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shih-coulda-had-it · 1 year

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Can you do a story where sorahiko gets turned into a baby similar to the one that was made for nana ?

wc: 883

When Nana opens her front door, the last thing she expects to see is a teary-eyed Toshinori brandishing a tiny, chubby-faced and stubby-legged Gran Torino.

“What,” she says, staring down. “Toshinori, work ended like two hours ago!”

“I know, I know,” says Toshinori. “We were picking up dinner, and there was a burglary that no one else was dealing with, so I said that I’d deal with it, but then Gran Torino told me to pay and left on his own! I followed him, though! And--and I couldn’t stop the thief from using his Quirk.”

“Did you already hand him off to the police?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you get the clothes?” They are a little large on Sorahiko, but still fitted for children: a t-shirt trimmed in yellow, a pair of boxy denim shorts, and water-resistant sandals.

“An officer with a son the same age was called in to bring some clothes, because the alternative was to just, um, cover Torino-sensei in his cape.”

“How long will he be…?”

Toshinori looks queasy at the question, so Nana lets it drift into contemplative silence, which is then broken by a childish yawn from the young Torino Sorahiko. A round fist scrubs ineffectively at the scrunched-up eyes, and then it pauses. Blearily, Sorahiko peers at Nana.

She realizes then that Toshinori’s grasp on his deaged mentor is decidedly not a cradle; Toshinori thrusts his arms out, and the stubby legs instinctively kick out with audible weak puffs of Jet.

“Nana!” Sorahiko yelps. The pipsqueaky voice is nothing like his adult-self’s gravelly tones; she’s somewhat shocked at the sound of it, honestly. “Nana, help!”

“Oshishou…!”

“Yeah, yep, I got you, I got him,” Nana babbles, retrieving Sorahiko from the awkward hold. She gets an arm under him to support his legs, and gingerly stabilizes him by the shoulder. Wow. He’s actually a little bigger than Kotarou had been at the nebulous age of four (that had been Jet, right?), but Nana’s still thinking of him in the future. “Ah. Sorahiko, you recognize me?”

He rears back, huffy, and plants his palm at her jaw, right over her mole. “You’re Nana. Just. Older. Right?”

“... Yeah,” she says, and backs up a step to gesture Toshinori inside. Gratefully, he enters her apartment. Her successor’s shoulders slump; the relief at being able to hand over the problem of Gran ‘Quirk Bait’ Torino to Nana must be hitting him hard.

“Oh, and we ate dinner at the station, oshishou.”

“What a shame,” Nana responds, not hiding her amusement. “I guess I’ll have to eat my thrice-crispy nikudon all-l-l-l by myself.” Toshinori mouths ‘thrice-crispy’ to himself but fails to hide the horror in his face.

Understandably, of course. It takes an iron stomach like Nana’s to digest the char-grilled slices of thin pork, and she’d pan-fried her two-day old rice too.

Sorahiko squirms in her arms. “Nana, lemme down,” he demands, and when she obliges, he kicks off his sandals and looks around. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“Just ate, huh?”

“T-Torino-kun, don’t you remember we had dinner…?”

The scowl on Sorahiko’s round face is incredible. He looks hilariously pissed-off at Toshinori for daring to withhold a direct answer, and Toshinori looks terrified. “The kitchen,” he repeats.

“That way, Sorahiko,” Nana intervenes, pointing down one end of her hallway. The other side leads to her bedroom and bathroom. Sorahiko mutters a cursory thanks, sends one more glare at Toshinori, and stomps away.

“Man.” Toshinori blows out a long breath and leans back against the door. “I’m glad he still respects you, oshishou.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts. C’mon, let’s make sure he’s not raiding the cabinets for snacks.”

Toshinori blanches at the thought of a pre-schooler Sorahiko running on a sugar-high and bolts; Nana leisurely makes sure her door is locked and latched, then follows, already anticipating--she laughs out loud.

Clutched tight to Sorahiko’s chest is a box of frozen taiyaki. Her freezer is, coincidentally, not shut all the way, like it’d taken everything in Sorahiko’s Jet to yank it open. He’s locked into a staring contest with Toshinori.

Sorahiko breaks eye-contact first, only to establish it with Nana. His eyes go round and shiny, and his frown lightens into a pleading pout. It is super-effective against her first instinct to deny a child dessert after nine o’clock.

“[Jesus],” says Toshinori in English.

She crosses her arms. “That’s all you want?” she checks. “No ice cream, or hot cocoa?”

An eager nod. Sorahiko’s practically vibrating where he stands, and tongue-tied in spite of that. He holds up the box with unspoken trust.

“Okay,” Nana sighs. “Let’s have dessert. Toshinori, go ahead and close the freezer, please.”

Toshinori complies without complaint, even as Sorahiko lets out a happy shriek of, “Taiyaki!”, and starts bouncing on his heels by the microwave.

With a voice low enough to be hidden by the microwave’s humming, Toshinori murmurs, “The Quirk lasts until he goes to sleep. I really thought he’d gotten to that point at the station, but then, well, they kicked us out. And Torino-sensei is… a huge brat. So that’s why I came here.”

“It’s good that you did,” she assures him. “Even if the taiyaki gives him a hyperactive boost, it won’t be long before he passes out.”

“Ah, I’ll pass out before that point…”

#bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shimura nana #shih.txt #asks #anon #short and sweet; just like baby brat torino #i feel like i'm gonna start an ao3 series called gran 'quirk bait' torino #what with how many times he's been affected by quirks hehehehe

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

love letters ↠ han jisung

genre: high school au, coffeeshop au, fluff, romance, humor pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 2.6k warnings: mild swearing request: yes a/n: hi anon who requested this! i couldn’t resist making this a coffeeshop au, too, heheheh~ enjoy!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

Oh….

Your locker looked slightly different today.

It was festooned with ribbons, little pictures of cats and, inexplicably, squirrels, star and heart stickers, and glitter. There was even a card dangling from the knob. You stood stock still in front of it, trying to process the tableau? creation? mess in front of you. There was only one person in the entire school you knew would try something like this. And, here he came down the hall, a wide grin on his face.

“Han Jisung, did you do this?” you demanded as he approached. Shouldn’t a senior have more dignity than this?

“Do you like it?” Jisung replied, leaning against the lockers beside yours.

“I’m not sure what I think, but I know that it’s now practically impossible for me to get to my locker.” You tried to push some of the decorations out of the way. “Why did you have to do this?”

“Did you at least read the card?” Jisung asked hopefully, pouting a little.

You cursed him for looking so cute when he pouted, then mentally shook yourself. “No, I didn’t. And it’s almost first bell, so if you could move? Please?”

Jisung’s face fell, but he moved away slightly. “Aw, come on, princess! Can’t you read the card while I’m still here?”

“Jisung, please leave me alone, will you? It’ll be hard enough getting through all this stuff as it is.”

Jisung laughed lightly, giving you a fond smile that was completely lost on you as you struggled with his decorations, then strolled away into the crowd of onlookers who, by now, were used to his outrageous displays of affection for you. “Remember to read the card, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder.

You let your head fall against your locker and got a face full of glitter for your trouble. Damn it, Jisung, you thought as you hurriedly tried to wipe the glitter from your forehead. Then, after a two minutes of wrestling with the Jisung’s additions to your locker door, you managed to retrieve the books you’d need for the day.

In your first class, a couple people gave you strange looks because of the remnants of glitter on you, but no one said anything about the locker decorations. It would only be a matter of time, though, you knew. At lunch when your best friends found you, they gently teased you about “lover boy.”

“How many times has he done something like that this year, Y/N?” Irene asked, smirking at you.

“This is the fourth,” you muttered, looking down at your food. “Two other letters, too.” You could feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“He really is insistent, isn’t he,” Mei commented, shaking her head. “Aren’t you at least annoyed?”

You were silent for a moment as you chewed. “No, amazingly not annoyed. I guess I’m just indifferent?” you lied. In reality, you kind of liked how much Jisung tried to get your attention, but you were going to make him work for your affection. But not too much because that would be mean.

“Like hell you are,” Irene laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “You’re into him, aren’t you.”

“I’m not!” you insisted. “Really!”

Irene and Mei just gave you disbelieving looks, but continued eating their lunch all the same.

When you went back to your locker that afternoon, Irene and Mei in tow, the ribbons and such were gone, but the card… The card was slipped through the crack between the frame and door of the locker, and fell to the floor when you opened it. Receiving cards from Jisung was nothing new, and you didn’t mind much because he was never creepy about it. Sighing, you retrieved the card and opened it.

“What the hell?” Mei coughed, the scent you knew Jisung wore wafting up from the card-stock on which he’d penned his letter. “Did he really have to do that?”

You just shrugged and leaned against your open locker to read.

Y/N, oh beautiful Y/N!

How could I ever write anything as beautiful as you are?

Your eyes sparkle like the glint of sunlight off a puddle that has just a bit of oil in it—you know, so it’s like a rainbow? Your voice is as melodious as the song birds that wake me up in the morning. And your words… They’re like acupuncture needles: relieving of stress and pain but capable of just the same.

I wish to present my heart to you, to simply give it to you like a flower. But alas, I cannot as that would be messy. I would give you my service were I a knight and you a lady, or put myself in your power like a human subjugate to a vampire. Because, all that I do is to win your heart, your wondrous, wondrous heart!

Dearest Y/N, I’m like a volcano of love for you—erupting with love and affection all over the place. I hope my words don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, since I wouldn’t want your words to become anything short of honey.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

You stood there for a moment, trying to keep a straight face as your friends burst out laughing and exclaimed at how cheesy Jisung was. They weren’t wrong. But— Jisung had really written all that to you, and beneath the slightly strained metaphors and verbosity, you could tell that his feelings were true. You playfully shoved Irene, who was now trying to wrest the card from your hands.

However overblown Jisung sounded or dramatic his displays were, you knew he was a good person. You couldn’t be mad at him, especially when he was just so damn cute. Quickly stuffing the letter into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder and said goodbye to your friends. They called after you that they’d also erupt all over the place with love for you. You just rolled your eyes.

As you scuffed your boots through the small piles of snow that had drifted into the walkway and buried your face in your scarf, you could still faintly smell the perfume Jisung had added to the letter. It wasn’t that bad, after all, and the spiciness of it reminded you of the feeling when you’ve settled down with a good book under a thick blanket. You could definitely get used to it.

↠↞

Ah, February. As soon as the first day of the month arrived, you were wary of what Jisung might decide to do on any of the days surrounding Valentine’s Day. But, you barely saw Jisung. That in and of itself was odd, since you had two classes with him that semester, including Western Literature from 1750 to 1920; but it was odder still because he usually made a point of talking to you once every day, if not more. You’d never admit it to anyone besides your raccoon plushie, but you found yourself disappointed every time he didn’t talk to you or wave or flash one of his ridiculous smiles your way in the halls.

At the end of the first week, you received another letter, also slipped into your locker. This time, you waited until you got home to read it. The letter was far more staid, with none of the extravagance or hyperbole of the other one; no whiff of perfume graced the card-stock, either. Jisung was straightforward, expressing that he found you attractive and even apologizing for being so outrageous in his attempts to woo you. You read the last lines as you curled up in bed.

I hope the depth and sincerity of my feelings are plain to you and that you can at least accept them, if not return them. I would be blissfully happy if you did return my feelings, but I hold no expectations for you. Please know that I admire and adore you, Y/N, light of my heart.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

As you read his words over and over and over again, unable to tear your eyes nor thoughts away, you realized that, yes, you did return his feelings. You hadn’t quite internalized that, but reading his sentiments had certainly put things in perspective for you. If you didn’t give him some indications of your mutual feelings soon, you could quite possibly lose Jisung altogether.

I admire and adore you…..

On February 13th, you decided to treat yourself to a nice tea and a snack at a local coffeeshop. You knew it would be fairly busy, but didn’t mind; sometimes, the bustle of people was a welcome change from your usual, studious existence.

The smell of baked goods, coffee, and cardboard met your nose as you opened the door, letting a blast of warm air out onto the street. Carefully, you made your way into the line that snaked through the small shop, and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversations around you. That plan, however, did not work well. You enjoyed taking in all the sounds around you far too much to ignore something as integral as conversations. Person by person, the line moved forward until you were one away from the counter.

And, of course, your phone buzzed just at that moment with a text from Mei. You quickly responded, but didn’t notice that the person ahead of you had been helped.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up to see none other than Han Jisung standing behind the counter, looking just as shocked as you felt.

“Oh! H-hi, Jisung,” you stammered and shoved your phone back into your pocket, embarrassed.

“What would you like today?” Jisung asked politely. You could tell he was trying to remain on his best behavior, as he was at work.

“Could I have a scone and an Earl Grey tea, please? With just a little cream. Thank you!” you chirped, glad that your nervousness over ordering food hadn’t taken hold of you today.

“Sure, thing,” Jisung smiled. “Just pay and one of us will come find you with your order.” Then, because he clearly couldn’t help himself, he winked at you.

You shook your head, your mouth quirking up at the corner a little, and moved over to pay for your food. Since the cafe was more than a little crowded, you chose one of the few seats open by the window. There, at least, you could look out onto the snow-dusted shops and people watch if, and when, you became bored with your homework.

Shortly thereafter, you felt a presence next to you and found Jisung poised to place a steaming mug of tea and your scone on the high table in front of you.

“Here you are,” Jisung said, voice warm and kind as he set the food in front of you. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. Enjoy!”

Before you could say anything else, Jisung had turned and slipped away through the maze of occupied tables and chairs. Thoughtfully, you took a minute sip of your tea and sighed. It was delicious as always, and the scone was just as good, too.

An hour later, the cafe had nearly emptied but you were still there, nursing your tea. Perched at the table in the window, you could simply soak up the last of the afternoon sun as you worked on drafting an essay for your Literature class. It was the perfect arrangement—the cafe owner didn’t mind if you stayed there for a long time, and you had a place in which you could peacefully work while remaining energized.

Beside you sat the plate with your half-eaten scone on it, and the mug of tea. Absentmindedly, you reached for the mug and brought it to your lips to take a sip. You frowned when no tea met your lips. Before you could so much as move, Jisung was beside you.

“Hey, I noticed you were close to finishing your tea, so I made you another,” he said as he exchanged one mug for another. “It’s on me.” You stared at him, and he shifted self-consciously. “And, um, make sure to check under the mug, okay?”

“I— Thanks, Jisung,” you said, surprised at how gentle your own voice was. “I will.”

Jisung smiled at you before returning to the counter where a new customer had just arrived. You looked after him, amazed that he’d noticed you were coming down to the dregs of your tea. Lifting up the mug, you saw a small, folded piece of paper stuck to its bottom—it looked like receipt paper. Knowing what you’d find when you unfolded it, you carefully detached the paper—the letter—from the mug and read:

Dear Y/N,

I don’t want to keep acting like a gaudy peacock around you. I’m sorry. I know it must make me seem a bit…insensitive or outrageous or something like that. Someone I don’t want you to think I am, I guess.

You are incredible, intelligent, beautiful, kind, and caring. In short, the loveliest person I’ve ever had the honor to meet or know.

I hope… Well, you know. You must know.

All that is to say: I love you.

- Jisung

You reread the letter once more, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes as what felt like all the tenderness in the world welled inside you. Turning round in your chair, you looked to the counter where you saw Jisung nervously looking at you. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hope, the worry, the passion, everything made your breath catch. In something like a trance, you slid from your chair, still clutching the note, and made your way to the end of the counter where Jisung stood.

Taking a deep breath, you said to the shift manager—if their badge was anything to go by—“Could I speak with Jisung outside for a moment? It’s a matter of the heart. I hope you understand,” then grabbed Jisung’s hand as the shift manager nodded. Jisung did not protest as you pulled him outside with you, the cold air hitting you both like a hammer.

You didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand as you turned to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes that were so dark that they seemed to lead to another world. You knew now that you’d gladly travel to that other world. Jisung’s lips parted slightly as he prepared to speak.

“Jisung,” you breathed before he could begin, “your letter… All of your letters, really… They’re everything to me. This one,” you held up the small piece of paper in your hand, “in particular, is perfect. And, I do know.”

Jisung didn’t wait for you to say anything else. He drew you toward him, one hand coming up to gently brush over your cheek as the other held your waist. Then slowly, so slowly, leaned down to brush his lips against yours. He was hesitant, as if he expected you to turn and run, but when you didn’t let him pull away as you locked your lips with his, Jisung knew that all his fears were unfounded. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Jisung cupped your face, kissing him back like you wanted to memorize the feel and taste of him. Again, you were overwhelmed by the feelings you felt and clutched Jisung tighter, making him smile against you lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he hugged you to his chest. “You really are the light of my life.”

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raccoonsinqueen · 7 years

Text

So Close, Yet... Part 4

Summary: It's a little hard working two jobs, but you manage.

Notes: Sorry no skelebros this chapter like what am I even doing

“Eyyyyyyy, dame.” The crass monster slurred as you set down his food. He was beyond wasted as his eyelids were half lidded and he was having problems remembering he had a tongue in his mouth. “Wwwwhat time ‘ou gettin’ off t’night?”

This was actually more than common. Mobsters that come in here would get drunk to drown out their criminal tendencies and moral ambiguity, and they would either pick fights, hit on you or Grillby, or bust into tears and tell you their life stories. You much prefered the latter one, seeing as it not only provided you with info, but you also liked hearing other’s problems and being there for them. You know, when they're not murderers or rapists.

But today it looks like you were going to have to deal with your least favorite. The ones who think their being suave.

“Much later than you will be awake for, sir.” You smiled.

“Awwwwww nah, com’on!” He swatted the air a couples times, and then a couple times more. “Ima show ‘ou the time of ‘yer lifffffffe.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” You rolled your eyes. Despite his non threatening appearance, you still couldn't help the unwanted feeling that his advances left up your spine.

“Heheheh...” The monster blinked at you. “‘Ou are fffiiinnnee. Very very fiiiinnneee.”

You almost laughed, “Thank you, sir.”

“Come wit’ me tonight!” He said, joyously, before he started hushing himself and leaned towards you. “I can chhhhaange your worrrlldd.”

“Uh huh.”

“Eva hearda pink botttles, dame?”

You wanted to laugh so bad, but you held your tongue as you heard Grillby call you in the back. “Y/n? Can you come here?

“Sorry, sir.” You winked at your patron. “Boss’s calling.”

“Noooooo,” The drunk monster protested, his forehead smacking to the table. “Come baaaaack!”

You ignore the protests that came from the monster and walked back to the counter, where your boss quirked a brow at you.

“What is it, boss?”

“I don't get why you talk to them, just ignore them.” Grillby said, his even voice ever so stern.

“Did you call me here to judge me or to tell me something, Mr. Grillby?” You teased poking at your boss.

“Tonight.” He ignored your pokes. “A reservation is coming at ten.”

“Ten? Why so late?” You knew why. To keep discretion.

“None of our business.” Grillby simply stated.

This could give you an opportunity. A reservation for Grillby’s Bar? It had to be some big shot bosses, with that kind of money, not to mention a reservation means big talk as well. If you could catch even just a couple snippets of their conversation as their waitress, it could prove very very usefull. Drug shipments, money laundering, maybe even human or monster trafficking? You’d be able to destroy them .

“What do we need to do to help?” You smiled.

“Make sure everyone’s gone by 9:45.” Grillby said. “You included.”

Oh, poo! Grillby, why do you always have to ruin everything! “Why? Don’t you need help?” You feigned ignorance.

“No.” And that was that. The unfortunate thing about Grillby being a monster of not many words is that he leaves no room for negotiation.

“Fair enough.” You said with faux smile. “Don’t worry Grillby, your best gal is in the job! Everyone will be out by 9:45.” It was times like these when you wished you could have some sort of fancy spy tech! You heard that the police have these cool gadgets that let you listen in on peoples conversations, like the radio or something alike. But where would you get something like that? The grocery? You don’t think so!

For just a second, you could’ve sworn you saw some affection in his fiery gaze, “Thanks, love.”

“Love?” The smile grew on your face as you leaned toward your boss, your chest of the counter. “Don’t tell me... Have I finally grown on you, Mr. Grillby? I have, haven’t I?”

The affection soon turned neutral once again as he turned back around, “Make sure to lock the doors save for the front door when you usher everyone out.”

“Aw! Don’t be so cold with me, Mr. Grillby!” You called back to him, the smile still growing on your face.

“You sound like Sans.”

It was cold. The air was frosty. You didn’t mind it, it heightened your senses and kept you focus on edge.

You were in a dark warehouse. Faint voices could be heard beyond the crates behind you, and you dared to slip past another row. Said voices grew louder.

“Ya got the stuff.”

Oh boy. Now we’re cooking.

“If you got the money, we do.” Ew. That voice sounded like the person was gargling an octopus. Weird.

You could hear footsteps coming closer to you. Some grunt or guard of some kind. You hid behind one crate, counting his steps along with your own calm, low heartbeat. You can keep this silent.

1...

2...

3...

Just as he stepped in your line of sight, you lunged for him as you grabbed his mouth and felt the flesh of his throat slice beneath your knife. He didn’t put up much of a fight other than haggard breath, but just as the deed was done, he went motionlessly, almost as if he was fast asleep.

Great, one down.

“Show me the cash.” You moved closer, slipping past one more aisle.

“Julius, come here.” You paused. Maybe that guy you just put to rest wasn’t Julius?

You looked at the body. There was a briefcase. So maybe he wasn’t just a guard, so what? People make mistakes!

“Julius?”

Nothing but silence.

You heard the gravel-like voice exhale, “I swear to... Tommy, Butch, go get him.”

Yes, please. You’d love to meet this Tommy and Butch.

Step after step you heard them... Closer and closer. The thrill was exhilarating, but you held no fear. You wondered why that was. But as said Tommy and Butch walked forward to their untimely demise, one seemed to have stepped right past your aisle without noticing a thing. You felt a little ignored, but you wouldn’t let it hurt your feelings too bad.

Mostly because the other walked right down your alley, as you hid behind your crate. Just as Julius you waited until he was just in your reach. The key was timing, the key was patience, you could only get those two from practice when it comes to exciting ventures like these.

And with one final step, you pulled Tommy or Butch down by the tie and slice straight up under his jaw. You were lucky he didn’t make a sound, but the skin under the jaw was always an easy access to the brain without having to deal with that nasty skull of his.

You set Tommy or Butch down slowly and silently, before maneuvering past your aisle. Now, you could let the other Tommy or Butch find you, but why do that when the hunt was so much more thrilling? Not to mention the fact that he might find Juli-

“What the f-!”

With a swift and graceless movement, you jumped out to wear the late Julius’s body was and stabbed the other Tommy or Butch’s neck in. You had been careless, you should’ve gotten to him faster. But he was still alive. He weakly tried to grab your wrist in an attempt to survive, but you stabbed him again and once more before he finally stopped moving.

His blood was warm even against your gloves. The warmth didn’t reach through your mask, but you knew it was painted in it.

“Butch?” The gravely voice questioned.

“What’s going on?” Ugh, there’s that gargling octopus again.

“This isn’t apart of- .... ” The gravely voice hissed, before stopping himself. “I don’t think... We’re alone.”

How cute. His voice sounded determined. Like he was going to do something about it. Fat chance.

“Cops?” The octopus voice questioned.

“Maybe.” You heard the sounds of guns clicking and locking. You hated that sound. The steps went light and near silent, but you could still tell where they were.

“Or maybe not.” You couldn’t help yourself, you had to say it. I mean, what else were you supposed to do, stay silent and ambush them? Not likely!

And in seconds gun fire littered the boxes, almost poking a thousand holes in your lovely red cloak if you weren’t so good at dodging them. You rushed out from under the crates and dove past the aisle in front of you. In one glimpse, you caught the remaining silhouettes. Three on the left side, one on the right. You must’ve finished off the right side’s men. Good for you.

And then you were back racing down the second aisle, gun fire trailing your feet, the sound deafening. But you knew it wouldn’t last for long. Bullets are finite.

Deciding to skip the last aisle, you jumped past the last crate and landed behind the man by himself. He turned around alarmingly fast, but you were even faster, grabbing him by the neck and using his body as your shield from the other bullets. You thought you were doing pretty well for yourself, until a searing heat clipped your side. And then another at your legs. And another at your shoulder.

You faltered. You... got hit. And it hurt ! You would commend them if you weren’t searing with hatred . Okay okay, calm yourself. No need to be hateful. You probably deserved that one. Heck, taking on seven armed mobsters at once? Have some temperance!

And just like that, the deafening sound of bullets ceased and was replaced with the empty and useless clickings of their weaponry. You threw the lifeless body in front of you down, but was shocked to see what was in front of you.

“Monsters.” You laughed. “No wonder you sound like you're gargling an octopus.”

The leader, a monster that looked like tentacles were coming from his face, shifted at the sight of the body in front of you.

You stopped yourself. “Wait. Was that offensive? That was probably super racist... speciest? Right. Sorry.”

One of the monster grunts, this one with looking like a five foot tall rat, stuttered to himself. “R-Red Reaper.”

“Oh?” You said, delighted. “I’ve never even touched a monster gang before, and even you guys know me?”

Octopus-Throat took a hesitated step forward, a hand on his large knife on his belt. “That’s right. You’re monster friendly, right?”

“Monster friendly?” You smiled. Not like they could see, with your mask and all. “Of course! Why would I have any reason to harm you?”

You could see the relief on their shoulders. But that relief was short lived when you lunged for Octopus-Throat, a long slash across his chest. Surprisingly, without hitting any vitals, Octopus-Throat let out a sharp yell that shook the entire warehouse before disintegrating before your eyes, startling his coworkers. Guess what they say about Monsters is true. All you need is intent to kill them.

“Except, you know, the fact that you’re all rotten .”

It was an easy fight. The other two monsters had tried to run. You locked all the doors before you came in, so it wasn’t too bad of an issue. They seemed to die with one hit. They were either really weak, or maybe intent really was a scary thing for monsters. No wonder they always seem to run from you. You were just too good at your job!

But now you were facing another problem...

Piles of dust.

How were you supposed to perch these up against a wall? Should you... Draw a picture of them in the dust sitting peacefully? No, that’d be weird... And also probably offensive again. Didn’t Monster scatter the dust of their loved ones over their most prized possession? Maybe they had their prized possession on them? Maybe you should just... fold all their clothes and stuff?

You exhaled. You had no choice, that was what you were going to have to do. Maybe nobody will think it’s too lame...

#mafiatale #mobtale #so close yet...#raccoon with a book

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