ago and you hadn’t seen the sassy cat anywhere in the halls - not even on the steps out the front where you drank you coffee every morning. You were almost certain he was avoiding you, and it had started to make you second guess your decision.

A few days after you had told Jimin, you and Hobi had started to pack up your apartment, and as your furniture started to lessen and the apartment was starting to look more empty, you couldn’t help but wonder why the cat was avoiding you.

“I’m just gonna go sit outside for a bit - I need some fresh air.” You say softly to Hoseok, who nods his hand giving your own a tight squeeze as he watches you leave the apartment. He had noticed your routine over the past few days - you would go outside at the same times everyday and sit on the steps waiting hoping to catch a glimpse of Jimin.

Hoseok was always quick to catch onto things - but even he had to admit it took him a while to notice what you were doing. He had been watching you and the cat hybrid interact for months now and had to admit you two seemed to have a connection he didn’t know about.

He could see it in the way Jimin looked at you when you were focused on something else.

He could see it in the way Jimin would bang on your front door - rushing into your bedroom whenever you woke up screaming in your sleep.

It was easy for Hoseok to be jealous at first, to want to keep the two of you separated - all he wanted was to keep you for himself - but something about Jimin gave you so much joy and comfort that he couldn’t dare seperate the two of you. So everyday he would sit and pack things while you waited outside for the pretty kitty.

You would often sit outside for hours before you would give up - no sign of the feline in sight. He always had a way to break your heart without even meaning too. Today was no different - and after waiting out on the steps watching your most recent Korean drama for more than two hours you were about to get up from your spot on the steps and head inside - when a familiar large yellow blanket was draped over your shoulders.

“You really shouldn’t be waiting outside when it’s so cold. At least put a blanket on before you leave your apartment.” The voice you had been searching for, for days finally said from behind you. It took you no hesitation to spring up from your spot on the steps turning to face the hybrid in shock.

“You came? I honestly didn’t think you would’ve come out here at all.” You say looking over the thinning hybrid.

Jimin’s hair was a mess on top of his head, his clothes loose around his body and the large bag under his eyes showed he hadn’t been sleeping very well.

“Yeah, well, some of us are busy.” He says, his tone cold as he avoids your eyes turning to look at the ground instead. “Just start taking better care of yourself.” He whispers, moving to walk back to his apartment.

“Why have you been avoiding me Jimin? I thought we were friends?” Jimin’s head turns down to the ground as you question him, not giving him much time to respond before you add. “Do you not want to be friends anymore?” Jimin’s head whips around as he looks at you in disbelief. His mouth opening and closing a few times as he tries to respond.

“How could you say something like that?” He questions you, his eyebrows furrowing in hurt as he takes a step away from you. He looks you over quickly before scowling.

“How can you say something like that when you’re the one leaving.” He spits, his tail flicking furiously behind him as he continues. “You’re the one leaving me behind - So I’m sorry if I’m not feeling up to being buddy buddy with you and that dog... You promised me you would never leave me behind.” He lets out a sigh before spinning on his heel and rushing off to his own apartment.

“Shit.” You huff, pulling Jimin’s yellow blanket around you tighter as your trudge back to your own apartment.

You really have a talent for messing things up.

“Maybe talking to him is the best idea.” Hoseok says as he watches you pace back and forth in the lounge room. It had been a week since Jimin had exploded at you, and it had really started to bother you. You had told Hoseok later that night what had happened and why you had come back to the apartment so miserable.

“Well, I can see where he’s coming from. I would probably be pretty upset if you were moving away from me too.” He had told you after your repeated what Jimin had yelled at you before he stormed off. You rubbed your faces in frustration before flopping onto the couch with your face against the cushion - before sighing that you had to find a way to make things right or you wouldn’t know how to function anymore.

You had spent the past few days after your first talk with Hoseok trying to find a way to make up with Jimin - to apologise for making him so upset.

“How can I talk to him, if he won’t come anywhere near me?” You question the hybrid who sits besides you patting your head lightly, like you do when he’s as stressed as you are.

“Maybe you should talk to Mrs Park - she might know more.” Hoseok suggests, the idea finally lighting up a fire in you. Mrs Park - Jimin’s owner - was a very kind old lady and had always been extremely happy to see you come around. Maybe if you asked her to help you win Jimin back he would have no choice but to finally talk to you.

“You’re a genius.” You hum, placing a quick peck on Hoseok’s forehead before rushing to grab your keys off the bench exclaiming that you were running to the store to grab something before heading over to Mrs Park’s apartment. Hoseok just nodded as you disappeared from the apartment leaving him a blushing mess of the couch, as he presses soft fingers the the burning spot on his forehead where you had kissed him.

“God damn that girl.”

Armed with flowers and Mrs Park’s favourite chocolates in hand you knock quickly on her front door - waiting for a few moments before knocking again. It’s another few minutes before you hear rustling behind the door.

“I told you that I’m packing - I still have another wee— Oh, it’s you.” You’re surprised to see Jimin open the door - his frame somehow looking a little smaller than it had a week ago - his hair still a mess on top of his head. “What’re you doing here?” Jimin asks, looking down at the small care package in your hands.

“I thought I should pay Mrs Park a visit - thank her for everything she’s done for me - Is she here?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? Is she at a doctors appointment?” You ask - looking behind Jimin at the gloomy apartment. Mrs Park had been in a wheel chair for the past year and never really left her apartment much without Jimin so her not being here wasn’t something you were expecting.

“No.” Jimin answers your question - something was definitely wrong.

“Where is she Jimin?” You ask getting a better look behind him at the empty apartment, two suitcases sitting in the lounge room with Jimin’s clothes spilling out. Jimin steps to the side letting you enter the empty apartment before turning to face you - his face flushed red as he hold back tears.

“She had a stroke two week ago…” He begins, not being able to hold back for much longer as he lets out a soft whine, raising his hands to wipe at the tears on his cheeks. “…She didn’t make it.” He finishes his sentence as you rush forwards wrapping your arms around his neck. He’s quick to wrap his own arms around you letting everything come undone.

“Oh, Jimin.” You coo, patting the hybrids head softly as you try not let your own tears fall.

No wonder he had looked so run down a few days ago.

Mrs Park had gotten Jimin when he was a toddler and had raised him since then - he had practically lost his mother. “It’s going to be alright.” You whisper continuing to rub circles on his back as he tries to calm himself down - his sobs turning into small hiccups. You manage to pull his head from your shoulder as his crying comes to an end wiping the tears off his face softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Have you been living here on your own?” You question him, your sadness growing as he lets out a small nod.

“What was the point in telling you - you’re leaving anyway.” He whispers, taking a step back, pulling his face away from your hands.

“Jimin…What about those suitcases?” You sigh at the cat hybrid, motioning to the two bags sitting in the middle of the empty room.

“Mrs Park’s son is allergic to cats.” He says quickly. “He was taking me to the rescue shelter next week.” He adds, his hands clasping in front of him as he watches your mouth fall open - your anger boiling.

“Are you kidding me? Jimin this is something you’re supposed to tell me. Were you just going to wait until I left and suffer on your own?” You snap at him.

“And what could you have done? Legally her son has ownership of me now - he can do whatever he likes. And don’t worry you and your new best friend can still go live happily ever after in the country - Mr Park said that purebred usually get adopted quickly…people like to have purebreds.” Jimin snaps back his tail flicking behind him - his ears pressed against the top of his head.

“Is that what you want? We both know what people do with purebred hybrids, Jimin. You should’ve told me Jimin. I would’ve been able to do something.” You know that yelling at Jimin isn’t fair but you can’t help it. People could be awful and the future of Jimin being a breeding stud terrified you.

“What would you have done?” Jimin prods taking a few steps towards you - so close that your chests are almost touching.

“I don’t know Jimin…”You pause for a moment trying to ignore the tense feeling in the air. “…I would’ve taken you with me. I would’ve tried to adopt you and take you with me.” You add, your words faltering slightly as Jimin continues to glare down at you - both of your breathing heavily and glaring at each other.

Isn’t it funny how quickly things change.

Jimin hands reach for your face without a moment of hesitation - his lips finding yours just seconds later. You can’t help but let out a groan, as your hands find their way into Jimin’s hair, his hands trailing down your body until they reach your hips - gripping them tightly.

The two of you take small steps back - entwined in each other - until your back hits the front door, Jimin’s hands moving from your hips to grip your thighs tightly, lifting them until the sit tightly around his waist, his body pushing you further against the door.

Jimin lets out a low growl as his lips move away from your own pressing small kisses down the side of you cheek until he reaches the small curve where your jaw and neck meets, his sharp teeth grazing the skin lightly. You press your head back against the door, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a breathy moan - Jimin’s lips moving further down your neck until they press gently against your collar bones. His hands move under your shirt moving gently up and down your sides as he pulls his mouth away looking over you.

“Look at what you do to me.” He whispers, his left hand moving to your cheek to tilt you head down towards his - your eyes opening slowly. His pupils were sharp slits, his hair a mess on top of his head as you run your finger through his white locks. His lips were a bright pink your lipgloss smudged over his lips.

He sends you a small grin with a breathy laugh before leaning forwards and capturing your lips with his once more - this time much softer, the kiss between the two of you seeming to say everything you couldn’t with words. His hands move back to your thighs, gently prying them off his waist so your stand, your feet firm on the ground in front of him. He presses a few more chaste kisses to your lips before parting, pressing his forehead against your own - his eyes tightly closed.

“God…You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” He whispers softly, as you finally pull your fingers from his hair moving them to gently stroke his cheeks as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Did you mean what you said?” He questions you quietly, his eyes opening slowly his pupils back into the large circles you were used to his gaze watching you closely as you nod - your breathing still ragged.

“Would you still do it?” He asks you next his fingers drawing small circles into the skin on your hips - his attention focused on a small corner right on the edge. “Would you still take me with you? Would you still adopt me?” He adds his own breath hitching as you nod again.

“In a heartbeat.” You whisper with a small smile that Jimin returns before pressing his lips to yours once more.

“God…I love you so much.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” You question Jimin, who stands by your side fiddling with his fingers, not looking up from the ground.

“It has to.” He answers quietly, giving you an encouraging smile as you knock on the apartment door in front of you. It only take a few moments before the door swings open, a short stocky man standing in front of you.

“Are you Park Myunghoon?” You question, the man gives a quick nod, looking over Jimin with a snarl. “My name is Y/N, I live down the hall - I was a good friend of Mrs Park and her hybrid Jimin.” You say motioning to the hybrid behind you before turning back to the small man.

“I’ve heard that due to Mrs Park’s unfortunate passing and your allergy to cats that Jimin will be given to a rescue centre to be put up for adoption.” The man seems to smirk at the end of your sentence probably being able to guess where you were going with this.

“Listen Kid, I understand the you want to help your friend but the rescue centre already offered me a thousand for him - and they already have a potential buyer.” He says almost dismissing you, but you take a step forwards, somehow being at eye level with the man.

“I can see you’re a smart man Mr Park, but I just feel like only a thousand is such an injustice. With a feline hybrid with Jimin’s heritage and a purebred ragdoll - which are rare in themselves - only a thousand is a rip off. If you sign the adoption papers today I’m willing the offer you two thousand five hundred for him.” You say quietly trying to bargain with the money hungry side of the man. You words seem to work as he looks between you and the hybrid hesitantly. “I have cash.” That seems to be what gets the man to sigh, reaching his hand out impatiently. Jimin steps forwards with a pen and the papers necessary telling the stubby man where to sign before he tucks them under his arms taking a few steps back.

“Thank you for your business, Mr Park. We hope we won’t be hearing from you anytime soon.” You say handing the man a bulging white envelope - before turning on your heel and ushering Jimin out of the apartment building to your car parked on the curb.

“I can’t believe that worked, it just seemed way too easy.” You huff as you slide into the drivers seat, Jimin sliding into the passenger seat besides you.

“I told you - he’s a shallow man - nothing a bit of cash wouldn’t solve.” Jimin says with a large grin - Mrs Park had left some money in case of emergency in Jimin’s name - ten thousand she left for him - and the poor man was too dumb to find a way out of giving Jimin what he was owed.

“I guess we should break the news to Hobi.” You add, Jimin had put his suitcases in your car two days ago - not ever wanting to have to return to his old apartment after the papers were signed - too many memories, too much lost.

It’s been two weeks since Jimin joined your small family - Hoseok and Jimin seeming to have an unspoken truce and were seeming to be putting up with each other well. The day you broke the news to Hoseok he seemed surprised, he had no idea what the two of you had been planning and the surprise addition to the family made him a bit uneasy.

You didn’t blame him.

He had only been with you for a few months himself but you had already begun changing everything - adding more people, moving house things were a bit hectic for the adjusting hybrid. He had sulked for a few days but came around eventually when Jimin proved himself to be handy around the home, as much as he liked to follow hoseok around and knock things over.

Jimin’s new favourite past time has become annoying Hobi as much as possible. His favourite way seemed to be by being overly affectionate with you. Almost all day Jimin would stand besides you with his hand in yours, his head nuzzling into your neck - a small grin sprouting as Hoseok lets out a scoff.

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to finally snap, sneaking into your bedroom one night when Jimin is showering.

“Why aren’t you that affectionate with me?” He spits out, as he looks at you reading your latest fantasy series cuddled under your blanket.

“What do you mean?” Your quick to ask placing the book besides you as you sit up further looking at Hoseok in concern.

“You and Jimin cuddle and hold hands all the time, I even saw him try to kiss you the other day.” He responds, throwing his hands up in defeat when you still don’t seem to understand his words. “Why don’t you do that with me…I want to cuddle and hold hands, but you always seems so awkward around me - like you don’t like being near me.” He finally says and you sputter a little trying to hold in a shocked laugh.

“Hobi, you know that’s not true - I love being around you.” You chuckle watching as the boy pouts moving to sit at the end of your bed. “You probably think I’m being awkward cause I don’t want to push you to do something that might make your uncomfortable. I would love to be more affectionate with you, I just want to be sure if that’s what you want too.” You explain and Hoseok seems to relax a little bit, moving closer to you on the bed, taking your hands in his, as his thumbs rub small circles into your palms.

“Have you and Jimin kissed before?” He asks softly, not looking away from your palms not even as you choke on the air your breathing in. You nod slowly as you take in deep breaths.

“Then you have to give me one too.” He says his pout returning on his lips, al you can do is roll your eyes, a small grin spreading across your face as Jimin saunters into the room his torso bare as his towel is wrapped around his waist.

You sigh ignoring the scandalous feline before leaning forwards and pressing a chaste kiss on Hoseok lips, pulling away with a raised brow.

“Happy?” You ask, Hoseok nodding furiously in response.

“Anyway big boy.” Jimin whispers as he leans over besides Hoseok, “We’ve done much more than just a little kiss.” Jimin teases as he walks back to the bathroom with his clothes in hand leaving you shaking your head and denying his claim.

“He’s lying.” You spit out glaring at the bathroom door, not noticing how Hobi’s ears flatten against his head.

“It’s offical…I’m going to kill him.”

“Hobi, No.”

TAG LIST: @littlewolfieposts @sana-b @purplelady85 @btsxdoll

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thechosenburrito · 3 years

Text

Intro to Love: 1.1-Free on Sunday

Word Count: 1,555

Summary:

Xochi gets partnered up with some guy named Carson for a project only to be reminded that she has no social life.

Author’s Note:

This is my first original writing! I’ve been wanting to write fiction geared towards actual young adults, 18-25, since I grew up on stuff like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. Unfortunately, I’m not 12 anymore so I need something geared towards an older audience. Hope you enjoy!

When you hate going to class as much as I do, you learn to turn off alarms in your sleep. Once you figure that out, it's all downhill and you'll always be late to morning classes. You'll end up like me: throwing on a hoodie over your pajamas and running to class in flip flops.

Being late to my morning class wasn't that big of a deal. It was an intro-level psychology lecture. A "gimme" class compared to my others. Plus, the class was so big that no one would notice if I came late or even showed up at all. Except for Fridays. Fridays were quiz days and if you weren't in class in the first 10 minutes, you didn't get a quiz AND you got a 0. No makeups. No dropped quizzes. I was running full sprint across campus and with no breakfast in me, the only thing keeping me going was the sheer fear of dropping a letter grade because of one quiz.

I made it to the building where my lecture hall was and threw the doors open. This was a mistake because they were way lighter than anticipated and I ended up scaring the shit out of myself and anyone who was responsible and wanted to spend their morning studying in the common area. Their piercing glares and furrowed brows were completely warranted. I felt my face flush red, but I'd have to be embarrassed later because the clock on the wall read 9:07. The elevator doors closed right when I looked at them. If only I had telekinesis powers. I booked it for stairs and after about 10 stairs I remembered that I forgot to take my asthma medication the night before. Not exactly a great technique.

This time, I didn't throw the doors open. A TA walked up to me and handed me a copy of the quiz.

"Just in time," she whispered with a raised eyebrow.

I was not even remotely prepared to speak to a human being this morning. I managed half a chuckle and muttered something along the lines of "Yeah, I know.".

I quickly looked around the back of the lecture hall for an empty seat, realizing that the only empty seats were at the front of the class. Because today couldn't get any better, the sound of the door was so loud I should've just thrown them open, to begin with. The whole lecture hall turned to look at me. The professor even paused to glance my way. My brain chose this time specifically to reflect on my current outfit choice.

My navy blue hoodie didn't exactly gel with my orange and black jack-o-lantern pants. And the flip-flops didn't exactly help my cause. I knew for a fact that I didn't brush my hair while I was running out of my dorm, which meant I probably looked like I lived in that elementary school lost-and-found bin with my wild black hair sticking out all over the place. Not to mention I was also red and sweaty from running here. I had only one thing on my mind as I made my way to the front row in my surprisingly loud flip-flops: "I need to get my life together.".

I sat down in the front row and quickly started my quiz, doing my best to avoid eye contact with either of the people next to me. It was easy enough and I finished fairly quickly. I started to pack away my things, but then accidentally made direct eye contact with my professor standing 10 feet away. I sighed a little. I couldn't leave early without prolonged awkward eye contact with my professor which was too much for me at the time. I sat back in my seat. 'Ok,' I thought to myself. 'This lecture end in 25 minutes. It should be fine".

I was definitely not fine. Sleeping 3 hours a night does not necessarily lend itself to early morning lectures. I started nodding off, snapping myself awake when my head hit the back of my chair. I imagined that this is what it was like to fight off a demonic possession. I definitely would have been taken over by the demon because I completely fell asleep.

I jolted awake with pain in my arm.

"Ow!" I said a little too loud.

The professor was looking right at me. Shit. I slept through the question. I racked my brain for something I could say that wouldn't make me look like a complete idiot in front of everyone.

"Um.. is it.." I felt a gentle nudge.

I looked over and the guy next to me gestured to his notes. The word "hippocampus" was written and circled at the bottom.

"...the hippocampus?" I wondered aloud.

My professor raised an eyebrow, "Yes".

I sighed and slumped back into my chair. I scribbled a note on my paper, 'Thanks, man. You saved my life.', and nudged him on the arm. He looked over, saw the note on my paper, and nodded.

"Alright before I let you go, I'll go ahead and assign partners for the Trust project," she announced, taking out a clipboard. "If you're in an odd-numbered seat, your partner will be the person to your left, or one number up from yours. Once you find your partner, check with me or a TA so we can get your names!"

God, why can't professors make things simple? I shouldn't have to do math to figure out who my partner is. I stood up to check my seat number, 17, and to the left was-

"Hey, looks like we're partners," He stood up and started grabbing his bag. "I'm Carson."

I finally got a good look at him once we were both standing. When we were sitting, I couldn't tell that he was 6 inches taller than me. It felt awkward having to look up to talk to him. He was wearing a red flannel over a black t-shirt and jeans. It was exactly something I would wear at any other point in time. His thin frame made me extra aware of my potential food-baby. His face did seem familiar. Maybe I'd seen him around campus? I wasn't sure. There were so many guys like him, I probably could've seen any one of his 'clones'.

I managed an awkward smile.

"I'm Xochi. Nice to meet you!"

I did my best to give a firm handshake. He definitely had a stronger grip than I anticipated, but 7 years of violin gave me strong hands.

We made our way to one of the TAs. Carson turned to me.

"I'm gonna be real, I have no idea what this project is about. Do you?" he whispered.

I sighed and felt a little part of me die. That statement alone meant that I would probably be doing this whole project myself. I figured I didn't get the sharpest knife in the Cesar.

"Uh... when's it due?"

He checked his phone, "Email says it's due on Friday. Same as Exam 1."

"Then I'll care on Thursday," I said dryly, already taking to account how much I was going to procrastinate.

I was being dead serious but I managed a laugh out of him. His smile was surprisingly infectious and I felt a little smile bloom. I quickly turned away.

I gave our names to the TA at the exit.

"Carson..uh.."

"Williams"

"Williams. And Xochitl Jimenez. It's X-O-C-H-I-T-L."

The TA nodded and Carson and I made our way down to the lobby.

"I thought your name was So-chee. You spell it with an X?" he asked curiously.

I grinned so he wouldn't know it wasn't the first time I heard this.

"Yeah... It's traditional. It means flower.", I replied with a half chuckle.

"Huh. That's pretty cool. Mine just means my dad's a car.", he smirked.

I couldn't hold back my laugh.

"Ok, you got me with that one!"

Caron smiled and pulled out his phone to check his calendar, "We probably shouldn't leave all the work to Thursday 'though, just to make our lives easier. I can't work on it today 'cause I have Tennis practice, or tomorrow because I have a tournament. Sunday works 'though! I'm free at noon, but at 6 I'm grabbing dinner with my friend. Does that work for you?"

"Let me check," I said in vain as I pulled out my phone, feeling a little pang in my heart.

I looked at my calendar and pretended to look through it intensely. My personal calendar was empty. No plans, no meetings, no activities. He seemed so lucky to have all that going on. Friends, a hobby, people to talk to. I could go days, sometimes, without speaking a single word until my parent's eventually called to check on me. I used to have lots of friends in High School. I'd known them so long, I didn't bother to make any new ones, and going to college left me all on my own. I couldn't even bring my instrument with me. Being a musician was my whole life and stopping cold turkey hasn't been doing my brain any favors. No new friends, no hobbies, no one. I really had nothing going on.

I gave a strained smile.

"Yeah. I think I'll be free then."

Next Chapter: 1.2-Clinic Crashers

A/N:

It has been so much writing this! The rest of the chapters I’ve already written will be posted soon! Chapter 2.3 Will hopefully be out tomorrow or at least some time this weekend!

#orignal writing #fiction

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years

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JKR 2: BRC 1

Joker x Reader

Word Count: 1921

Summary: You love him, that much is obvious, but now Wayne is being flirty suddenly.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alas, the much awaited sequel to JKR. At some point I got an ask for a sequel, but I literally cannot find it, so … Here it is! There will be more posting randomly as I get it out. Unlike my other series, I’ve got nothing like an outline, so I have no idea how long this is gonna be or when I’m gonna be posting it.

One of your favorite parts of being a mercenary was the fact that it was extremely rare for you to have to be a functioning human on Monday mornings. It was a perk you hadn’t really expected, but you absolutely loved sleeping in while the rest of the world crawled out of bed to begin another shitty work week. That alone almost made it worth it to put up with all the nonsense you handled day to day. And since you’d gotten involved with the joker, you’d even gotten to enjoy the addition of a warm body next to yours seeing how he shared your philosophy on those mornings.

So when you woke up naturally one Monday morning several months since agreeing to work with Joker, you were more than a little annoyed. The irritation was only slightly alleviated when you started to really observe your surroundings and realized that Joker was currently playing big spoon with you and clinging to you like a child with a beloved toy. That, at least, was a sweet bonus to waking this early. A little smile formed on your face despite yourself. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulder, softly puffing every now and then in his sleep; the rhythm of it could almost put you to sleep.

And then your bladder made itself known.

The annoyance promptly came roaring back.

Getting out of bed was a whole little challenge in and of itself due to the way he was clinging to you, but you somehow managed to escape without waking him. When you glanced back at the bed and saw the fearsome Clown Prince of Crime cuddled up to your pillow and snuggled under your covers, your heart gave a hard thump. Try as you might, it was steadily becoming harder to deny that you’d somehow developed feelings–real, deep feelings–for the madman. Every day you tried not to think about it because of how unlikely it was for him to reciprocate, but seeing him so vulnerable–without makeup and with green hair so faded it was almost completely back to its normal dishwater blond–made some part of you swoon. He trusted you enough to be so unguarded, and that was enough for you … mostly. Part of you still craved someone to talk seriously with, but you were content enough even without it. Or so you told yourself.

Sighing, you shook off the emotions and picked up his grey, patterned shirt from the day before. Problems for another day, you supposed.

Once your bodily functions were taken care of, you quietly stalked your way into the kitchen. Clearly, you weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon, so you might as well make a coffee. Maybe that would somehow help you tame your unwelcome feelings.

Clearly the answer was a big, fat “No,” since, as you were returning to the bedroom, you got distracted with how cut he was while you were in the doorway, mug clasped between your hands. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere and pretend that the two of you were just normal people.

Then, true to Gotham’s nature, it all came shattering down when you heard the telltale scratching of someone picking a lock. Specifically the lock on your front door. The switch in your mindset to Business Mode was instantaneous. Your world seemed to sharpen as you slowly eased the bedroom door closed; it would be quite bad if your suspicion about the intruder was true and he saw your houseguest. Your hand tightened around the mug, ready to throw the scalding liquid in an instant if threatened.

An angry scoff left your lips when you recognized the head of brown hair that peaked inside your apartment once the door was unlocked. “You’re really making me regret my decision against getting a guard dog, Mr. Wayne.”

You absolutely hated how dashing his ensuing smirk made him. “As busy as you are? Probably not the best idea.” Unlike the last time he broke in, he wasn’t dressed like he came from a trust fund soiree; instead, he was in a more casual ensemble of dark jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket with red trim.

“Any particular reason you’re breaking into my home today or were you just hoping I was still asleep so you could peep?”

“I have to say no. That’s not exactly my style.” A thump from the bedroom halted whatever excuse he had for this breaking and entering episode.

Your heart gave its second hard thump for the morning, this one out of fear instead of love. Leveling Wayne with a harsh glare, you ordered, “Stay put.”

“Of course.”

Mug still clenched in your hand, you quickly retreated back to the bedroom. Based off the sight that greeted you, you could only assume that the noise was Joker grabbing his pants off the chair and inadvertently throwing the knife from his pocket into the floor. “You good?” you asked the obviously-groggy man.

“I heard voices. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you normally hear voices?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No. And you know that,” he deadpanned. His tongue started flicking as his irritation aggravated the tick.

“I’ve got an unwelcome guest again,” you stated, deciding that blunt was probably better than finesse.”

“Wayne?”

“Yes, so you’re going to stay here while I deal with him.”

“Should I be … jealous?”

“Fuck no. Can’t stand the bastard.” Well that was a bit of a lie. As much as the richboy infuriated you, he also acted as a constant source of amusement. “But I don’t want him knowing anything else about me if I can avoid it. Be a good boy and stay here, and I’ll let you have your wicked way with me later.”

“You’ll let me do that anyway.” He was right and he knew it. There was a long pause as you stared each other down. You could practically see his brain working over his options until he finally exhaled heavily. “Fine. I’m too tired for this, anyway.”

For once, his exhaustion worked to your advantage instead of making him intolerable. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a few.”

“I await with bated breath.”

The Joker handled, you slunk back out to deal with the unmasked Batman; part of you realized that Gotham City Police would love to be in your position. Both men, vulnerable with identities out in the open? They’d probably kill for it. You, however, were just tired of today already.

When you returned to the living room, Bruce had once again made himself at home on your couch. “Boyfriend?” he questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Something like that.”

“He’s got interesting taste,” he commented with a little gesture towards your body.

You raised an eyebrow. Sure, it wasn’t exactly your style, but, “You’re one to talk. Enough of the questions, Mr. Wayne. Why are you here?”

“I need a date for a gala I have to go to tonight.”

Your eyebrows now shot up almost to your scalp. “And you came to me? First off, I don’t like you, so what the fuck? Second, you don’t like me, so what the fuck? Third, do you honestly expect me to believe that you couldn’t get a date? And for that matter–”

“Relax, Y/N. I’m hiring you for a job. I need a distraction, and I hear you’re the best.”

“Awfully short notice. What if I don’t have anything to wear?”

“Already have that handled. Come by my penthouse at six.”

“And payment?”

“Half now, half after. Check your bank account; money’s already there.”

“You’re damn sure that I’m gonna do this, aren’t you.”

“You’re curious, you want to know what I’m up to, and you always get the job done if you’re being paid for it.” He was smirking again and heading for the door as he said that. “See you tonight.”

“Bastard,” you spat at the door the second it was closed. Already, you wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed and stay there for the rest of the day and it was only … 8:13 according to the clock on the wall.

Resigned to your fate for the coming evening, you retreated back to the bedroom. This time, you didn’t even pause to admire your lover’s form splayed across the bed. You did notice that his eyes were staring at you as you approached, though, and gave him a small smile.

“Got a job tonight with the hunky rich boy, huh?” he teased while rolling onto his stomach and kicking his feet up like a girl in a movie about a slumber party. “Am I just not, uh, doin’ it for ya anymore, dollface?”

“Fucker didn’t exactly give me much of a choice, did he?” you sniped right back. “Scoot over; you’re in my spot.”

His response was to flop back over onto his back and pat his lap. “You’re mine now, remember? I was a proper gentleman and hid away while you talked to your suitor.”

“He is not–” You were cut off by him tugging you down to straddle him. “My suitor,” you finished, doing your best to sit on him with some modicum of dignity.

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart. He’s quite, uh, dreamy.” He cackled. “Any chance you could convince him to join us in here sometime?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, J. I don’t think he’d go for it.” Especially considering the whole nemesis thing … “You’re just stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well, have fun for the both of us, my dear,” he shrugged. His fingers suddenly halted their attempts to unbutton your (his?) shirt; alarmingly, you hadn’t even noticed him doing that. “Why did Brucy know what it is you do for a living anyway?”

Fortunately, you knew that question was likely to come up months ago, so you’d long ago thought of an excuse. “Did a job cleaning up one of those trust fund brigade’s messes after a particularly nasty party–”

“Ooh!”

“–and that apparently got me on his radar.”

“Never a dull day for a mercenary.”

“Or a madman,” you teased right back. “But be that as it may, I’m gonna enjoy having you all to myself until I have to go to that stupid party.”

“Never a dull day, indeed!” he cheered. “But for real, you gotta get a video or somethin’ if you fuck him tonight.”

You rolled your eyes even as you tugged at his boxers. It was an interesting thought. While you had first priority on the Joker when he was off the clock and a serious case of feelings for the clown, you were under no illusions that this was an exclusive thing. Physically, you sated each other easily. Emotionally, you were all the Joker needed (or wanted, for that matter), but he wasn’t crazy enough to think that he satisfied all of your needs. The whole comforting thing specifically was a weakness of his. You’d discussed all this (excluding the whole love issue) months ago at your insistence since you had no desire to earn the Joker’s wrath by having an affair.

Shoving all that aside, you just scoffed. “That man is infuriating.”

“And he has a crush on you. I can tell. We madmen have a … sixth sense for these things. Besides, the flirting was painfully obvious even from in here.”

“I’m not fucking Bruce Wayne.”

“Right. You’re fucking me!” Another hysterical cackle.

“Well …” you grinned, “I’m about to be, anyway.”

#joker x reader #the joker x reader #heath ledger joker x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #sellyoursoulforarequest

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boldly-ho · 4 years

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Another Life - Chapter 6

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: M

Word Count: 2233

Chapter Summary: You go out shopping for a particular necklace, return home to narrowly avoid disaster, and rescue Vladislav from said disaster only to get kicked in the face for your efforts. (I swear it actually makes sense, ok?)

A/N: As always, cross posted to ao3.

You passed a parked patrol car as you walked down the street and made a conscious effort not to make eye contact with the constables inside. You were almost afraid they’d be able to tie you to your flatmates’ weird cult just by looking at you. Doing your best to embody innocence and nonchalance, you continued on, only marginally picking up speed.

Your destination was a few blocks farther than you’d thought. You’d never been there. It wasn’t as if you had an excess of cash, nor an excess of desire to spend it on such things. Your destination, of course, was a Christian store. After a quick Google search, you’d found one in Lower Hutt that sold jewelry. From your research on vampires, you’d discovered they traditionally had an aversion to both silver and religious symbols, notably crosses. So, the plan was to buy a silver cross necklace. If the guys seriously believed they were vampires, which you were pretty sure they did, having such an item might help keep you safe.

You weren’t sure who was nuttier – you or your flatmates.

Nevertheless, it was better to be nutty than sorry, so you entered the unfamiliar shop. As the clerk greeted you, you felt conspicuous in the same way you had as you passed the patrol car.

“Anything I can help you with today?”

“Yes, uh…” you felt uncomfortable both being in the shop and asking the clerk for assistance. If you weren’t so impatient you could have ordered this online and saved yourself the mortifying ideal of talking to strangers in public. “I saw online that you sold silver cross pendants. I’d like to buy one, please.”

“Of course!” The man lit up. You imagined he made a fair bit more commission on the jewelry than he did on the Bibles. “What specifically were you thinking? We have a few different styles. You mentioned silver. Are you set on that? We also sell white gold if you wanted something a bit higher quality…?”

You shook your head. “No, thank you. Silver is fine.” It had to be silver.

He nodded, waving you over to the locked display. “These here are silver-plated, while these here are actually silver,” he told you, gesturing.

Looking at the full silver options, you turned your attention to the smaller, less detailed ones. You didn’t want big, and you didn’t need ornate. It just had to be noticeable. You focused on one just about half the length of your pinky. It was small enough to be unobtrusive, yet large enough to be seen, if you so desired. There were no decorations to it. Just a simple cross.

“I like that one.”

“Great choice!” He told you the price, and you nodded, only half-listening. The price didn’t really matter. You were going to buy it, anyway. “We also sell chains, if you needed one.” You nodded again. “Silver as well?”

You decided on the longest chain they had. The necklace could be tucked under almost any top’s neckline to remain hidden, or pulled out if you needed it.

If you needed it.

You really were nuts, huh?

The clerk started to wrap it up, but you stopped him. “I’d rather wear it out of the store.”

You pulled the necklace over your head and tucked it under your shirt, leaving the shop as the clerk called after you, “Have a blessed day!”

Tonight was the night.

You pulled the strange necklace over your head once again, tucking it into your favorite black dress. You still weren’t sure why you wore it, but it was important to you. You still had the envelope with the unfamiliar handwriting.

‘Wear every day.’

You’d thrown it out at one point, only to come back to the bin less than ten minutes later to fetch it out. It was now tucked safely away in a desk drawer. Sometimes you pulled it out to look at it, to trace the messy lettering with a finger before sighing in frustration and tucking it back way, often closing the drawer with an aggressive slam. You felt the urge to take out the envelope now, but quashed it down as Dawn called your name.

As you headed out of the flat, she turned and asked, “Ready?”

Hell no.

You nodded anyway.

You were excited about going to the Big Kumara. You were also dreading it.

As you walked, Dawn tried to make light conversation with you, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than your breathing.

Maybe you’d go in, get recognized, and get filled in on everything you’d forgotten. Maybe being inside the bar would spark some lost memory, and that missing year would come back to you. Maybe that happened, and you regretted ever finding out.

But maybe nothing happened. Maybe you went in, and the feeling of familiarity faded. Maybe no one knew you. Maybe you’d never even been to the Big Kumara. Maybe this was all a big waste of time.

You and Dawn arrived at the bar somehow too quickly and yet not quickly enough.

Ever the supportive friend, Dawn grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before leading you across the street and into the Big Kumara.

As you approached, the odd sense of not quite recognition resurfaced, though less strongly than it had on that other night. Perhaps because you were expecting it?

“ID?” The bouncer was a large man, both tall and wide. He looked quite bored, which you could understand, as looking around him revealed the place was almost dead. There were only four or five people inside.

You held your ID out as he waved Dawn inside, but he didn’t even take it before putting up a hand to stop you. “Not you.”

You stopped, startled. “What?”

“You can’t go in.”

“What do you mean she can’t go in?” Dawn interjected before you could, hands on her hips, and a scowl you hoped never to see directed at you.

“We’re at capacity.”

At capacity? Bullshit. There was no one in there.

“Well, then she can go in, and I’ll stay out here.”

You held out your ID once more, but again were rejected. The bouncer’s face shifted from bored detachment to a heated glare. You took a step back.

“You aren’t welcome here.”

“Why?” you pleaded. “Was I kicked out or something? Please, I don’t remember—“

“Let’s just go, Y/N,” Dawn said, pulling you away by the arm as you stared back at the Big Kumara, blinking back hot tears of frustration.

Your Uber had run afoul of some road construction, so the ride home from Lower Hutt took longer than usual. It was already dark by the time you swung open the front door. Your flatmates were already up, and you found yourself wishing the Uber had taken even longer.

Deacon stopped his motions and greeted you more cheerfully than he ever had before. “Y/N!”

“Uh, hi…”

“Come, sit!” He gestured to where Viago and Vladislav sat on a blanket on the floor. Both looked back at you silently, but with faces that clearly cried out in distress. “I am doing an erotic dance!”

You paused. “Oh, uh…”

“Come and watch,” he urged again.

“Well, I would, but I actually have to… Uh, I have to move my bed.” Ugh, really? Move your bed? “Because of… a leak. Yeah, there’s a leak above my bed, so I have to move it.” Nice save, Y/N.

Deacon didn’t even miss a beat before moving to start again. “Too bad. I’ll just get back to it, then.”

“Do you need help moving your bed?” Vladislav looked at you, his expression clearly saying what his mouth couldn’t. Please, get me out of this.

You nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

Viago quickly piped in. “I’ll help, too!”

Deacon scowled. “Then who will be here to watch? Y/N, you don’t need both of their help. The bed isn’t that heavy if you’re just trying to slide it over, and Vlad is plenty strong enough to help you, right?”

Deacon looked at you expectantly. Viago looked at you pleadingly. Vladislav, officially safe, seemed to be very much enjoying this new turn of events.

“Uh… well… I guess that’s true.”

Viago’s face fell. The matter settled, Vladislav rose from the blanket and gestured for you to continue up the stairs as Deacon resumed his so called erotic dance.

Making it up to your room, you shut the door behind you both, bursting into a suppressed fit of laughter. “What the hell was that?” you asked once your laughter subsided.

Vladislav flopped back onto your bed, boots and all, much to your chagrin, and placed his hands behind his head, essentially taking the entire queen mattress for himself. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the corner of the bed, one leg tucked beneath you.

“Viago suggested that we practice our music tonight, and I vetoed him. So Deacon came up with another idea.”

“Poor Viago,” you smiled.

“Probably should have just rehearsed.”

“I didn’t know you played music. All three of you?”

He grinned wickedly, and you caught a view of his canines. His fangs? “Oh, yes.”

Ignoring his teeth, you continued on. “Are you any good?”

His grin disappeared. “No.”

You laughed again. “Okay. Well, how long do you think we have to hide out in here until it’s safe?”

Vladislav raised an eyebrow at your suggestion. “I’m not going anywhere. He can go for hours.”

“Well, I’ll have to go to sleep at some point, so…” You shrugged. “Just exactly how lost in the sauce is Deacon right now?”

He looked at you as if you’d gone mad. “Lost in the sauce?”

“Drunk,” you clarified.

He laughed. It was a big, booming, warm laugh. You quite liked it. “Not at all, believe it or not.”

You sat in relatively amicable silence for a moment.

“So you play instruments?” His eyes opened at your words. You hadn’t realized they’d closed. “What else do you guys do all night? Because, Viago told me you were up all night for work, but I’ve noticed by now that that’s not true.”

He shrugged, as much as one can shrug while laying on a bed in his position. “I paint. Viago sculpts. Deacon knits.”

“Very artistic of you all.” You took of note of his failure to respond to your comment about work.

“Deacon and I fence, and I do archery. We all read quite a bit.”

“And go clubbing,” you supplied.

“We go out a lot, yes.”

You both fell into silence again, this time more awkward than amiable.

“You dress funny.” Shit, Y/N! “No, uh, sorry, I mean, not funny… It looks good, actually!” That much was true. He currently wore tight pants with a puffy white shirt, ruffled and open dangerously low on his chest, and cinched at the wrists, covered with a brown vest, equally low cut. Good god, dial it back. “Just, uh, you have, you all have, a unique style. Vintage,” you finished lamely. “Sorry.”

He laughed again and you felt yourself blush. “It’s called fashion.”

You smiled, glad you hadn’t actually offended him. “Right.”

“How was work today?” he asked, taking the conversation firmly away from rude questions and into more appropriate small talk.

“I didn’t have work today. I was out shopping.”

“Ah. Get anything good?”

“A necklace.” Your fingers traced the chain and you debated not taking it out. You wanted to see if he’d react, though, and your curiosity won out. Pulling the cross pendant from your shirt, you held it up for him to see.

Vladislav reacted fiercely. He violently retched, and for a moment you feared he may throw up all over your bed. But as he dry heaved again, his body convulsed, and his boot came up to smack you in the chin. You tumbled off the edge of the bed and onto the floor.

You cried out, hand cupping your surely bruised jaw.

Suddenly fine, Vladislav rushed over to you, and you scrambled to hide the necklace once again.

“Sorry, sorry,” you weren’t entirely sure why you were the one apologizing, as you were the one injured and on the ground.

You pushed yourself up until you were kneeling, hand once again massaging your sore jaw.

“Are you alright?”

Before you could answer him, the door swung open to reveal a very concerned Viago. Taking in the scene in front of him, he visibly shifted from concern to anger.

“Vladislav! You promised you wouldn’t sleep with her!”

Vladislav rolled his eyes. “We weren’t—“

“What!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. Only then did you realize what it looked like. You kneeling on the floor with Vladislav standing in front of you. You flung yourself away from him and quickly stood. “It’s not like that. I just fell.”

“Oh.” Viago paused. “Well, anyway, Deacon wants to know if you guys are done.”

Now was your turn to roll your eyes. “Tell him I’m going to sleep. You guys are on your own.”

After once again checking that you were alright, your two flatmates resigned themselves to their fate and returned to the lounge, Vladislav shooting you an indecipherable look.

As you sat alone in your room, you were keenly aware of the necklace that now seemed to to hang so heavily from your neck.

He really was insane, wasn’t he?

#wwdits #vladislav #vladislav x reader #jemaine clement #another life #al fic

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secret-engima · 4 years

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Worlds Unseen verse Drabble: Stand By You (Even in Dreams)

(here I am, writing something I have no idea what to do with. Enjoy the angst? This ends really abruptly but I didn’t know how to wrap it up. gfhgfd it was interesting to write at least. Also, potential spoilers for Horizon Zero Dawn).

...

He showed up about two days in. A silent companion walking steadily at her side even though that —he— was impossible. She was determined to ignore him at first. She didn’t know if he was born of her increasing hunger and thirst, her loneliness, or if the air was turning toxic the more damage the swarm did to the world, but he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. So she ignored him.

Still, he walked beside her. Not speaking, not ranting or babbling or screaming, just-. Walking. Watching. He watched the world around them with sad eyes, very emotive eyes. Sometimes he almost seem to stumble over the rubble of the road. If it hadn’t been for the impossibility of it, of him, she might have believed he was real. Her imagination was too strong apparently.

But he was impossible. Dressed like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, furs and leathers mixed with machine piping and wires, his painted face exposed to the ruined world without dying even though she knew that people needed vacuum-sealed suits now just to survive. He was impossible.

She would never admit that it felt good not to be alone. Even if her company was just a figment of her imagination.

She made it through three days of silence before she broke, “You ever gonna talk, or are you a silent hallucination?”

Blue-grey eyes, more like storm clouds than skies, shifted away from the landscape to look at her, “You didn’t seem in the mood for conversation,” he spoke, and she noted what almost sounded like a Japanese accent —odd choice brain, why not a southern accent like Travis or something?—, “so I left you alone.”

She sighed, “Well, not much else to do out here but indulge my insanity.”

“You think you’re dreaming me up.”

“Aren’t I?”

The hallucination shrugged, “I don’t know. I think that I’m dreaming you up, personally, and you believe you’ve dreamed me up. Maybe we’re both dreaming up each other. Or maybe we’re both just dreams. Does it matter?”

She mulled over that for probably longer than it deserved, “I guess not.”

...

“Where are we going?”

She looked up tiredly at the words, jolted out of the daze that had been settling into her bones by the soft voice of the impossibility following her around, “I’m trying to get home. You can leave whenever you want.”

A loose shrug, as if her words were merely a polite suggestion and not a jab at her insanity, “Are you sure you want to see it this way? It’s not going to be pretty.”

They both paused to look around at the ruined landscape. Skyscrapers smoking in the distance, roads cracked and torn apart, the entire world either burned or eaten by unstoppable metal monsters, the sky turned unnatural colors as the atmosphere was ruined ever further. No, she mentally agreed. She probably did not want to see her home this way. But still … “I have nowhere else to go. I’m a dead woman anyway. I want to die at home.”

He shrugged again, as if to say without words that it was her choice, and they kept walking.

She wondered distantly when his footsteps had started to make sound, just like real ones did.

...

“You got a name? It’s getting boring just calling you the Hallucination in my head.”

An amused glance her way, “I thought you weren’t supposed to indulge hallucinations because it would only make them worse.”

She scoffed, the sound laced with static through the speakers of her suit, “Worst case is that I die before I get home, talking to thin air. Best case is that I die at the ranch, still talking to thin air. Might as well risk it. So, do you have a name?”

He tilted his head and considered her. There was something eerie in his gaze, something too keen and too alive. Something too old. It fit the strange military uniform he was wearing today, “Bast,” he finally said, “Bast Lucis Caelum.”

“Pretentious,” she huffed, and his lips twitched like he agreed and found her opinion amusing. It was stupid to introduce herself to a hallucination of her own mind, because surely he knew everything about her already. But even so, boredom and manners made her tap her chest plate and say, “Elisabet. Elisabet Sobeck.” He stopped and stared at her with wide, startled eyes, the most open emotion she had yet seen from him. His mouth opened, then shut, then he shook his head and muttered something that sounded distinctly like “should have known” and she was intrigued despite herself, “You didn’t know who I was. Shouldn’t you know everything about me?”

He scoffed, a dry, tired noise, “No. I didn’t. I knew your voice was familiar, but I can’t- I can’t see you under that suit. I wasn’t sure. And I don’t know much about you. Not really.” A pause, a thoughtful look at the ruined horizon and the swirling dust beneath their feet, “Tell me?”

Elisabet didn’t feel much like talking about herself to, essentially, herself, but she was used to answering vague, childish questions after so long working with Gaia, and somehow she found herself talking as she hiked through the empty landscape. About herself, about her past, about her dreams. Bast listened without judgement, just occasionally made a questioning noise that let her know he was listening.

It was a relief to not feel alone in this place. Even if she knew logically she was more alone than she had ever been before in her life.

...

“If you had a daughter,” Elisabet jerked awake from her daze at the sound, blinked and tried to shake off the effects of dehydration —the suit had run out of water stims to inject into her bloodstream yesterday and she was already feeling the effects—, “what would you say to her?”

“I don’t have any children,” she retorted and tried not to sound bitter about it, “for the best, really, considering … this.” She waved a hand at the fallen buildings and smoking spires. Ruins without bodies, everything already picked clean of organic material by the swarm as it had passed by. That was probably the only reason she was still alive. This area had already been deemed empty by the swarm and it had moved on before she had … left.

“Humor me.”

She looked at her imaginary companion. He was dressed in post-apocalypse leathers and cables again, his blond hair half shaved, the other half left to flop to the side like some kind of sad not-mohawk. His weapons hadn’t changed. They were just as anime as ever. A katana at one hip, a bow on his back and a quiver of arrows on his other hip, knives peaking out from seemingly every pocket. He was watching her with something very focused and serious in his gaze. Like he could see through her suit and into her eyes. She licked dry lips beneath her visor, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anyone.”

He stopped walking, she stopped instinctively so as to not leave him behind. He reached out as if to grab her shoulder, paused before he could touch her and lowered his hand. Grey eyes looked dark with intent, with desperation, “If you had a daughter,” he started to repeat.

“Well I don’t!” She snapped, temper breaking free of its leash, “I’m childless! I have no daughter, I have no future! I’m talking to a hallucination! You’re a figment of my mind, why won’t you just change the subject?”

“Because this is important!” He snarled back with more ferocity than she expected. He stormed forward until they were almost touching, his nose inches from her faceplate, “This is important, Elisabet. I don’t know what’s going on, if I’m dead or dreaming or what, but I have a chance to ask this and I’m taking it!”

A fractured pause between them, tense and disbelieving on both sides. Then Bast ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, “Now please. If you had a daughter, what would you tell her?”

A pointless question. A pointless question that was painful to even think about, especially here. Especially now. She turned away and resumed walking, listened to the crunch of footsteps that couldn’t really be there as they followed her and thought about changing the subject.

And yet…

“If I had a daughter … I would tell her that I loved her. So much. I would tell her … to be brave. And curious. And kind. That- that the world has enough people out there hurting it, and that it takes a special kind of person to heal it instead. If only a little bit. I would tell her that I support her, no matter what she decided to do with her life, and that wherever she went … whatever she did, I would believe in her. Anything she wanted to be, or achieve, she could do it. I know she could.” Elisabet looked up at the sky, taking in the starscape just beginning to be visible, “I would tell her to reach for the stars, because if she wanted to, she could touch them. And no matter what happened next … I would be … so proud. I would love her, and I would… I …”

“I would tell her that I would always be proud of my baby girl.”

Bast let her fall silent after that. Politely looked away as her shoulders shook and her breath hitched inside the suit. Then, after minutes upon minutes of aching silence, he whispered, “I’ll remember that.”

And Elisabet wondered why it felt like such a relief to hear those words. Even though logically she knew that she had no child, and even if she had, they would never hear what Elisabet had to say.

...

It was getting hard to see straight. Hard to think. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the suit ran out of nutrient stims. Just that it had, and she had kept walking. She had avoided the swarm, somehow, and now … now she was so tired. So very tired.

“Keep walking,” Bast said, and she wondered when she had stopped caring that he was a figment of her mind and instead clung to the comfort of his presence. To the steadiness of his voice even in a world eaten alive. “That’s it, isn’t it? Up ahead.”

She looked up. Cried when she saw the weathered letters of the Sobeck Ranch looking back, “Yeah. That’s it. That’s home.” She had made it. She had made it home. Crazy and dying and alone at the end of the world but … she was home. She staggered past the wrecked gate, tried not to look at the devastation. The swarm had been through here, she could tell. All the trees were gone, all the grass ripped out of the ground by the roots. The walls caved in to get to the ivy that had been growing on them. Her home was in as much ruins as the rest of the world.

But it was still here.

She sank shakily onto the old stone bench that faced the house and sighed.

This would be a good place to die.

Bast settled next to her, crouching on his haunches near the bench rather than risk touching her —he never touched her, and she wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for her boundaries or because they both knew it would break the illusion that he was ever there—. He was quiet. He had been getting a lot quieter, the longer the journey went on. The more Elisabet faded. He only spoke now to wake her up, to tell her to keep moving. But she was home now, so there was no more reason to stay awake, or to walk. This was it. This was where she was going to stay until the end.

She wondered, a little dazedly, if it would be scary for Bast. If he would fade with her consciousness, acting alive until the end, or if her brain would just get too tired to keep him around and he would wink into nothing between one heartbeat and the next. That thought scared her more than it should.

“Hey, Bast?”

“Yeah?”

She licked dry lips and shifted to be marginally more comfortable on the bench. Tilted her head back to the sky and idly rolled her little globe charm in her fingers as she whispered, “If I had a daughter … what would her name be? What … would she be like?”

The silence that followed was deep and long. So long she closed her eyes with a shaking sigh, sure that her brain had finally gotten bored with making him and left her well and truly alone. Then.

“Aloy. Her name would be Aloy. She would … look just like you. Red hair, bright green eyes that try to pick apart everything in the world around her. She would be … curious. Brave. Unstoppable. The smartest person in the room wherever she went but not … arrogant about it. Always looking for knowledge, always looking to learn. She would be … afraid of a lot of things, but she would never let it stop her. She would be very kind. Always willing to help other people in need, even when it’s risky, or when she would rather do something else. She would … look at a boy about her age that … no one wanted anything to do with because he was weird and she would hold out a hand in friendship. She would learn a foreign language just so she could talk to her new friend better, and ask questions no else thinks to ask. She would do … so many amazing things.”

Elisabet tried to picture it. Indulged in the fantasy of it, just for a little while, “What things?”

“Well,” Bast mused slowly, a note of gentle, nostalgic fondness in his voice, “there was this one time when we were eleven, and Aloy decided she wanted to surprise Rost, our … caretaker, so…”

Elisabet listened. Eyes closed, breath slowing, basking in stories of the impossible. Of children and curiosity, of teenagers and bravery. Of a daughter who was unstoppable, and curious, and kind enough to fix the world, just a little bit. She listened to Bast’s voice rise and fall in stories of hope and heartbreak and danger and kindness. Her hand slowly relaxed around her little globe charm. It would be alright to doze off just for a little while, right? To dream of these fanciful stories her own mind was telling her.

Just for a little while. Maybe … maybe she would get to see them? In her dreams if nothing else.

Just for a little bit.

Thank you, she tried to tell Bast past lips too tired to move. Thank you for staying with me, even if you aren’t really here.

Thank you for not letting me die alone.

...

Bast finished his story, one of many he had been telling, through the day and night and into the dawn again. He looked up from the pebbles he had been fiddling with, only half feeling them, as if he was touching them in a dream.

He couldn’t hear Elisabet breathing anymore.

He closed his eyes. Opened them and looked around the ruined world one more time. He could feel it, the tug in his soul that had been trying to make him wake up for a while now. He could have left days ago, followed the tug and gone back to the world of the living. But even if this was all just a dream —which it might be, or it might not, could he really judge after all the things he’d seen?—, he hadn’t wanted to leave yet. He hadn’t wanted to disappear and leave her alone.

It was the least he could do, for Aloy’s mother.

He stood up, letting the tugging sensation unravel through his soul as he stared at the unmoving figure slumped over on the stone bench, “I’ll come find you,” he whispered, “when I wake up. When this is all over. I’ll take Aloy here to meet you. Just wait for me until then, okay?”

There was no answer. He didn’t expect any.

The tugging feeling grew stronger and yanked him away, and Bast had just enough time to whisper goodbye before he opened his eyes in the real world, aching all over and with a relieved Aloy crying at his head.

“-you thinking? You almost died!”

“Sor’y, Aloy.”

“I’ll show you sorry, all those lectures on being reckless and there you go and do something stupid like that-!”

“Your Mom says hi.”

“I’m going to- what?”

Bast shook his head with a sigh. She didn’t know yet. She still had hope.

He would tell her later. When he took her to meet Elisabet, “Neverm’nd. Tell you later.” He reached up and tugged one of her braids gently, “Missed you.”

He squinted past the tears dripping onto his face as she pulled him into her lap, “I missed you too you big idiot. Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Okay.”

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #Worlds Unseen verse #drabble #spoilers #horizon zero dawn spoilers #horizon zero dawn fanfic

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strawnarrries · 5 years

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Lover

Never in a million years did you think your best friend was going to find out that you had feelings for him, but what happens when you finally hit rock bottom and pour your heart out to him?

yay! part 1 to my new series Lover! it’s based on two blurbs that you guys requested and a lot of you wanted a whole series so that’s what im doing! this is my first series i’ve ever really written. i’ve tried in the past but they flopped and i never posted them so i hope you all enjoy it and please send feedback! thank you m’loves!

***

You loved him. You loved him so much. You and Niall had been super close friends for almost three years now and you keep falling for him more and more every day. Nobody knew you had feelings for him. Nobody but you and your mother. He didn't feel the same for you; he made that very clear to you and all of your friends. You guys definitely acted like a couple, just without all the coupley things like kisses, dates, sleepovers, etc. You were super flirty and touchy with each other and your friends always teased you for that. They would say things like, "ah, get a room", "aw, look at the two lovebirds", and "I swear you guys are secretly dating". Niall would always reply with something like, "oh please, we're just friends" or "fuck off, that's not a thing". You obviously agreed because you didn't want anyone to know how you secretly felt, but it broke your heart to hear words like that come out of his mouth. You wanted to kiss him, cuddle him, go on cute dates with him, go to bed with him every night, wake up next to him every morning, and just tell him how much you loved him but you couldn't...

Whenever your friends would tease you, it sucked, but you got used to it. You could usually brush it off and go on about your day, but for some reason, today you were feeling extra sensitive to the situation. You and your close friend group were all over at Niall's house for a laid back dinner. It had been a while since you all have seen each other, so Niall and Mully decided to host a grill out tonight. It was around 5 pm and everybody was spread out around the back porch, snacking and chatting amongst themselves. Mully worked on the grill, while Niall cooked the side dishes. With the side dishes in the oven, Niall came outside and sat closely next to you on the loveseat. Your attention was shot to Niall when he began making conversation with you, talking about the normal stuff best friends talk about.

You both were giggling with each other as he showed you something funny on his phone and that's when you heard Gerry shout from across the garden, "My God, just kiss her already!"

You both looked up and everyone had gigantic grins on their face, snickering at you all. Niall began laughing next to you, flipping him the bird as he replied with, "Gerry, fuck off! 's not gonna happen."

You tried to laugh it off, but you just couldn't. Your throat tightened and you could feel the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The sound of everyone's giggles killed you inside because you wanted to kiss him so bad. Even though you were outside, it felt like the world was closing in on you, your breath hitching in your throat as you held back your tears. His words felt like somebody had just stabbed your heart into a million times and you couldn't help but break. You immediately stormed inside, letting the tears fall freely down your rosy cheeks. You were embarrassed at your actions, definitely. To everyone else, it probably looked so dumb, but to you, it was much deeper than a friend teasing you.

Making your way upstairs, you went into the closest room and shut the door behind you, locking it. You face planted into the big bed and let your tears soak through the fabric of the covers. You just wanted to hide and never see another human face ever again, especially not one of them. His words played over and over in your head, not just the words from today, but from past days when the same things had happened. You didn't understand why he didn't like you, until nasty words decided to flow through your head, telling you exactly why he doesn't like you.

You were awoken from your thoughts when you heard the doorhandle jingle and Niall's thick voice behind it, "Y/N, open da door."

You stayed silent, hoping he would just walk away and give you space. But that wasn't the case. He kept knocking on the door, begging you to open it, but you kept quiet until you realized that he wasn't going to stop until you opened that door. Rolling your eyes dramatically, you got out of bed and unlocked the door for him. You came face to face with him, his eyes locking with your bloodshot, teary ones. Walking back to the bed, you immediately sat against the headboard, keeping your head low as Niall closed the door behind him before joining you on the bed.

"Y/N, what the fuck is wrong wit' ya?" he asked, face looking confused and voice coming off a long stronger than he wanted it to.

"If you came t' yell at me, just leave," your voice was hoarse and soft, making you sound vulnerable and sad, making him feel bad for his word choice.

His voice softened as he replied with, "Yer right, 'm sorry. What's wrong though?"

You shook your head, rubbing at your eyes, "Nothing, it's dumb."

"It's not if it's gotcha dis upset."

"Niall, stop, I don't wanna talk about it," you whined, avoiding eye-contact with him.

He was determined. He wasn't going to leave the room until he found out what's wrong. You loved that about him. He could always tell if you're upset and he always gets to the bottom of it, no matter how stubborn you are and how many times you say "I'm fine", he knows you're not and he's set on making you feel better. It could be something silly like a bad day at work and he would never let you leave without a smile. And that's exactly what he did tonight, "'m not leavin' 'till ya talk t' me."

"Niall, 'm serious, just go away."

"No, Y/N! Tell me what's wrong. Dis shit usually never bothers you, ya just laugh it off, what happened?"

"Oh my god," you hummed to yourself, wanting to pull out all your hair and not being able to keep the next the few words in your throat, "'cause Niall, I love you!"

His entire demeanor fell. He was speechless.

"I love you so fucking much and fucking sucks t' hear that shit all the fucking time. Yeah, I laugh it off 'cause I don't want anyone t' know how I feel 'cause it's fucking humiliating and when they all joke about that stuff, it makes me wanna die inside 'cause I want it all t' be real so bad. I wanna kiss you and hold you and call you my boyfriend. Fuck, I don't - I don't even know and it sucks 'cause I know none of it's gonna ever happen and I just broke and I know 'm gonna regret telling you all this, but at this point, I don't fucking care. I just can't do it anymore."

You were hysterically sobbing at this point as you poured your heart out to him. He was silent on the other end, not knowing what to do, "Shit, Y/N, I don't even know what t' say."

"Just don't say anything."

Never in a million years did you think those words would ever come out of your mouth to his face. You knew exactly what he was thinking and you didn't want to hear it. You were heartbroken, embarrassed, and just wanted to crawl under the covers, curl into a little ball and hide there forever. Your face was covered by your hands as you silently cried into them. The awkward silence was cutting through the room, the tension feeling like it was suffocating you.

"Niall, please just go. Just leave me alone right now."

"Y/N."

"Niall, go!"

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years

Text

Acoustic

Title: Acoustic

Word count: 2129

Summary: Pop star sensation Roman Prince drops by a familiar coffee shop on amateur night, doing his best to avoid being recognized. He certainly didn’t expect the stranger in a hoodie with an acoustic guitar to capture his attention. Musician and Coffeeshop AU rolled into one. Romantic Prinxiety.

Warnings: cursing, singing, duets, crowds. Mostly its just kinda sweet/fluffy.

A/N: If you saw my post earlier today about writing a lot of words about a nonsense idea out of nowhere when sometimes I struggle to write 100 words of carefully planned, in-progress chapters, well. This is that nonsense idea. I wrote this in one sitting. Just kind of a fun idea that popped in my head. Hope you enjoy this quick little diddy! ^u^

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34

…

Roman Prince tucks his nose into his thick scarf as he ducks into the coffee shop, the small bell above the door signaling the pop star’s appearance. His white beanie is pulled low over his messy flop of brown hair, and he keeps half of his face tucked into the scarf in an attempt to avoid being recognized. In many ways, he feels like Thomas’s Coffeeshop is the last safe haven he really has in this city. He’d been coming here for years, and though he knew his manager Remy would probably ream him out for sneaking out so much… Roman wouldn’t give it up for anything. He felt like a normal person here.

The far corner of the shop already has speakers set up. Thursday nights were Roman’s favorite, because it was amateur night. People of all ages would sign up during the week to come in and perform for around 15 minutes, just to get exposure and practice. When he was in high school—before he caught his big break thanks largely to a viral video—he used to come and play once in a while.

At the moment, a guy looking around Roman’s age is sitting on a stool in front of the speakers and the piano in the corner. He’s working on tuning an acoustic guitar. The guy’s purple-plaid-patched hoodie fits with his sweep of fading purple bangs. Roman eyes him as he steps up to the counter, tugging the scarf down from his mouth.

“Hey, welcome to Thomas’s! What can I get for ya?” says a warm, familiar voice that makes Roman smile. Patton Foster looks up at him, a spark of recognition in his eyes. Patton is about a year older than Roman, and had started working at the coffeeshop as a teenager around the time Roman started performing here. Patton knows better than to say anything, but the sincerity of his grin reminds Roman why this shop always felt a little bit like coming home.

“Large mocha with an extra pump of chocolate,” Roman replies with a smile of his own as he digs his wallet out. “The usual.”

Patton shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know why I still ask,” he says, still smiling. “Logan’ll get that for ya in a minute.”

Roman pays and steps out of the way for the person behind him, sliding onto a stool by the counter. He checks his phone for the time, hearing the stranger on the stool strum a few chords before adjusting the strings again. It’s almost ten o’clock.

Roman looks at the stranger about to perform. He’s got dark eyeshadow smudged under eyes and there’s something unexpected at seeing him holding an acoustic guitar when it seems like everything about his whole aesthetic would hint at hard rock or punk music. The light brown wooden instrument softens the look slightly. Logan calls out his order and hands it to him over the glass barrier and Roman takes a sip of it. He sighs softly, relaxing a bit at the familiar taste.

“He’s good,” Patton says, startling him. The barista is wiping the counter down, and he nods in the direction of the stranger who was now adjusting the mike.

Roman hums. “Yeah?”

Patton tosses the towel onto his shoulder. “Yeah. But don’t take my word for it,” he says before the stranger speaks into the mike.

“Hey, guys,” he says. His voice is low with a little bit of gravel to it. “I’m, uh, Virgil Shea. I thought I’d do a cover or two before trying out a new song I finished Tuesday. Sound good?”

Patton cheers from behind the counter along with a few patrons. Virgil glances at Patton, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly before he ducks his head. He starts strumming, and Roman swivels around on the stool to face him, tugging the scarf back up over his nose as he watches. Virgil seems to take a deep breath as he plays the intro. It’s not until he starts to sing, his eyes drifting closed for a moment, that Roman recognizes the song.

“Some days, things just take way too much of my energy. I look up and the whole room’s spinning…”

As he sings and plays, Roman can’t help but feel entranced by him. Virgil doesn’t have a large stage presence—he stays on the stool the entire time—but his melodic voice floats through the coffeeshop and he fills the space around him anyway. Roman watches, impressed and a little moved by the way he seems to put all of himself into the song without making a show of it. There’s a vulnerability to Virgil in this moment, and Roman can’t look away.

And his riffs. Damn, Roman thinks as he listens to Virgil sing. Virgil’s gaze drifts around the room, but Roman swears it settles squarely on him as he riffs on the last note. A beautiful, crystal clear high note.

Holy shit, I think I’m in love a little bit.

The song ends and Virgil’s mouth curls up into a small smile as the coffeeshop erupts into applause and a couple of cheers. It’s a small room, but it’s certainly packed. Virgil nods his head in thanks, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says into the mic as he adjusts the guitar strap around his shoulders. “Next, I… well, are there any requests?”

There’s a brief moment before someone towards the back calls out, “Falling Slowly!” Roman raises his eyebrows at the suggestion, even as it’s followed with a few other people repeating it in enthusiasm.

Virgil laughs slightly and rubs the back of his neck. “You mean from Once? Isn’t that a duet? And it kind of needs piano, right?” He glances at the piano behind him, then looks back out at the crowded room. “Any of you want to join in?”

“He does,” says a familiar voice and Roman feels a hand close over his wrist and pull his hand into the air. Roman whirls with wide eyes to see Patton looking back at him. His eyes are wide with an innocence that Roman doesn’t buy for one second.

What are you doing? Roman mouths. Patton gives him an encouraging nudge and small grin. Roman looks back at Virgil, his eyes still wide. This was not what he had intended to happen.

“It’s up to you, dude,” Virgil tells him, and Roman breathes a faint breath of relief that nobody seems to have recognized him yet. Roman did tend to wear a lot of stage make-up and costumes when he performed, which made it easier to blend in when he was out and about in the general public.

And singing a duet with a voice like that…

Roman sighs a little and shrugs. “I can’t resist a good showtune,” he answers finally. A few people cheer enthusiastically. He slides off the stool and sets his mocha down on the counter behind him. He looks back at Virgil. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Virgil shrugs a shoulder and jerks his head towards the piano. “It’s chill, man.”

Roman doesn’t know for sure why he feels suddenly nervous. He’s performed in front of stadiums full of people before. He’s even sung duets before. But something about this small, enclosed space… something about Virgil… sets Roman’s heart racing like it did the first night he performed on this very make-shift stage.

Roman tries not to flush slightly as brushes past Virgil who gives him a small, encouraging smile. He takes a seat on the piano bench brushes his fingers over the keys, adjusts the mic slightly, and then looks at Virgil. For the briefest moment, when they lock eyes, Roman thinks that the entire coffeeshop melts away.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Virgil tells him, pulling his mic stand back towards the piano and slightly to the side so that they can look at one another. He adjusts the strap of his guitar.

Roman takes a breath, places his fingers on the keys, and begins to play. The careful arpeggiated chords drift softly through the coffee shop, and the few patrons who’d been chatting quietly to one another fall silent.

Virgil leans into the mic a bit. “I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that.”

Roman finds himself smiling softly at he continues to play and joins in with the harmony. “Words fall through me and always fool me and I can’t react.”

Roman swears he sees Virgil smile a little as he comes in with the guitar. “And games that never amount to more than they’re meant will play themselves out.”

He can feel butterflies in his stomach and he can’t help the way his lips curl up in a smile as he lets the piano swell with the guitar a bit as they both enter the chorus. “Take this sinking boat and point it home. We’ve still got time. Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You’ve made it now.”

As the song progresses, Roman realizes that he’s only ever looking at either his hands on the piano or at Virgil. He’s almost forgotten that they have an audience, the faces blending into the background in favor of the person with the guitar standing a few feet in front of him. His messy hair falls into his dark eyes, but every time he looks back at Roman as they sing the pop star swears there’s a spark of something in them. A curiosity, but also something else. He just can’t be sure of what.

Roman hopes Virgil doesn’t mind too much when he steals Virgil’s part and sing, “You have suffered enough and warred with yourself. It’s time that you won.” From the look in his eyes and the faint smile he offers, Roman’s pretty sure he didn’t mind.

“Falling slowly, sing your melody,” they both sing as they lock eyes and Roman swears his heart does a little flip. “I’ll sing it now.”

They layer over one another with soft melodic riffs. Roman lets his eyes drift closed for a moment as they play and improv off one another a little bit. He feels his lips tug into a smile as the song starts to slow.

Virgil counts the beats quietly into the mic as they both hold a chord. They circle back to the ways the song had begun, with the gentle arpeggiated chords. Roman holds the other musicians gaze as it slows before they hold the final chord.

Roman gives him a soft smile. Thank you, he mouths. Virgil still has that look in his eyes that is both soft and curious. The coffeehouse erupts into applause again, several cheers and a few whistles.

And then everything comes to a screeching halt as someone shouts over the cheers, “Wait, are you Roman Prince?!” Before Roman can even try to play it off, someone else chimes in, “I knew that voice sounded familiar!”

As questions and shouting rise up, Roman fishes a business card out of his pocket, grabs a pencil sitting on the piano, and scribbles down his phone number. He can hear Patton trying to shout over the crowd but he doesn’t try to follow the conversation. He needs to get out of here ASAP. He can already see people pulling up their phones. Flashes of light indicate pictures getting taken. Remy’s gonna kill him…

Roman is mentally cursing himself. Virgil probably hates him now. He hadn’t wanted to upstage him, steal his spotlight… Roman is afraid of what the expression Virgil’s face might be. In his peripheral, he can see Patton pushing out from behind the counter and making his way towards the stage, probably to use a mic.

Roman stands up and crosses over towards Virgil. His eyes are wide, but Roman can’t quite read the expression in them with all the flashing lights, movement of people pressing closer towards them, his racing heart clouding his thoughts. Roman presses the card with his cellphone number on it into Virgil’s hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Roman is telling him quickly, straining to be heard over the sudden pandemonium of people asking for selfies, autographs, taking videos… “But that—”

“Roman,” comes Logan’s urgent voice right beside him. “You gotta go.”

“I know, I know,” Roman tells him, then looks back at Virgil earnestly. “Look, Virgil, you’re—”

“Now,” Logan insists, grabbing his arm and pulling him through the crowd. The last thing Roman sees before he ducks out the door and into the cold night air is Virgil standing on the stage, glancing down at the card in his hand and meeting Roman’s eyes one last time before the door swings shut and Roman makes a run for his car.

…

#sanders sides #prinxiety #prinxiety fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety fanfiction #tw cursing #singing #duets

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grumpyalpacaman · 4 years

Text

Nexus Notes - Chapter One

"I already told you, you big dumb bastard, that energy core regulator isn't worth 3,000 Credits. It's not even close!" The young woman slammed her hands down on the clerk's table. Her eyes set in a narrow glare, she scowled between loose strands of bright red hair that fell in front of her face.

Behind the ramshackle stand of partially gnawed scrap metal stood the enormous shopkeeper. The device she so coveted was tightly gripped in his huge, clawed hand. Dangling cables swayed to and fro and the polished chrome casing reflected the blinding glare of the sun.

The taurus were the inhabitants of the planet Kakataka in the Aldebaran star system and the largest, most cantankerous of all sentient species in the galaxy. They were also notorious hoarders.

It erupted in a flurry of guttural growls, its ruddy brown scales rapidly scraping and clattering against one another to create a series of accompanying clicks. The chattering noises he emitted elicited a whir of life from a machine strapped to his broad, tapered chest. The gadget lit up and started to translate in a low, robotic voice.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Nexus. This a rare treasure. There is nothing else like it on Pantainos."

"Zakka, you are so full of shit," she said, as she reached into her lab-coat and withdrew a small pair of oval-shaped glasses. Slipping them over her nose, she peered past the imposing, alien shopkeeper to the staggering pile of discarded mechanical trinkets and components behind his kiosk. “I can see two more in the back from here!” Frantically, she removed her glasses and stuffed them back into her coat.

"3,000 credits or no regulator."

The young woman stood up as tall as she could and crossed her arms over her chest in her best attempt to look authoritative. She was short and scrawny by human standards, not to mention leaning on a cane and absolutely minuscule compared to the seven-foot monster before her. "Listen here, you idiot, you have no idea what that's worth to me and you're just going to eat it anyway! So hand it over for a fair price and stop impeding scientific progress."

Without warning, the shopkeeper opened his jaws for the first time, the lower portion of his face splitting into two and spreading out in a slavering, triangular maw. Then, he chomped into the device in his hand. His shredding teeth crunched and tore the metal apart with ease as he ripped off a chunk and swallowed it before hurling the remnants straight at Nexus's head.

With only a moment of shock, she narrowly ducked under the incoming projectile. The move sent her stumbling and she barely managed to catch herself with her cane to avoid an untimely fall, face-first onto the cold steel ground. If the yelling earlier hadn't drawn the attention of the other merchants and customers that populated the market, this certainly would. Within moments, Zakka had dunked one of his whopping lizard paws into a pile of scrap parts and used it as a shovel to hurl yet more junk at the girl.

"Whoa! Is this how you treat all your regulars?" Head held low, she scurried away from the bellowing Taurus. Gears and batteries skittered across the ground and peppered her lab coat. One unfortunate stray something or other even bounced harmlessly, but no less annoying, off of her forehead. "Zakka, you Lunatic," she yelled as she departed the market square.

She looked back over her shoulder more than once on her way back to her apartment, just to make sure there wasn't an angry alien reptile behind her. It wasn't until she was nearly three blocks away that she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against the wall of a building and wiping her brow with the sleeve of her coat. Just from that short run, her muscles ached and her chest burned with exertion. "I left my apartment for that damn regulator and the dumbass took a bite right out of it," she said between gasps. “Still, I hope nobody calls the police on him. He may be a seven-foot, spiky asshole, but he’s still got the best stuff in the entire city. And perhaps more importantly, he doesn’t ask ridiculous questions like, ‘what are you gonna do with this?’ or ‘do you have a license for this highly unstable radioactive material?’”

She spent nearly a minute bent over and panting before rising back up and fanning out her coat to relieve some of the intense heat. “What I would do for a breeze right now. Just a little one.”

Pantainos City, built in the most habitable, lush part of the colony planet for which it was named, was in Nexus's own words, "Too damn hot in the Summer to be conducive to intellectual pursuits." So then why, she often wondered to herself, had the United Earth Federation decided to build its premier academies here? Pantainos was one of the UEF's earliest and most prosperous colonies and had become a grand centre for training and education in the past several decades. Academies and accompanying campuses for humanity's most prestigious schools in the fields of science and military had developed here and dominated much of the city. The best and brightest across all of UEF space were sent here to learn.

But far from the glamorous universities and labs at the city's centre, Nexus walked along the ill-tended streets at the fringes of the sprawling metropolis as she made her way home with a scowl on her face. Not that her neighbours could tell the difference between her usual scowl and today’s, extra perturbed scowl.

The moment she stepped into the lobby of her apartment and felt the cool, temperature-controlled air hit her face, she let out a long sigh. The familiar sights of the dusty floor, the seemingly permanent ‘out of order’ sign on the secondary elevator and the ever-expanding patch of mould on the far wall were just about the only means through which she could differentiate this and every other apartment building on the black. Nexus whispered a silent thanks to the closest thing she knew to a religious figure, Joey the maintenance guy, that one of the two lifts remained operational. If given the choice between the stairs and sleeping on the crumbling bench in the lobby, Nexus would have to spend some time seriously weighing her options.

With only a brief stutter of resistance, the elevator ascended to the second floor and deposited her in the hallway to find yet another annoyance. "Great. If the heat and the taurus weren't bad enough, some ass-clown piled a bunch of boxes in front of my door!" she thought. For some reason or another, cardboard shipping boxes of varying sizes, piled six high, stood right up against the entrance to her apartment.

Without another thought, she stomped forward and delivered a swift, hard kick with a flip-flop clad foot to the side of the box mountain. Much to her chagrin, the pile barely moved. So, she took a step back and shoulder checked it with the entire, fairly insubstantial, weight of her body and this time she sent it tumbling to the floor with an appeasing clatter. She grinned down at her handiwork, hoping there was something both fragile and valuable within.

The commotion brought someone running almost immediately as a man stepped out of the open door across the hall, looking concerned. His expression promptly shifted to surprise and confusion as he spied Nexus standing over the upended pile of his belongings.

If he put on a uniform, he'd look like he walked right out of a military recruitment ad for the Federation. She thought immediately of a very large and very stupid dog. He was like a man-shaped golden retriever and just as blonde.

"Did you knock over my boxes?"

"Oops," she replied with a shrug as she reached for the keycard in her pocket.

"The hell, lady? I keep important stuff in those."

"Well then maybe you shouldn't keep 'em in front of my door." By this point, she was already daydreaming about punching him in his stupidly handsome face. Though she was pretty sure she’d break her hand on that square jaw.

He furrowed his brow and attempted to speak up but upon noticing the cane in her hand, he suddenly became very stiff and cast his eyes toward the floor. "Uhm... Sorry," he said as he kneeled and started to gather up his things, shuffling them out of the way for her. "So that's your apartment then?"

"Yep, 37B," she said with the absolute most disinterest she could muster while jabbing a thumb toward the numbers posted behind her.

With an armful of boxes, he stood back and extended his free hand toward her. "I'm just moving in next door. I'm Parker Walsh."

Her eyes drifted back and forth between his hand and his face for several seconds. "Are you suggesting I make physical contact with you?"

"Generally speaking, an offer to shake hands with someone would imply that, yes." Yet more confusion was starting to creep into his voice.

"Ew.” Rolling her eyes, she turned, swiped her card over the electronic lock and stepped into her apartment.

"Ouch," he shot back. "Can I at least have your name?"

"Nexus," she said as she slammed the door behind her.

"There is no way that is your real name," he yelled with his lips scant inches from the door but to no response.

"Parker?" said another man, sticking his head out of the open apartment. He was thinner and less chiselled than his friend but with a sly, fox-like countenance. "What are you doing out here?"

Parker shrugged. "Neighbour girl kicked over our boxes."

"And so you quit unpacking to come out here and flirt with her?"

"Not at first."

"But you did flirt with her?"

"She didn't even give me a chance. It’s just not fair."

"My heart aches for you, brother. Now get back to work. We need everything set up by tomorrow."

"On it." With boxes in hand, he started back toward his apartment, taking one glance at the door behind him as he went. "Well then. See you around, Nex."

The moment she stepped inside her apartment and flicked on the lights, she felt her legs start to shake. She grumbled softly, finally allowing herself to wince at the constant pain she felt in her muscles and eased her body into the wheelchair lying in wait by the door.

Inside her apartment, where one might normally find furniture, decorations or just about anything, Nexus had cables, power generators and several large processors stacked against the wall. In the corner sat a desk with a pair of computers, razor-thin glass panes mounted on swivelling stands. Nexus produced a third, smaller device from inside her coat. With a few swipes on the surface, her chair wheeled itself over to the desk. Once situated, she began sliding her fingers across the dual screens and they came alive with images and information. Her eyes darting back and forth between them. Within arm's reach of her chair sat the single greatest scientific achievement of mankind, an espresso machine. The divine tool was accompanied by a mountain of discarded flavour pods, generally counting among the excessively sweet variety. Though that didn’t stop Nexus from addition several more teaspoons of those godly white granules once the machine had finished its business.

All this technology (save the espresso machine) was connected to a strange, ceiling-high object in the middle of the room. The device occupied the vast majority of the available floor-space. It appeared to be a huge mechanical ring of some kind; that stood eight feet high and across. At the moment, it was deactivated.

She looked upon the centrepiece of her chamber briefly, shook her head, and returned to her work. "Damn Zakka, always a pain in my ass."

It wasn't long before she noticed she had an update on her post on the local University forums. She wasn't exactly a student, but where else was she going to share her hypotheses?

"Oh fantastic, this idiot," she said with mock excitement when she saw who posted. "Hello, Student 681966, a man so boring he uses his student ID as his screen name." Nex skimmed over his latest dull refutation of her work and rolled her eyes.

"Your ridiculous idea of a potential intersystem artificial intelligence program has no bearing in modern computer science. Even the most simple-minded of your species is aware that software is limited by hardware.

You persist in the idea that your entirely theoretical sub-space processor would alleviate this issue and allow a program to move freely between systems, but this has in itself a litany of issues. There is no evidence to support the idea that information can travel freely between sub-space and normal space. How do you propose such a device would maintain a fixed location within sub-space? In addition, the power requirements would be astronomical.

Fixed sub-space pockets have never been found to be a remote possibility and tests have resulted in failure, every single time. The only possible use for sub-space is point A to B travel through fixed gates."

With a guttural groan of frustration, Nexus swept a hand back through her sweat-matted hair. "This guy has no imagination."

Reclining in her chair steepling her fingers, Nex pondered the list of possible rebuttals. Everything from explaining the potential power of a flywheel energy storage system in the absolute vacuum of sub-space or reference to the sub-space tests performed by Earth scientists decades earlier that implied the possibility of direct access to sub-space beyond simple two-way passages. However, when she received a sudden response from a rather important contact, she decided to let her opposition stew for a little while.

Anxiously, she opened the message with a tap of her finger and pulled the contents up on-screen.

"I have acquired the information you requested."

That alone was all she needed to send her mind alight with fireworks. There was some more afterward about releasing the hold on the promised payments and how to contact him again. She absent-mindedly tapped out an affirmative response and delved into the attached files with all haste possible.

A few weeks ago she'd contacted someone who claimed to have worked on some classified Federation experiments performed on Pantainos. She'd been making a few inquiries about them and they had become a subject of great interest to her, even though they never got off the ground. What they were attempting to develop and why it failed is still unknown to this day, but Nexus's digging had told her that it had something to do with personal-sized sub-space gates, as opposed to the massive rings that transported ships across the galaxy.

"I was right," she muttered to herself after nearly twenty minutes of poring over the contents. "Schematics, test results, dates and locations."

She gleaned from the notes that they had managed to design a miniaturized sub-space gate, though from what she could find, it wasn't able to sustain itself before collapsing after only a few seconds. Several pages appeared to be missing, including details of who was involved and the purpose of the experiments, but all the technical data she needed was right here in these files.

Again she gazed upon the massive mechanism in the centre of her apartment, this time with new excitement and rattling nerves. She bit her lip and considered her options before giving a small nod of affirmation. "To hell with the regulator, I've got work to do."

She wheeled over to the huge ring and pushed herself out of her chair. For hours she consulted the new specifications and adjusted her machine. Multiple trips were made back and forth between the device and her computer and she went through around a dozen cups of coffee and sixty teaspoons of sugar. She scoured every crate of spare parts she had lying around (which was no small number) and the clamour of her tools filled the apartment until the early morning.

She awoke with a start around noon the next day. She had passed out in her wheelchair with a collection of her tools sprawled across her lap and around her wheels. She yawned, grumbled and rubbed the sleep from eyes shadowed by black bags.

Blinking rapidly, Nexus looked at her device, consulted the schematics and then back to the device. It was a match. Better than a match even. She felt she'd improved on the old schematics. "I did it?" She brushed back a tangle of red hair and chuckled to herself. "Of course I did it."

Still coming to, she mumbled out a few commands. "Computer, begin recording a new log now. " A small robot, not unlike an ambulatory tripod, came alive. There was a lens built into the machine’s head, which promptly veered in Nex’s direction.

She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled toward the terminal mounted at the edge of her ring-like device. "Sub-space portal NG Model-1, test 27, sans energy core regulator. Upgraded system to further compensate for the Verdricci effect. Added new subsystems to target a specific location within sub-space, based on new research documents. No more firing off randomly. Begin activation now."

Triumphantly, she punched in the key sequence to start up the machine and listened with glee as it whirred. Lights flickered on around the ring and sparks coursed across the empty space in the middle.

Staring into her would-be sub-space gate, Nexus's hands shook excitedly. "Alright UEF, let's see what you were up to."

The machine's laboured noises intensified and she could feel a charged tingle on her skin. Then, all at once, a disc of torn space appeared inside the ring, contained and stable. Her smile vanished, only to be replaced by a slack jaw and wide eyes. The sight beyond the portal sent shivers through her body and made her stomach churn. Floating in the vast emptiness of sub-space, was a cylindrical device surrounded by lifeless human corpses.

#science fiction #sci-fi #writing #novel #nexus notes

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ionlyspeakinmyheroacademia · 4 years

Text

Late Nights and Lavender Tea

series masterlist ☕️

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Ochako Uraraka

Warnings: Some lauguage, gets a lil steamy at some parts, slow burn, MAJOR SPOILERS

Summary: After a year of friendship, Uraraka realizes that she is totally in love with her best friend, Midoriya Izuku. There's just one slight problem. She's in a happy, committed relationship with Iida Tenya.Or is she? As their relationship progresses, she sees a side of Tenya that scares her- and she wonders if she made the right choice to get with him in the first place. And her resurfacing feelings for Izuku aren't helping her case, not in the slightest.Midoriya Izuku always avoids romantic relationships, but he simply cannot avoid his feelings for Uraraka Ochako. She's taken, but Izuku can't help but hopelessly pine after her. After seemingly the millionth late-night talk over tea, he realizes that he's head over heels in love with her. He's in love with a girl who's off-limits. He can swallow his feelings for her sake, of course.That's okay with Izuku. If she's happy, he's happy for her. It's really okay, honestly.Teenage relationships are hard. That's one thing they've both realized.

Notes: This is my first fic, let me know what you think! (cross posted on ao3)

Chapter 3: Katsu’s a Bitch for the Drama

Ochako watched proudly as her boys received their medals. Tenya had tied for third with Todoroki and Izuku had taken first, just barely beating Bakugou in the finals. Bakugou had been angry, but he seemed to be somewhat calmed down, despite muttering foul words under his breath when he thought no one was listening.

She had been so worried throughout Bakugou and Izuku’s match. She could see the determination in Izuku’s eyes to win, and he almost didn’t. He had used too much of his flying it seemed, he had sunk down to the ground, and barely landed a powered kick on Bakugou before knocking him back and scooping him up with his black whip and throwing him backward, just barely out of bounds. Kirishima had been extremely frightened, running down to check on his boyfriend.

Ochako had honestly been surprised Izuku hadn’t held back with Bakugou. She knew he had always had a soft spot for him, and she never thought he’d be so violent. But that was how it went in the Sports Festival, and honestly she was glad it was over. She was so proud of Tenya and Izuku.

“Congratulations on third Tenya!” she cried, throwing herself towards him and hugging him tightly around the neck. He hugged her back, but not with as much enthusiasm. He seemed angry with her for some reason, and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear, and pulled her into the building before she could congratulate Izuku, who was surrounded by their other classmates, minus Bakugou, Kirishima, Sora, and Todoroki.

“What’s going on Tenya?” she asked, when they were in a closet right inside the building. “Are you alri-” She was cut off by his lips crushing against hers. She kissed him back for a moment, then pushed lightly against his chest. “Hey, hey, whoa what’s going on? Usually you wouldn’t do this unless we were where no one else would see- are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “Am I not allowed to make out with my girlfriend?”

He didn’t let her answer, just pressed his lips against hers again, and put his hand on her back to pull her closer. She squirmed slightly under his strong grip, uncomfortable. She didn’t know if it was the shelf digging into her back, or the fact that Tenya had never been this rough with her, and it was making her nervous. He pulled away, looking to see the shelf in her back, and pulled her closer so that she wasn’t touching it, pressing her against the wall next to it instead.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, and brought his lips back to hers. She was starting to panic slightly, her breath quickening, heart-pounding, and she pushed Tenya back, gasping.

“I’m sorry Tenya. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t feel comfortable making out with you when you’re like this. I think you need to calm down,” she said breathlessly, moving to open the door. He mumbled something incoherent. “What was that?” she questioned, turning to face him again.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to just be with me every once in a while. I was kissing you. I’m your boyfriend Ochako. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Midoriya pressed you up against the wall and kissed you like that, would you?” he barked, ignoring the dumbstruck look on her face. “Well? Would you?”

After a moment of shocked silence, Ochako finally regained her voice. “First of all, why are you doing this? We’ve been doing so well. And honestly, I don’t like this side of you. Come find me when you’re done acting like a child,” she retorted angrily, pivoting and hurrying towards the doors to the dorms. She didn’t let herself cry until she was out of earshot from him. And even though she knew he could catch up to her easily, he never came.

…

Later that night, after avoiding Tenya all afternoon, she was sitting in the kitchen staring at a cup of lavender tea. She was lost in her thoughts, so upset over Tenya, that she hadn’t gone to dinner with the rest of them, and couldn’t sleep.

“Hey,” she heard someone call softly, and felt a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay Uraraka? I haven’t seen you since before the awards ceremony.”

She turned to see Izuku, hair messy and sticking in all directions, brows slightly furrowed in concern, but his eyes were soft, and he was smiling slightly, but it was full of warmth. She shook her head, and felt the tears start to fall.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” he murmured, putting his arms around her softly. She tried to ignore how it made her heartbeat rapidly. She sobbed lightly into his T-shirt, staining it with tears. He pulled her back and looked into her eyes. “What happened Ochako?”

She smiled at the use of her given name and wiped her nose with her arm. “Tenya and I had a fight today.”

“Over what?” he asked.

“Nothing, it was stupid- it doesn’t matter…”

“If it made you cry, then it’s important to me.”

“Well,” she sighed, sniffling. “I don’t know, he was being so rough, and he was upset, and when I asked him why, he got mad, and just retaliated with ‘am I not allowed to make out with my girlfriend?’ and then he just got rougher and it made me nervous, so I pushed him away, and that made him really angry, and he said things I hope he didn’t mean…” she said breathlessly, choking down sobs as she spat out the words. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t know if it was him getting third place or what but he’s always been such a good sport and he’s never been that rough with me before,” she sobbed, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Izuku pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry it out.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, wiping her eyes and nose. “I shouldn’t have forced that at you-”

“No, I’m glad you told me. We’re best friends, we tell each other everything, right?” he said, and grinned at her, wiping a tear off her cheek. She then realized how close they were, and pulled back quickly.

“So… congratulations on placing first! I wanted to congratulate you, but I…”

“That’s alright,” he said, clearing his throat and smiling at her. “Thank you. I’m honestly really surprised.” They looked into each other’s eyes, lingering for a few seconds too long. Ochako cleared her throat and looked down at her mug.

“Do you want some tea?” she asked, turning away from him to hide the flush rising on her cheeks.

“Uh… sure,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, not enough to be noticeable to a normal person, but she knew Izuku, and to her, it was as loud as a siren. She wondered if it was from their eye contact. Probably not, I mean, he does like Tsu, so if he is uncomfortable, it’s only because you are, she thought and busied herself with making him a cup.

“So…” she said innocently after they had been sitting and drinking their tea in silence for a few minutes. “How has the whole thing with Tsu been going? You still like her right?”

“Umm, about that-” he started but was cut off by Bakugou.

“What are you two nerds doing down here?” he asked, his voice bleary from sleep.

“Uh, we couldn’t sleep so we were having some tea,” Ochako said quickly.

“Whatever Pink Cheeks,” he said sleepily, and walked over to the fridge, grabbed a cookie, and started back for the elevator.

“Wow, it’s late! We should probably go to bed,” Izuku said, smiling softly at her. He turned around to set his cup in the sink and started towards the elevator behind Bakugou.

“Wait!” she burst out. “Thank you. For everything.”

His smile was breathtaking when he replied; “Always.”

She watched him go, smiling and sighed when he got on the elevator. She shook her head, slapping the side of it repeatedly. What is wrong with you Ochako! You have a boyfriend! Stop thinking about Izuku! Her brain was berating her, but her heart was melting, she was just so happy. She had almost forgotten about her fight with Tenya, and when she got back up to her room, she fell asleep and dreamt warm and happy dreams compared to her usual restless nightmares.

The next morning, Izuku was heading towards the kitchen when he saw Iida and Ochako. He felt a swell of jealousy and a stab of pain as Ochako stood on her tip-toes to kiss Tenya on the lips. He looked away, his appetite gone, and flopped on the couch next to Sora and Todoroki.

“What’s wrong Midoriya?” Sora asked, taking in his friend’s expression.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, and Todoroki looked towards the kitchen and then turned back, nodding.

“That’ll do it,” Todoroki stated plainly.

“I guess they made up,” Sora said, after taking a peek. “Iida was so torn up yesterday, he said he really messed up, I don’t know what he did, but it seemed bad, he was so upset…”

“I know, I talked to Ochako last night.”

“Ooh, Ochako? Since when were you two on a first-name basis?” Todoroki teased quietly, so the others didn’t hear.

“Oh shut up,” Izuku said, giving Todoroki a look. Todoroki laughed, and Sora elbowed him in the ribs.

“Um, ow,” Todoroki yelped indignantly.

“Oh hush,” Sora teased, kissing his boyfriend lightly.

“Can you two quit it?” Izuku mumbled. “Can’t you see I’m trying to mope over here?”

“Why are you moping, Midoriya?” Kirishima prompted, popping up from behind the couch. Sora, startled, fell over onto Todoroki. Bakugo stood up next to him, looking annoyed (per usual), causing Sora to throw his hands in the air in exasperation.

“Is this about Pink Cheeks, you idiot? You really need to get over yourself,” Bakugou practically yelled.

Izuku’s face blanched. “Kacchan! What the hell is wrong with you?” He swiveled around in his seat, pushing Bakugou violently out of the way to see that they were no longer there. He breathed a sigh of relief while simultaneously feeling hurt. How did she forgive him so quickly? She was so upset yesterday…

“Why the hell do you think it’s okay to push me you idiot? Don’t think I won’t blast you into the sky!”

“Calm down babe,” Kirishima said, setting a gentle hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Anyway Midoriya, sorry we were eavesdropping, we just couldn’t help ourselves. Katsu over here is a bitch for the drama.”

“Shut your piehole Ei,” Bakugou muttered, earning a grin from Kirishima.

Izuku laughed. “It’s alright, I guess. Just don’t be so loud next time, Kacchan.”

“Don’t tell me what to do nerd,” Bakugou muttered, but was smiling slightly at his boyfriend.

“So… what are you gonna do about Uraraka?” Kirishima asked, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of hopelessly in love with her, so it’s awkward to be around her without other people there, and we keep running into each other in the middle of the night, and honestly Kacchan, if you hadn’t shown up last night, I probably would’ve confessed to her. And that wouldn’t have been good, considering she went right back to Iida this morning, so she obviously loves him, not me, which I already knew…” he was rambling, his friends looking on sympathetically, except for Todoroki and Bakugou, Todoroki was staring down at the ground, a look of concentration on his face as he watched a bug scuttle underneath the couch. Bakugou was rolling his eyes, watching Izuku with a sneer.

“You’re an idiot Deku, you know that? How could you fall in love with your best friend? You’re hopeless!” Bakugou laughed maniacally, doubling over, and earning a swift kick from Kirishima right in the shin. “Why the hell did you do that Ei?!” he asked, hurt creeping into his voice, as he stopped laughing, looking at his boyfriend with puppy-dog eyes. It was very out of character for Bakugou, and Izuku almost laughed. Kirishima lovingly ruffled his spiky hair, grinning, and looked back to Izuku, still smiling, while Kacchan’s face was set in a deep pout.

“You’ll figure it out Midoriya, don’t worry about it,” Kirishima reassured him, patting the green-haired boy on the head. “Anyway, Katsu and I are gonna go eat now, eavesdropping is taxing work,” Kirishima said, earning a laugh from the boys on the couch, and a mumble of agreement from Bakugou.

Izuku watched the couple walk away, Kirishima throwing his arm over Bakugou’s shoulders and Bakugou just shrugging it off, smiling, and then turned back to Sora and Todoroki.

“Well, now that we have internships coming up, I’ll at least have a week to think about what I need to do about Uraraka,” Izuku said, massaging his temples.

“Yeah,” Sora replied, and then brightened suddenly. “So where are you going for your internship?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku answered truthfully. He most likely had lots of offers coming in from different agencies, but he wasn’t sure. “I might go back to Endeavor’s agency. After all, I did learn a lot when I was there before.”

“That’s where I think I’m going as well,” Todoroki said, nodding. “As much as I hate the bastard, I’m still getting used to using my fire all the time.”

“No fair! You two get to go somewhere together while I go off somewhere else!? You guys’ll be having all kinds of fun without me!” Sora whined, pouting.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you then,” Todoroki proposed, leaning in to his boyfriend and kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I’m going to take that as my cue to leave,” Izuku said quickly, standing up and hurrying towards the kitchen to grab a Pop Tart before Sora could protest.

Now, where are the Pop Tarts again? I could have sworn they were in this cabinet, he thought, rummaging through the boxes.

“What are you looking for Midoriya?” he heard a voice from behind him ask. Iida. Izuku turned around, forcing a smile onto his face.

“Just grabbing a Pop Tart, well, I would be if I could find them,” Izuku answered, taking in Iida’s disheveled appearance, his lips a bit swollen, hair tousled. He could see Ochako sitting at one of the tables next to Yaomomo and Jirou, her hair looking like she had tried to tame it after someone (cough-Iida-cough) had run their fingers through it wildly, her cheeks flushed as her friends teased her.

“Can we talk?” Iida asked, his head cocking to the side. “Preferably outside?”

“Um, sure,” Izuku gulped, turning back to the cabinet. “Just let me get my Pop Tart first.”

“Alright,” Iida said unwillingly. “By the way Midoriya, the Pop Tarts are in the other cabinet.”

“Oh, duh. Thanks Iida,” Izuku laughed, walking over to the other cabinet and opening it to see the Pop Tarts sitting right in the front. Of course. He opened the box, pulling out a strawberry one and ripped off the wrapper, biting into it absently. He wondered what Iida wanted to talk about, although he had a pretty good idea. He wasn’t looking forward to getting chewed out, even though he knew he deserved it. He sighed, watching Iida walk towards the doors to the courtyard, and discarded his wrapper before following.

Izuku walked out into the courtyard, preparing himself for a lecture.

“Midoriya, we need to talk,” Iida started. Izuku nodded, bracing himself for the harsh truth that he needed to get over Ochako, that she was Iida’s, not his. “I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted yesterday, I don’t know what came over me, to be honest. I guess it was getting third place or….” he trailed off, anger flashing across his features before wiping clean again. “Anyway, I was harsh with you yesterday, and I felt I needed to apologize. I hope you can forgive me.”

Izuku stared at him in shock, disbelief coloring his face, before he shook it off and smiled. “Of course Iida, don’t worry about it.”

Iida bowed, smiled at Izuku, and walked back into the building. Izuku felt weak in the knees. He had been so nervous that Iida was going to yell at him, or at least get angry. For the first time since Iida and Ochako had been dating, Izuku had felt that maybe, just maybe, she liked him back, and would be his if he asked. He had been ready to fight for her, he realized with a jolt. He would’ve fought Iida for her. It scared him a little. He’d never been the type to just fight people, he wasn’t like Bakugou, who just threw himself into fights constantly, who constantly wanted to fight.

But for Ochako? Izuku would do anything. But she was with him. At least she’s happy, he thought, as long as she’s happy…

#my hero academia #bnha fanfic #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku x uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #original character #slow burn #kiribaku #fanfic #spoilers

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lonelypond · 5 years

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Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 1

NozoEli, Love Live, 2.5K, 1/?

Summary: Ayase Eli has a slightly less thoroughly organized LA life than just a few weeks ago, a part time job, college bff, Yazawa Nico, for a housemate, a once a month case of serious bed head, and a new dance project to distract her from a certain fortuneteller Eli has recently befriended. Nico, meanwhile, is text flirting with Nishikino Maki, aka DJ Diamond Princess, who can't seem to keep herself in LA. And a few new players enter the scene. The sequel to Moonlight Becomes You.

Change Will Come

Nozomi Tojo had been spending more time here, at her favorite bookstore, a smaller shop than hers even, off an alley she wasn’t sure how she’d found the first time. It was a cosy aesthetic, a little cluttered but still giving off a sense of sparseness, of spaces you could expand in to as you considered what the day had brought to you. And no Russian spices drifted in. The prickly kind Hanamaru Kunikida and her partner, Yohane, had set up a nook for Nozomi in the very back, there was even a very ancient Japanese screen Yohane swore she knew the noblewoman who’d originally sat behind it for days when Nozomi wanted no prying eyes. Today, Nozomi was at a more central table, frowning over her cards, she could feel herself biting the inside of her lip whenever she put down the mug of tea. The central card in this three card spread had stayed her hand, flipped her stomach. Death. Nozomi was too experienced for the rookie mistake of letting the Death card make her fear for her mortality, but she was too too aware that it was a glaring neon sign, especially in the central, present spot that change, capital C Change, major LIFE CHANGE™ was on the Cosmic menu. Add in the reversed quality and there was the screaming sense that Nozomi was avoiding something. With The Chariot bold to the left of it, one might venture a guess that Nozomi was avoiding someone charismatic, determined. The Four of Cups nudged Nozomi to reach out for an opportunity. Nozomi groaned and lowered her head to the table.

“Nozomi-chan?” Hanamaru’s soft voice drifted through the incense and Nozomi felt the swoosh of a fallen angel swooping in to eavesdrop on her reading.

“She’s avoiding something, Zuramaru. The Death card is flipping her off and the Four of Cups is calling her out for low self esteem.” A deep voice echoed around Nozomi, who refused to raise her head. “Has she met someone recently?” A huge intake, and then the deep voice screeched into a higher register, “Is that why you’ve practically moved in? Who is she?” Another voice switch, “The Fallen Angel Yohane will cast her net into the abyss and pull forth a lantern to shine and show her fellow wanderer of Destiny the path forward.”

Nozomi heard Hanamaru tickle her lover, who squeaked, and flumped down onto the pillow next to Nozomi while Hanamaru sat less dramatically on Nozomi’s other side.

“Nozomi-chan…” Hanamaru wheedled. One of the reasons Nozomi felt so comfortable here is that Hanamaru had also grown up in Japan, Nozomi just wasn’t sure which era, and refused to give up her vocal tics, even when she spoke mostly fluent English.

“Her name is Eli.” Nozomi felt Yoshiko sit up next to her with a hiss of breath, but Nozomi managed to grab the Fallen Angel’s hand before she touched Nozomi’s cards, Nozomi raised her head, smiling at both her friends. Hanamaru was in a floral skirt and soft fuzzy tan sweater that complemented her eyes, fair hair framing her face. Yoshiko was in a leather jacket, sugar skull splashed across a black tank top, and torn jeans, midnight hair in a bun. “Use your own, devil.”

Yoshiko grumbled, looking to Hanamaru for support, but the fair haired maiden just shrugged. Yoshiko hung her head for a minute, but when she raised it, her violet eyes were aflame with inspiration. She grabbed Nozomi’s tea cup before Nozomi could react, swallowed the rest of the tea, turned the cup three times while humming complacently and then slammed the cup dramatically back on the table. When it finished rocking, unbroken, Yoshiko inched forward to peer inside.

“Is it a bomb?” Nozomi giggled.

“A blonde.” Yoshiko muttered. Nozomi froze.

Yoshiko leapt to her feet, throwing both hands up, “The Great Yohane has called forth success in love as great as her own for her…” she looked sideways at Nozomi, who frowned with the slightest shake of her head, “her great and wise friend, Nozomi, washed up from the far reaches of the East on this Western shore. If, “And here Yoshiko flopped next to Nozomi, head on Nozomi’s shoulders, “she’ll stop hiding in the back of her best friend’s store.”

“Oh.” Nozomi mouth matched her choice of word.

“Yoshiko-chan is very wise tod…”

“Yohane…”

Hanamaru leaned over to kiss her lover on the cheek, “Thank you, Yoshiko-chan.”

Yoshiko blushed, and pushed away from the table, “I’ve got a meeting tonight. I’ll see you later, Zuramaru?”

“Looking forward to it,” Hanamaru managed an endearing and unique blend of cheeky and cheering whenever Yoshiko needed push.

“Meeting?” Nozomi asked as the door chimes played Yoshiko out.

Hanamaru froze, hand on the teapot. Nozomi became instantly suspicious, “Maru-chan?”

Hananamaru blew out a long breath, her eyelashes blinking wildly, “You know how Yoshiko…”

“Yohane” Nozomi deepened her voice and Hanamaru flinched, then scowled, her nose crinkling up. Once again, adorable.

“Is interested in cryptids?”

Nozomi nodded.

“There’s a reading group. Sometimes, they meet here, but mostly they meet…” Hanamaru paused, “somewhere else.”

Nozomi couldn’t help it, the huge laughs just rolled out of her, while Hanamaru watched curiously and mildly concerned. When Nozomi came up for air, she smirked at her friend, “You, Kunikada Hanamaru, are a worse liar than that grounded Fallen Angel you call your girlfriend.”

Hanaamaru’s eyes were blanks as she replayed Yoshiko’s latest pronouncement, “Displaced Celestial Being. Yohane is rebranding.”

Nozomi still had a chuckle left, “Oh, that’s a good one.”

Hanamaru passed a hand over Nozomi’s cards, “If you actually stopped avoiding this Eli, maybe I could be laughing at your girlfriend.”

“Oh, so you want revenge, ZURAmaru.” Nozomi leaned in with a leer.

Hanamaru turned away, her profile scorn, her eyes saucy, “You know Yoshiko doesn’t like it when you call me that. And yes.”

Nozomi gathered her cards, “I’ll put that on the pro side of the list.”

“Nozomi....” Hanamaru’s tone matched the message from the cards in severity. “You know ignoring answers is throwing kindness back in the face of the gods.”

“Ah, Hanamaru, but…” Nozomi searched for the right word.

“Fearing.” Hanamaru dove in.

Nozomi countered, “hesitating in the face of change is so deeply human that surely the gods will be patient with me.”

Hanamaru stood, “Gods may be patient, girls not so much.”

Nozomi knew Yoshiko and Hanamaru could be trusted to speak the uncomfortable truths. She leaned back, remembering Eli’s bright blue eyes and wondering what they were looking at now.

###

Nico Yazawa was lying on their couch, her green, avocado based beauty treatment slathered all over her face. She had her cellphone raised and was snapping a selfie.

“We are not getting Russian food again. Nico loves you, but…” Nico sighed as she hit send, “But Nico misses the honey mustard drizzle over a LIGHT salad from Muskies. Just send the fortune teller a text and ask HER out for heavy Russian food.”

Eli frowned, fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion. “Have you asked out the feral DJ who hates me yet?”

“Maki” Nico drawled, “is currently out of the country, in Toronto, with K Pop stars hanging off her arms. So Nico is waiting to ask in person. And sending selfies.”

Eli sat up from the other side of the couch, ripping Nico’s phone out of her hand and reading her last message:

“Hey, Ripped and REDonkulous, stop by Nico’s when you get back into the country.” And there was Nico’s green goop coated face, tongue sticking out, eyes wide and twinkling.

“You really did send a pic of you in that slop.”

Nico rolled her eyes and grabbed her phone back, “Nico always looks good. And Maki appreciates honesty. None of the K Pop stars will let her see an eyeliner smear, let alone the night before look.”

Maki’s ringtone went off.

“What did she say?” Eli was genuinely curious. Nico and Maki’s courtship was outside the boundaries of anything Eli considered a lead up to dating, but Nico seemed pretty calm and happy about her situation, unless Maki had posted a pic from gig recently.

“Are you auditioning for a zombie flick?” Nico almost flinched. No one but Eli would have noticed. Nico tossed her phone to the side, “So why won’t you text Nozomi?”

“What do I say?”

“Hi, remember me, we agreed to be friends because I’m too much of a coward to ask you on a date.”

Eli reached behind her to grab a pillow and toss it at Nico, “I’m not a coward…” Eli’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Things are just weird right now. And I have a lot going on besides the...”

Nico leaned forward, using the pillow to prop her elbows on, “Ask her when she’s in, go have tea, let her read your future, and talk, Eli.” Nico tilted her head, almost smiling at her phone, “Even if they don’t say much, it’s still nice to have someone open your text, you know.”

Eli sighed, laid back down, her long legs stretching out next to Nico’s shorter ones, “Yeah.”

Nico watched her best friend, not hiding the sadness she knew was weighting her gaze. Eli wasn’t paying attention to her anymore, staring at the ceiling, thoughts elsewhere and Nico wished she had something comforting or constructive to say. And then her notifications pinged. Diamond Princess had posted a TWIG shot from tonight’s gig and there were five girls in skin tight clothing stretched out across her rig, mugging for her camera. Nico had problems too, even without monthly fur outbreaks.

###

You Watanabe’s least favorite thing about her job as the Coast Guard’s LAPD liaison was that she rarely got to wear her uniform. Too often she needed to slip under the radar, or pass as a someone out boating, or just be able to wander without her clothes or posture screaming “COP.” So she slouched, tried to bring back hacky sack, and switched her uniform hat for a dad cap. Of course, the friend she was meeting had it worse; at least You didn’t have to keep a pair of wings on the very low down low. Yoshiko, You had known her for a long time, most of them late nights in dark places, so Yoshiko allowed You to call her by her human name. These were human streets and it helped Yoshiko keep a barrier between these meetings and those with the more than mortal. You understood that, she too swam between two worlds, land and sea, footed and finned.

Yoshiko was whistling as she approached; You didn’t even have to turn, Yoshiko just settled a couple feet down the pier, leaning back against the railing, hands in the pocket of her leather jacket. No gang insignia on the back, just a pair of black glittery wings and Gothic graffiti reading “Dodged the Sun; Kicked the Moon.” You once again found herself taking a moment to appreciate how carved out of breathless glory Yoshiko looked when she forgot to dim the glamour. Then You stomped on her own foot and muttered, “friend, dating another friend, don’t go there.”

Yoshiko looked straight up, stretching her throat, then tilted her head to flutter eyelashes at her rendezvous mate, You was just glad the Fallen Angel wasn’t looking directly into the sun. That was always disconcerting.

“What’s up, Captain? What dark horrors can Yohane assist you in sealing away in the pit? ” Yoshiko sounded amused under the flare of drama, but whether she was reading You’s face or thoughts with those piercing purple eyes didn’t matter. You had been born an open book where women were concerned.

“The usual.” You chuckled, but her blue eyes flashed fierce. “Rumors. Bots. Trolls. Closed Facebook groups. TWIG hashtags. Social media chaos starting to spread, viral werewolves who transmit lycanthropy via saliva, mermaids drowning swimmers, wildfires being started by mutant Trinity Alps salamanders who breathe fire.” You hung her head, hands behind her neck, sighing, “It’s a flood.”

Yoshiko frowned. Hanamaru was pretty internet allergic, so Yohane spent maybe ninety minutes a day on the basics, on her phone, mostly responding to messages. She’d found it best to keep a low profile. It was too easy to feed the glamour greed; to start to crave the crowds, to yearn for the veneration. Hanamaru had pulled her back from that summit once; Yoshiko had kept herself grounded since then, helping others, in this world too modern and cynical to promote new gods to more than temporary power.

You continued, “Patterns seem to indicate local actors, a cell recently set up somewhere. There’s too many details and specific targets identified.” You took a piece of paper out of her pocket, “I think you’ll recognize some of the names.”

Yoshiko read quickly and then with a snap of her fingers and a spark the paper was gone, “I’ll warn them.” Yoshiko turned so she was facing You, “But what do I tell them?”

“The same thing I’m telling you.” Yoshiko’s name had been the first on that list, “Keep a low profile. Be wary of new people. And don’t have any more meetings at the bookstore, you goof.”

Yoshiko sighed, “Zuramaru will be sad; she likes making everyone cookies.”

“She can still make the cookies.” You was still not used to domestic Yohane, so concerned about the very prosaic activities of her partner.

“Oh that reminds me.” Yoshiko pulled a wrapped square out of one pocket, “She made you Orange Carrot Cookies. Says you need to fatten up.”

“Too busy burning off calories.” You’s best friend was the pool at her condo. Laps and lounging made her less likely to find leisure making her lonely. “Tell Hanamaru I appreciate the home baking. Does a sailor’s heart good.”

Yoshiko snorted, “Try that line on someone single, not MY wife, who’s waiting for ME.”

“Wife? You did it?” You's voice went shrill with surprise, carrying over the water.

Yoshiko startled, “Never mind that. Don’t tell Zuramaru I said….just…” Yoshiko closed her eyes, once again carved out of some substance more striking than flesh, her voice resonant with ancient echoes. “I gave up everything for her. And realized it had been nothing at all.” Yoshiko stood tall, grace in her smile as her voice softened.“Find you someone like that, my friend.”

“If only.” You pushed herself off the pier rail. “Take care of yourself. Tell Hanamaru I’ll stop by for dinner soon.”

“Good.” Yoshiko giggled, “You look hungry.”

“Or something…” You thought to herself as she waved Yoshiko off and turned to watch the sun drop into the iridescent sea.

A/N: I've been working on this for awhile, on and off. Turns out I miss writing a werewolf AU while spending my summer Shakespeare-ing. And I haven't really had the chance to write anything complicated with Aqours and I've been wanting to. So here we are. Enjoy!

#Love Live #Love Live Sunshine #NozoEli #NicoMaki #yoshimaru #Ayase Eli #Tojo Nozomi #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Tsushima Yoshiko #Kunikida Hanamaru #Watanabe You #werewolf #cryptids #Yohane #LA #working up to dating #Apocalypse Midnight Dance

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starfast · 4 years

Text

Cross the Kingdom- Ch 7

“Consider This Revenge”

Word Count: 5242

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

Three days went by much quicker than Crispin had anticipated. It had barely taken Ambrose any time at all to figure out where he had gone. When he came to Roger’s house in search of Crispin, only to find him sleeping peacefully upstairs Ambrose had decided to let him stay put. Ambrose still came in to check on him during the few days that Crispin had spent at Roger’s house, making sure that all of his injuries were healing properly.

Aside from his visits from Ambrose, Crispin hadn’t gotten up to much in those three days. He mostly spent his time up in his room getting lots of rest, which was a stark contrast to living on his father’s ship where he was always ready to spring into action at any given moment. He welcomed the change of pace, and savoured every moment he had to himself. Most of that had more to do with the fact that he was trying his best to avoid Rebecca. Every time he left his bedroom, she hounded him with questions that he didn’t really want to answer. Sometimes she would come in and check in on him while Roger was at work, but he’d always pretend that he was asleep so that she wouldn’t bother him. It left him feeling a little bit guilty, but he was really in no mood to be putting up with her and her never ending arsenal of questions.

Part of him seriously considered telling her the full truth about what had happened between him and his father, but he knew better. It wouldn’t really solve anything. It would only leave her with even more questions. She’d be angry for not telling her sooner, and Crispin had no patience to deal with that. It was probably better that she didn’t know. He didn’t fully trust her with that information anyways.

Finally, the third day had came. The thought of leaving left him feeling equal parts nervous and excited. He had lived in Coral Bay for the first thirteen years of his life, and then spent another three living on his father’s ship. He had never been away from the coast, and was rarely that far from Coral Bay. He was going to miss Roger too. Even when he was out at sea, he knew that his next visit with the man who had raised him was never far away. Once he left, Crispin couldn’t be sure when he would see him again. On the other hand, maybe spending some time further inland might not be such a bad thing. No one would know who his father was, and for once his reputation wouldn’t follow him.

He had started packing the few belongings that he had with him the night before.

Most of his belongings had been left on the Mad Maiden, but he had a couple sets of clothes that he always kept at Roger’s place. Aside from that, all he had were his throwing knives-- including the one that his father had tried to kill him with. He kept them all in their sheaths, which hung from his belt. He kept the one from his father tucked away in his bag for safe keeping.

Ambrose had told him that he should aim to be back at his ward around noon hour. It was half past eleven when Crispin had finished washing his hair, at Roger’s insistence. As far as Roger knew, Crispin was meeting his employer for the first time today. “You should at least try to make a good impression,” he had told him the night before, “I know you’re not going to be able to get that knife wound wet, but at the very least you should try to wash your face and your hair.” Crispin didn’t fight him on the matter. He simply agreed and promised Roger that he’d get to it in the morning.

He’d be cutting it close, he realised as he wiped his copper coloured hair dry. He grabbed his shirt and coat, draping the towel over his shoulders before he headed back to his room. He was just reaching out for the doorknob, when he heard Rebecca calling out to him from the other end of the hall. Crispin couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. Why did she have to wait to for the worst possible moment? “What?” He snapped as he pressed his back up against the wall, trying to keep his injured wing hidden. He had been able to retract his right one, but his left one was still wound up in the makeshift sling that Ambrose had fashioned for him. Crispin began to feel around for the doorknob, trying to get out of the conversation as quickly as he could.

“What time are you leaving?” Rebecca asked him, as she began walking down the hall towards him.

“Soon,” Crispin replied. His hand finally landed on the doorknob. He opened the door, stepped backwards into his bedroom before shutting the door between him and Rebecca.

He sighed, grateful to have Rebecca out of the way. He felt only a little badly about trying to avoid her, but he would make sure to say a proper goodbye to her when he left. He flopped down onto his bed, lying on his side so that he didn’t hurt his wing any more than he already had.

The door flung open and Crispin spun around to see Rebecca standing in his doorway. “What do you want?” He snarled as he frantically pulled his damp towel around his torso, trying once again to hide his wing.

“Why are you like this,” She demanded, “Why does it seem like you’ve been avoiding me ever since you arrived?”

“Maybe because I have been,” he said, shrugging unapologetically.

“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, shaking her head, “We used to be so close when we were younger, and now you’ve spent the last three days avoiding me. What’s wrong with you?”

Crispin sighed. They had been much closer when they were younger, but once Crispin had developed his powers he found himself growing distant from her. Part of him found dealing with his powers to be very exhausting, and even though it had been his choice not to tell her it was a decision that he stood by. He had no idea how she would react, and even if she did take the news well she wouldn’t understand it. He had never meant for for them to grow so distant but the less he spoke to her the less inclined he would be to slip up.

“Look,” he said, “sorry for avoiding you and all, but I’ve had a really, really rough past couple of days.”

“You say that and yet you haven’t told me everything that happened,” Rebecca said, folding her arms.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business,” Crispin snapped, “It doesn’t concern you, and I don’t want you getting involved.”

“Yeah, but why not?” She demanded, “We used to tell each other everything. You’ve changed so much.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but people have a tendency of doing that.” He grabbed his shirt, which lay in a crumpled ball at the foot of his bed. “I’ll tell you what I can, but can you at least let my get my shirt on?”

“Fine,” She said.

Crispin backed up closer to the wall. He held the towel in place before quickly pulling his shirt over his head. “Alright,” he said, “I got into a fight with my dad. A really, really bad one. It turned violent, and he tried to kill me.”

“What were you arguing about that was so bad that he tried to kill you,” Rebecca asked.

“I’d really rather not say.”

“Oh come on,” Rebecca said throwing her hands up in frustration.

Crispin sighed. “Look, do you want me to tell you this or not? Because if you’re going to be like that, then I’m just going to leave.”

Rebecca let out an impatient huff. When she didn’t say any more, Crispin continued. “I ran away after that, and wound up here and tried to get to your place. I was injured really badly though, and Ambrose noticed and took me in. We got talking and I started telling him about what happened with my father,” When he noticed her annoyed glare, he quickly added, “I didn’t tell him everything. Just that he tried to kill me. He mentioned to me that he has a friend who works on a train and was looking for an assistant. So I told him that I was interested in the position. I think my father thought that he did kill me, and that’s why he told you I killed myself. If he finds out I’m still alive, he’ll probably finish the job.”

“You pretty much told me everything I already know,” Rebecca remarked.

Crispin shook his head. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you,” he said, “But right now, I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He had no intention of ever telling her anything, but the comment seemed to shut her up. Finally.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back here?” She asked.

“I think so,” Crispin said, “I mean, we’ll see. But I need to wait until things with my father dies down a little bit.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Rebecca said. Before he could respond, she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Crispin tensed up as her hand brushed up against his wing. He froze in a state of panic, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t seemed to notice the last time, after all. But when he felt her hand patting up and down his injured wing that was when he knew that the one event that he had worked so hard to avoid was beginning to play out.

“What...?” She murmured

Crispin pulled away. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his bag. “I need to go,” he said briskly, “I’m going to be late.”

“What’s going on,” Rebecca asked, as she chased after him.

He ran down the stairs, trying to get to the door as quickly as he could. He decided it was best just to ignore her. He pulled on his boots, but Rebecca stood in front of the door, blocking his only way out.

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s going on,” She said.

“Oh for fuck sake,” he snarled, “I’ve already told you everything.”

“You’re still hiding something,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I am,” Crispin said, “But I already told you, you don’t need to know everything, ok? I really don’t have time for this!” He was trying to buy himself some time. He knew Rebecca well enough to know that she wasn’t going to let him pass until he gave her a straight answer. Crispin racked his brain trying to find some sort of excuse that would explain the extra bulk beneath his shirt that she had felt, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

He wasn’t going to give in so easily. Rebecca probably had secrets that she kept from him, and he was entitled to that same right. Just because they grew up together didn’t mean that she had to know everything that was going on in his life.

Crispin shoved his way past her, pushing her away from the door and into the wall. He hadn’t really wanted to escalate to this point. He wanted to leave on good terms, but she had backed him into a corner and left him with no other choice.

“I already told you everything that I was willing to tell you,” he said, “Sorry that wasn’t good enough for you. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“You’re unbelievable,” was the last thing that Rebecca said to him, before he left the house and slammed the door in her face.

It was deceptively cold out. The sun shone down over the coastal city and there was not a single cloud in the sky. It almost looked like it could be summer, but the chilly weather served as a reminder that it was still the middle of fall.

Crispin shoved his balled fists into his pockets to keep his fingers warm as he walked at a brisk pace down the streets of Coral Bay. He made his way past lines of brick buildings, trying not to think about his final conversation with Rebecca. It wasn’t how he had wanted to part ways. He thought about turning back and apologizing, but he was already going to be cutting it close. He could afford to be a few minutes late, but he didn’t want to keep Frank and Ambrose waiting. It would have to wait for another day, he decided as he made his way down the narrow side streets.

He found his way out to the Harbour Strip. During the day, the Strip was always bustling with activity. Throngs of people made their way down the strip, either heading to and from the Coral Bay Harbour which lay at the very west end of the strip. Rows of shops and inns lined one side of the wide, cobbled road. The other side remained empty, providing an unobstructed view of the vast sea that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Crispin walked down the Strip, getting jostled by the crowd as he headed towards Roger’s tavern, the Clockwork Crow. He made a conscious effort to try to avoid bumping into anyone. Normally, he didn’t care. The Strip’s main road always seemed far too narrow to accommodate the crowds of people that always seemed to be there. This time though, he was trying to avoid hurting his shoulder again. The pain had died down a lot over the past few days, but it still hurt when he poked at it. While it had yet to happen, he knew that the pain would be almost unbearable if he accidentally bumped into someone.

He finally reached Roger’s tavern. The sign for the Clockwork Crow swung gently from the soft autumn breeze. The door opened with a loud creak, though no one inside the noisy tavern appeared to notice. Much like the street it sat on, the Clockwork crow was bustling with activity. People sat at tables, chatting with their friends as they shared a pint of ale. It was a little early for most people to be getting drunk, though that hadn’t stopped some people as they giggled and shouted amongst their peers.

Crispin spotted Roger manning the bar counter. Roger was too caught up in his work, to notice as Crispin came traipsing in. As he began sauntering towards the bar counter, Roger finally saw him. He had just finished serving some patrons who sat on the tall bar stools when he had stepped back and locked eyes with Crispin. Rather than greeting him with his regular friendly smile, Roger’s eyes widened with panic and motioned for him to turn back.

Puzzled, Crispin took a step backwards but he was too late. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the very back corner of the room. The whole tavern fell silent as the man stood on the opposite side of the tavern glaring at Crispin with a look instilled fear into many. But not Crispin.

“Hello father,” He said with a smug grin, “Miss me?”

Marcus didn’t respond right away. He continued staring Crispin down with a look that could kill. But even from afar, Crispin could spotted the calculating look in his father’s icy stare. It was the same look that he got when they started coming up with a plan to attack enemy ships. Crispin didn’t back down though. He stood tall, or as tall as someone who barely scraped past five feet could manage, and held his ground.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” Marcus growled.

“And why’s that?” Crispin said taking a daring step towards his father, “Because you already told the crew that I killed myself? Since that’s clearly not true, why don’t you tell them who really made the attempt on my life that night?”

Marcus pulled out one of his throwing knives. “Keep talking,” he snarled, “Keep talking, boy and I’ll do it. You know I will.”

A sly grin played across Crispin’s face. “Then fight me.”

“No, no,” he heard Roger shout in protest, “Don’t do this, you two!”

Neither Crispin nor his father heeded Roger’s warning. Marcus stormed across the room like an angry bull towards his son. Crispin remained rooted to his spot, his feet planted firmly to the wooden floor. “Never make the first move in a fight,” His father had told him once. Crispin had always followed that advice when he could. For the most part, it had brought him some good results in various fights.

Marcus raised his fist, ready to strike at him with his knife. As he brought the knife down, Crispin grabbed at his wrist using all the strength that he had to stop the knife from getting anywhere near him. Despite his best efforts, he was no match for his father. Even at the best of times, his father had always been a much better fighter. With all of his injuries, Crispin couldn’t hold his father back and the sharp tip of the knife came closer and closer to him by the second.

Crispin swung his leg up, kneeing his father in the stomach. It hadn’t been a particularly hard blow, but his father was caught off guard and that was all that he needed. His father doubled over, dropping the knife to the floor. Crispin kicked it away, sending it skittering across the ground.

At this point, the whole tavern was watching. A few people even cheered, egging the pair on. From the back of the room where the crew of the Mad Maiden had been sitting with their Captain, a cheer broke out. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” They banged their fists on the table, in time with their cheering.

Before Crispin could make his next move, Marcus swung his fist and punched Crispin square in the face. Crispin ignored the blood that streamed out of his nose and trickled over his mouth. He’d had far worse. A simple punch to the face was not going to stop him.

The blow left Crispin dazed, as though his father had quite literally knocked the sense out of him. Crispin swung his fist, hoping to land a punch the same way his father had done to him but he missed his target and his father grabbed his wrist. Before he could even reach for one of his knives, Marcus shoved Crispin to the ground. Crispin lay on his back with the wind knocked out of him. There was a searing pain that ran up and down his injured wing and it was only then that Crispin remembered Ambrose telling him that he should refrain from getting into fights. Well, it was too late now. All he could do now was hope that he hadn’t inflicted too much damage upon himself.

Marcus unsheathed his broad, curved sword. He raised the blade high above his head, ready to bring it down at any second. Crispin watched him, ready to duck out of the way at any given moment.

He kept his eyes locked on his father for what felt like an eternity as he waited for even the most subtle shift in his father’s weight that told Crispin that he was about to strike.

“Any last words?” His father asked in a low voice.

Crispin was about to open his mouth to deliver what he didn’t actually think would be his last words, but it was Roger who spoke instead.

“No!” He shouted, “No! I won’t allow this!” He grabbed at Marcus from behind, and pulled him away, “It’s too damn early for this!”

Crispin stared with his eyes wide in disbelief as he watched Roger restrain Marcus. In all his years, he had never seen Roger get physical with anyone. Crispin had always seen him as this gentle and down to earth fatherly figure who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. It probably was not the first time he had done something like this, given Coral Bay’s reputation. Roger had told Crispin about many drunken customers who had stepped out of line, but he never talked about having to do anything other than yelling at them until they left.

“Have you gone mad, Roger?” Marcus said through a clenched jaw as he tried to free himself from his friend’s tight hold.

“I won’t let you do this,” Roger grunted, using every bit of strength to prevent the much stronger pirate from breaking free, “He’s hurt, god dammit! You should be bloody ashamed of what you did!” He locked eyes with Crispin. “Go Crispin,” he said, “You need to leave.”

Crispin scrambled to his feet, and wasted no time getting to the door. “Goodbye, Roger,” he said, “Tell Rebecca I’m sorry about this morning.”

“I will,” Roger said, “Good luck, my boy.”

“And Dad,” Crispin raised his voice, hoping that his next words would reach the ears of the crew, “I’ll never forgive you for trying to kill me and telling everyone it was a suicide. Fuck you.” He would have loved to have seen his father’s reaction, but he could tell that it was growing more and more difficult for Roger to hold him back.

Crispin flung the door open and started running down the street as fast as he could manage. He pushed people out of the way as he made his way down the strip, before he ducked into a narrow side street. It would be a less direct route, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about pushing people out of the way. When his entire body seemed to ache he slowed to a walk. He paused for a moment, leaning against a building as he tried to catch his breath. Crispin held his hand up to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood from dripping down his front any more than it already had. When it didn’t let up, he continued making his way to Ambrose’s place.

Crispin staggered his way down the road, which brought him just outside of the ward.

A tiny bell rang above the door as he pushed the door open. He could hear two men talking to each other as he walked slowly towards the source of the voices.

“That must be him now,” He heard Ambrose say. A door at the end of the long hallway creaked open and Ambrose stepped out with another older man close behind him.

Ambrose’s face immediately fell when he saw Crispin. “Oh, Crispin,” he said, “What have you done?” He shook his head before ushering Crispin into one of the rooms.

The room was identical to the one that he had woken up in three days ago. White walls, white ceiling, a window with dark curtains and a small metal cot next to a wooden bedside table.

“Sit down,” Ambrose ordered, gesturing to the bed.

Crispin sat down. “I’m sorry,” he said in a muffled voice.

“It’s fine,” Ambrose sighed, “Let’s just hope nothing else is broken.” He opened the door slightly and called out, “Frank, could you do me a favour and get me a damp cloth? Thank you so much.”

Ambrose pulled up a chair and sat in front of Crispin. “I thought I was very explicit when I told you to take it easy,” He said disdainfully.

“I was,” Crispin protested, “I promise!”

“So how did this happen,” Ambrose asked as he folded his arms across his chest, “Did you fall out of bed?”

“Yes,” Crispin said. He knew that Ambrose was being sarcastic, but he decided to see if he could get away with it anyways. Ambrose had made it very clear that he wanted Crispin to get lots of rest, but he had specifically mentioned to avoid getting into fights with anyone. Marcus Hadley was the one person that he had singled out and told Crispin to just steer clear of, which meant that Crispin had gone and gone and done the one thing that Ambrose had asked him not to do.

“Come on Crispin,” Ambrose said, “We both know that is not what happened.” He shook his head a second time. “I never should have let you stay with Roger.”

The door opened and Frank stepped in with the damp cloths that Ambrose had requested.

“Thank you,” Ambrose said as he took one of the cloths from the older man’s gnarled hands. “You can stay here if you want,” He added, “But I’m afraid I’m going to need a moment to tend to Crispin.”

“Of course,” Frank said, “If you need me to get anything else, just let me know.” He stayed by the door, with his hands behind his back as though he were waiting for more orders from Ambrose.

Ambrose took the cloth and dabbed away at the blood that was caked on to Crispin’s face.

“Well,” he said finally, “It doesn’t appear to be broken, so we have that to be thankful for. Is there anything else that’s hurting you? And please be honest this time.”

“No,” Crispin said, “The fight got broken up before my father could do any real damage.”

Ambrose let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to pretend like that’s a joke,” he said, “Because if I recall correctly, I told you that you should steer clear from your father if he happened to be in town.”

“But for what it’s worth,” Crispin countered, “I told you that I was going to beat the shit out of him if I ever saw him again. And it’s not like I went looking for him. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“You don’t like being told what to do, do you?” Ambrose remarked as he dabbed the last bit of blood off of Crispin’s face.

“Well you did tell me to get lots of rest,” Crispin pointed out, “Which I did do.”

“That doesn’t really matter if you go out looking for a fight the moment you leave the house,” Ambrose said, “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I wasn’t looking for a fight,” Crispin said, “And I’m glad you let me stay with Roger.” The three days that he had spent resting up at Roger’s place had been exactly what he needed after the recent events. In addition to getting plenty of rest, he spent a great deal of time talking with Roger, who always seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better.

“Right,” Ambrose said dryly, still evidently regretting his decision. “Let’s just do what we came here to do, ok? Crispin this is Frank. Frank, Crispin.”

Frank stepped forward and extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said as he shook Crispin’s hand. “Ambrose has told me quite a bit about you.”

Crispin’s brow creased. He hadn’t known Ambrose for very long, so what exactly had Ambrose been telling him? Crispin knew that he had a reputation around Coral Bay; a side effect of being the son of one of the most feared pirate captains. He wondered how much Frank knew about him at this point, and how much of it was just speculation on Ambrose’s part.

Nonetheless, Crispin managed to force a smile and say, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Ambrose told me you’ve found yourself in a bit of a bad situation,” Frank remarked.

“I find that tends to happen a lot,” Crispin said. He had endured a lot of bad situations, as Frank had put it, aboard his father’s ship. Getting into fights, either on the ship or on land, was almost part of his daily routine. The night he had escaped from his father hadn’t even been his first near death experience.

“Well,” Frank said, “You should be safe with me. We’re pretty secluded, as I’m sure Ambrose mentioned to you. I’m sure you won’t find it so hard to stay out of trouble.”

“Well,” Ambrose sighed, nodding towards the bloodied cloth that he had used to clean up Crispin’s face that now lay on the bedside table, “Good luck with that.”

“Hey,” Crispin said, “I’m trying my best, ok?” When Ambrose raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Crispin quickly added, “Well, for the most part.”

“Alright then, Crispin,” Ambrose said, “How about you prove to me that you’re not the little trouble maker that everyone seems to think you are.” He reached into his pocket of his heal, and pulled out a sealed envelope. He handed it to Crispin.

Crispin took the envelope, studying it curiously. There was no name or address written on it. It was just a plain, cream coloured envelope sealed with red wax.

“It’s a letter I wrote for my daughter,” Ambrose explained, “I want you to deliver it to her. You’ll be in the train for most of the journey, so I trust that you won’t find this too difficult.”

Crispin tucked the envelope into the pocket of his coat. “I think I got this.” He said confidently.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Ambrose said, “I’m looking forward to hearing back from my daughter.”

Crispin flashed a smug grin at the healer. He hadn’t made a great impression with Ambrose by doing the one thing he had been told not to do. Crispin still didn’t see how the fight had been his fault-- it wasn’t like he had planned on running into his father, and his father would have hurt him regardless of what he said or did. Still, he was determined to make amends with Ambrose. After everything that he had done to help him, the very least that Crispin could do was deliver the letter.

Frank finally mentioned that it was about time to get going. “I’d love to stay a little longer,” he said, “But we’ve got a long journey ahead of us, and we’re already a bit behind schedule.” He said a quick goodbye to Ambrose, before heading out the door, but Crispin hung back a bit.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me,” He said to Ambrose.

“I’m a healer,” Ambrose said, “It’s what I do.”

“Was that the only reason that you did it?”

Ambrose was silent for a moment. “No,” He said, “I did it for my daughter. I wasn’t able to help her when the Patrol took her, but if I can do anything at all to prevent that from happening to anyone else then I’m at least going to try.”

Crispin nodded, but before he could reply, Ambrose spoke up.

“You should get going now. Frank’s waiting.”

“Of course,” Crispin said with a nod. He rose to his feet, and stepped out of the room where Frank had been waiting. He followed the man towards the door, looking back just in time to see Ambrose heading into the back room. The healer met his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile before closing the door.

Frank opened the front door, the bell chiming as it had when Crispin had entered. He held the door open as Crispin stepped out into the street, ready for the long train journey that lay ahead of him.

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