#AND YOU SEE ONLY WILDLY-INJURED CIVILIANS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kariachi · 2 years

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Oh look, a commissionpiece for @thenixkat! 10.7k words for what is now the Werewolf!Richie trilogy!

Times don’t really get any easier for our poor boy.

~~~~

The life of a hunter was not glamorous, nor was it easy. Their work was hard, dangerous, and messy. Civilian attitudes veered wildly- a hunt where you were all but paraded down the street as a hero could be followed immediately after by one where naïve locals condemned you as worse than the monsters you killed. Their clients were often peculiar and unpredictable. Gear suppliers few and far between. Informants wary, mysterious.

A hunter lived and died by those informants. Most beasts were well experienced in hiding themselves, slipping carefully under the radar of the humans that lived around them. Tracking them required diligent monitoring of human and animal deaths, and even an experienced hunter may not find enough of them to support their living without concerned residents offering them places to focus their investigations.

And then, some days, all they had to do was turn on the news…

*** ***

The Foley household did not get an hour after getting Richie comfortably settled in the basement, curled whining on a bed that had housed three generations of Foley wolves, before there was knocking at their door. Luckily it wasn’t an oddly polite hunter. Nor a witch, the government, or the police. Who it was was Batman, come all the way from Gotham of all places. Maggie couldn’t have honestly told you if this was any better. Maybe if it had been Wonder Woman- they’d worked together on wolf things before, she would probably understand- but the Bat was an unknown.

Normally she would have been self-conscious having a guest, especially such an important one, in her home when she was so tired and harried, but that night, with blood awash on the streets and her son’s hands? Self-consciousness took more energy than she had to spare. It was pure luck she even managed to put out a package of cookies like a good host, even though this was Batman and he probably subsisted off justice filtered from the air like some sort of sea sponge.

“Mr. and Mrs. Foley,” the Caped Crusader said once he was settled at the dining table and had politely polished off a singular oreo. Maggie was sat across from him, but Sean refused to take a seat, instead standing by her chair. “I have some hard news about your son.” Because that didn’t raise hackles like nothing else.

“Do you now,” Sean said in a tone that was as much warning as anything else. Batman looked at him, but otherwise appeared unfazed.

“Your son is a werewolf,” he continued, only for Sean to snort harshly.

“He better be.” That fazed the man, facial expressions hard to read with the cowl but the way a second cookie smushed in his fingers and the muscles around his mouth tightened said it just as well. “He was when he went to Gotham.”

“So he was,” Batman said, slowly. “Are you aware, then, of what’s happened tonight?”

“Yes,” Maggie answered this time, pulling together so her voice was firm and back straight. “We know what happened, and that Richie is safely secure now.” And hero or no he couldn’t have pulled the ‘where’ out of her with torture. Batman sighed, just barely, and set his cookie down.

“I understand you want to protect him,” he said, “but I need you to understand that Richie is very dangerous-” She hadn’t realized her hackles could go any higher.

“Richie,” Sean growled- and though he didn’t have enough wolf to him to see through magic like she and Richie did, between his parents and his sister he could growl and howl near as well as anyone- “wasn’t a danger to anything but a rack of ribs and the occasional stray cat until we let him run off to your turf, and the cat was more likely to get the scare of its life than anything.” The Bat tensed further.

“He’s killed thirteen people and injured more.”

“And it’s not going to happen again.” Batman met her eyes, unblinking.

“You can’t assure that. I just want to suggest sending him somewhere he can be kept an eye on, where he won’t be a threat to himself or anyone else.” Channeling her cousin, Maggie maintained eye contact.

“Our families have been handling young wolves for generations,” she said, “and have had one rampage to worry about-”

“That only happened because you didn’t do your damn job,” Sean interjected.

“-I think we can manage.” More tension.

“Mrs. Foley-”

“If you want to make a fuss about it,” Sean said, and she knew his hackles were raised at least as high as hers. He was far from the best husband and father, but he was at least good enough for this. “-then you can feel free to try.” And God as her witness she was on his side. Yes, Batman was a superhero, yes, he was only looking toward the greater good, but she was a mother. One who had more information than she would ever feel comfortable giving him, after Richie had confided in her about his obvious discomfort when he’d learned her boy was a werewolf. He wanted to lock her only child up- and that was what it was, he could talk until he went blue in the face but everyone in the community could read between the lines. Given the opportunity Richie would be locked up until they found a way to ‘fix’ him or a hunter or witch stole him away.

That wasn’t about to happen. Slowly, Maggie rose to her feet, eyes still on her ‘guest’.

“I think you’ll find,” she said, “that the door is right where you left it.”

*~*

The moon is up again and he’s in the basement with the door firmly latched. His pup is with him, his dam is with him, but neither is a substitute for the open air to which he’s accustomed. To running under the moon.

He can’t run in the basement. From one wall to the other is little more than two strides, with no way to build the sort of speed that makes him feel alive. At most he can pace, back and forth and back and forth in what feels more like loops than lengths. Stop on occasion to press his nose against the cracked window, breathe in the cool night air, and whine.

“I know,” his dam says, “I’m sorry. You can’t go out tonight. Too many people are hunting.”

He knows this. People are hunting him because he was a Bad Boy. He ate too much, he hurt his pack (his tail hasn’t wagged since he became himself again and at the memory of his brother and sister on the ground it presses between his legs) he was Bad and now he’s in trouble. Now he’s hunted like prey and locked in the basement and his siblings are nowhere to be found.

He’s tempted to howl, to call them, but that would be Bad.

He’s tempted to slip deeper into the layers of his city, find a place to run and leap, but that would be Bad too.

Whining again, he plods back to his bed, worn to comfort and smelling heavily of kin, and collapses on it, laying his head in his dam’s lap. She scratches behind his ears as his pup comes and settles in beside him- stroking his fur in his best attempts at grooming- and hums an old lullaby about wolves and bears. As she does, she moves a platter of ground meat to where he can easily tuck in.

Stomach still fuller than he’s ever known, his sister’s blood behind his eye, he turns away.

*~*

“Richie?” There were many benefits to being an adult, the greatest one being that while her father’s reaction to everything that had happened the night before had shaken Sharon as badly as it had Virgil, she didn’t actually have to obey his ‘you’re grounded’ if she didn’t want to. At least not if she had a good enough reason. Leaving her free to, after a few respectful days, personally go around and check in on the kids. Though Daisy and Frieda had at least come to the door for her.

“Come on in.” Steeling herself more than she’d like to admit, Sharon nodded and slipped into the bedroom. Richie was sat at his desk, a videogame of some sort going on his computer, wearing what she had to guess was his father’s shirt. Understandably so, as the muscle he’d built up over the last month had clearly not gone anywhere and instead been joined with a nice layer of fat.

She supposed eating a street’s worth of people would do that to anybody.

Beyond that and the mildly haunted look in his eye, though, there was little sign of the things he’d done just a few nights before.

“I brought over that necklace we mentioned,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. A perfect match to the bracelet around his wrist. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Richie said, taking the necklace from her with forced casualness and putting it on as tightly and firmly as was possible. “Mom wants me to stay where she can keep an eye on me for a few days more, but other than that...” Sharon raised a brow. It wasn’t abnormal for him to not sleep well over the full moon, but the dark circles under his eyes still didn’t speak to ‘fine’.

“I’m a counselor, Richie, no lying to me.”

The two stared each other down for a long moment, Sharon blindly stepping over to pat BackPack when the machine whirred at them. Richie, tired as he was, broke first, slumping with a sigh and faint smile.

“I put my two best friends in the hospital, killed a load of people, and haven’t really slept since before we fought those worms.” A quiet, forced laugh. “Been a bit of a week.” Yeah, it had, for all of them. She’d preferred to think of it as little as possible. With a sigh of her own, she pulled him into a hug that was as much for herself as him.

She could’ve very easily lost both her brothers that night, and much like her father she wasn’t sure what she’d have done had it happened.

“It’s all over now,” she said as he held her back. “Just keep the necklace or the bracelet on-”

“Oh, I’m wearing them both forever now.”

“-while we figure out a way to actually fix this. Until then-” She pulled back with a supportive smile. “-I’m going to get your mom to make you some cocoa and a good meal-” Something twinged across his face, but she let it pass. It had been a bit of a week, after all. “-and then you’re going to get some sleep. Okay?” Richie nodded.

“Okay. Thanks, Sharon.” They both knew it was for a million things, from still looking out for him to bringing the necklace and everything he’d apologized for over shock vox. She just nodded.

“It’s nothing.” Flashing a smile, she reached into her pockets again. “But, whenever you feel up to it, there’s a favor we’d like to ask you…”

*~*

There was nothing that distracted from nasty memories like work, any work, so Richie was more than happy to take an hour or so to sit down, BackPack in his lap and a bowl of pasta by his side, and modify the communicators they’d all gotten from the League.

Batman hadn’t shown up at anybody else’s house yet, presumably because even in this sort’ve situation you didn’t just risk outing somebody’s secret identity, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made attempts to contact the rest of the team.

They’d all feel better not picking up calls if he had his own ringtone to avoid.

*** ***

Dakota was a mess. The young man at his motel who had, with a smile, handed him maps and guides and a list of nearby restaurants had given only praise for the city, but he was a local and Armel was a professional. He knew a monster when he stepped into it and the city of Dakota, with its hour drive of abandoned warehouse district and advice to pull over and wait three minutes if he ran into a sudden dead end, was a monster filled with monsters. Especially in the last few years. He’d had an inkling as he’d done his research, but now that he was here, he was certain a more generalized hunter could make the place their life’s work. A whole team maybe.

But he was a specialist and would be gone as soon as he’d cleared up and processed their little werewolf problem.

There were at least four. He had evidence of three, from various news reports, but his parents had taught him that there were always more wolves than your first count gave you. Informants, the news, often only caught wind of the least cautious, and you could rest assured that there would be more who were better at hiding behind them.

Finally bringing his van to a stop outside his motel room, after seven dead ends and at least three turns that shouldn’t have been wrong, Armel set to work unloading the newspapers and security footage he’d managed to get his hands on while he took in the lay of the land. Step one of a hunt, after all, was always to figure out precisely where you could find your prey.

*** ***

For the first time in his life, Richie was eating a green bean. He wasn’t normally the sort for green food- green was the color of mold and clearly that was a sign- especially not fucking green beans, but desperate times called for desperate measures and these times were nothing if not desperate.

The hunger that had been a background noise to his entire life, not so strong as to do him ill but as much a steady thrum as his own heartbeat, had come back full force after only a few days. Unfortunately, so had his instinctual craving for meat, no matter that even the sight of a steak made a pained whine rise unbidden in his throat. Chicken tasted like hot red blood in his mouth. If he shut his eyes, he could swear he was back on the street with his teeth in a woman’s throat.

He'd spent an hour on the phone with his grandmother that morning, trying to figure out why. This hadn’t happened after his first transformation, and he’d eaten an innocent man then. Yeah, he’d yearned for some produce afterwards, but it’d only taken at most an hour to turn right back around to his beloved meat. Their best guess, in the end, was a sheer matter of scale. Before he had never done more than toy with crowds, nip and play. To suddenly go to full scale slaughter? Even if it had been normal behavior, rather than brought on by presumed illness, the change would have had an impact on him.

Whatever the case, his body seemed not to have gotten the memo that meat was no longer a good option, and the crunch of frozen vegetables was- not a good substitute for the urge to chew a bone, but about what he was getting.

*~*

“Well,” Richie said with forced levity as he sat down in his normal spot at the lunch table, “if I had a social life before we can safely say it’s gone now.” All the tables around theirs were barren of any sign of life or use, with all the rest of the cafeteria crammed tight with students who clearly did not want to be anywhere near him.

“Don’t worry, Rich,” Virgil tried and failed to sooth him, “things’ll calm down. It’ll be fine.” Richie very, very much doubted that. From the moment he’d walked back into the school people had kept their distance, even ‘subtly’ trying to move their desks aside during class. Eyeing him with suspicion and fear when they thought he wouldn’t notice. Worse, eyeing Frieda and Virgil with pity as it became clear that they were still hanging out with him. Her less than him- you could mostly hide a concussion, but a broken arm was pretty obvious.

“I think there’s maybe three people who believe he was kidnapped,” Frieda said. “Everyone else is certain he’s a werewolf.” Fighting to keep his shoulders from tensing, Richie shoved a handful of fries into his mouth and worried the amulet around his neck with his other hand.

“Everyone,” he asked as incredulously as he could. Just because people thought he was a werewolf was no reason to admit it in public. Daisy shrugged.

“You were showing all the stereotypical signs,” she said. “There’s not a lot of people who don’t at least know somebody who likes werewolf media, they recognize the tropes.”

“Maybe if you’d come back to school sooner-”

“Or thinner.”

“-leave him be, Virgil. Maybe if you’d come back sooner the rumors wouldn’t have gotten the time to stew, but right now this is what we’re dealing with.” The frown on Frieda’s face said she probably didn’t believe it herself, and neither did Richie. The rumors weren’t baseless, after all. Knowing about them now, he couldn’t even blame people for wanting to avoid him. If this had been happening to someone else last year, he probably would’ve been wary too. And he had eaten like a dozen people.

It was really fucking messed up.

“Like I said, my social life is officially dead.”

*~*

The less said about his attempt to apologize to Russ for his behavior- about his tight smile, about his forced laugh- the better.

It stuck like a knife in the gut.

*** ***

The first wolf was a breeze to figure out. Armel had just had to find the first news article to mention them, and then comb through the rest for any mention of their name. Each time he found one, he noted down the area they were seen. Then it had been a simple matter of grabbing a map of Dakota and marking off all the sightings to figure out a general territory. He’d also looked into the family, but all reports seemed to agree that the wolf was one of those ‘Bang Babies’ that infested the place, and a weekend stakeout had provided no evidence otherwise, so he set any concerns about them aside. He had their names and their address; he could always check again when he was done.

The others were more trouble. One of them had gone on a little killing spree the year before, tearing through pets, zoo animals, and one unfortunate civilian, but since had only been seen occasionally loping about side streets and alleyways. The other had only appeared the once, not seen any of the other nights of the moon and with no more victims found. There was, as suspected, no video that he could find that showed any transformations, and neither had had any scars or accessories he could pick out on the footage that could be used to track a human shape. Worse, the patterns of sightings and attacks were all over the place, with no obvious paths or territory to focus his attention on. But Armel was a professional, and he was certain that with more digging he would find a lead on at least one of them. There was the risk that, like the first one, these were also both Bang Babies and so there would be no connection to pull on and find the greater community in the area- there was one, he always found one- but even so.

Until then, however, there was still plenty he could do. With a huff and a heave, he swung a crate of hook traps into the back of his van, all freshly cleaned and sharpened, shoving it back between a box of hardware and the brightly-colored pup traps. A big cooler of chicken quarters followed, carefully secured before he slammed the door shut, sealing it with a padlock.

If nothing else, it seemed like you didn’t have to wait on the moon to go a-trapping around here.

*** ***

“Daisy! Freida!” The pair stopped on their way to the doors at the end of the day, turning to watch Carmen Fonseca run up the hall their way. A nice enough girl, if a little self-important. She all but skidded to a stop in front of them, shoving out her hands with a smile. “I made these for you!”

A quick look and Frieda felt her mouth twist in a frown. A pair of butter knives, painstakingly bent into loops that matched the spoon around Carmen’s wrist.

“Thanks, Carmen,” Daisy said far more politely than Freida felt, “but we’re good.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Carmen countered, eyes flicking to Freida’s head. Her ire kicked into a higher gear.

“Just because the rest of you have gone paranoid doesn’t mean we have,” she said. Already she’d been annoyed, right from when Richie came back to school and most everyone had avoided him like the plague. Then, not even a few days later, people had started showing up kitted out in all the silver they could get their hands on. She knew for a fact a few of their classmates had mugged people for jewelry.

The good news was that eventually it had given people the confidence to stop maintaining a six-foot gap between them and her friend whenever possible. The bad news was that Richie was having one hell of a time getting around without hurting himself or letting on he actually couldn’t touch the silver.

Nobody wanted to know what would happen if the rumors got that sort of fuel.

Scowling, Carmen dropped her hands, going to put the ‘bracelets’ back into her bag.

“When Richie eats you,” she said admonishingly, “I won’t feel bad. I’ve done what I can.” They watched silently as she, with a small huff, shoved passed them and walked out the big front doors. Freida shook her head.

“Remind me to never do her a favor again in my life.” Heaving a sigh, Daisy readjusted her hold on her backpack and headed out.

“No problem.”

*~*

Richie may as well have not been eating at all, for how his stomach was acting. It didn’t matter how many carbs, eggs, cheese, vegetables he threw at it, that gnawing hunger refused to soothe back to it’s normal undercurrent. He could all but hear a refrain of ‘meat’ in his head, the smell of it at dinner and in the lunchroom as alluring as it was off-putting.

A yearning as deep as the pit in his stomach and the guilt in his heart.

*~*

A week and a half after The Event and nobody had seen Richie eat a meat product. If this had been one of the girls, or even Virgil, that wouldn’t have been a big deal, but this was Richard Foley, who they’d all assumed was required to eat at least three hamburger patties a day lest God strike him down.

None of them could bring themselves to mention it though. Daisy and Sharon had watched him eat a man, and while they would never say it, they were kind of happy not to see him tear into anything more visceral than an onion ring. Virgil still keenly remembered teeth bared in his face while he struggled to breathe. Frieda had the least trauma there, and still it had only taken seeing the look on Richie’s face when offered half a burger- yearning, disgust, hunger, pain- once to break her heart and do

Nothing.

*~*

Static lays on the ground beneath him, pinned with long clawed hands. His breathing is shallow, bones cracking one by one under his weight. Blood bubbles from his mouth, just as it did from his sisters’, and Richie knows it’s not enough. Not enough blood, not enough meat, and he’s so so hungry that it’s easy to lean down for a bite

Richie woke to a mouth full of sharp teeth, an endless whine in his throat, and BackPack’s worried prodding. A jolt of fear and disgust shot up his spine as the remnants of his nightmare, blood and meat and pack, swirled into the dark depths of his mind. His jaw clamped shut, he yanked BackPack close to him, curling as tight as he could against the comfort of whirring gears and clicks as he tried to force back his teeth and a whimper.

His stomach growled.

*~*

The more time passed, the more he started itching again.

Richie’s first instinct when he’d noticed had been to panic. After all, the whole last month preceding his rampage had been marked with constant itching of the scar still sat over his shoulder. This wasn’t so centralized, however, which was a relief for about as long as it took to remember that it was also the main symptom of his transformations. Lo and behold, a few checks showed patches of fur, long teeth, claws, all trying to work their way out when the itching started.

He panicked all over again.

*~*

“Okay,” Daisy said, slumped on the couch and silently wondering if they were ever going to stop having Richie issues, “so you’re transforming just, whenever?”

“Only a little bit,” Richie said like that made it better, then dropped the act. “I’m not sure why, this hasn’t happened before.”

“Maybe it’s another witch thing,” Virgil suggested. “Have you smelled anything weird lately?”

“No.” Richie shook his head. “Everything’s been as normal as it ever is in Dakota.”

“That’s not exactly a high bar.” She had to agree with Freida. Neither of them had ever been out of the state, but they engaged with media from elsewhere and…

Two weeks and the werewolf rampage wasn’t even a footnote in the news anymore.

“We should probably keep an eye out anyway,” Sharon said. “Better safe than sorry.” Everyone nodded their agreement. After all, if this was more witch stuff then it was entirely possible this one was using different spells than the last.

“Either way,” Virgil said, “we may wanna see if we can safely solder those amulets on.” Snorting humorlessly, Richie flashed a grin and waggled the wrist with the bracelet.

“I’m way ahead of you, Virg.”

*** ***

He blamed Dakota itself for the issues he was having. Not a single one of his traps had caught this damn wolf yet. In fact, so far all they had caught was dogs. Big, identical dogs that he kept having to shoot so he could just get on with clean up. Not like he had to worry about maintaining a salable skin, the damn things’ ragged hides weren’t worth the time they’d take to remove. Meant a nearly free source of bait meat though, so at least it wasn’t all a wash.

‘Still’, he thought as he stuffed trap and dog both into a waterproof sack, tying it shut, ‘it’d be nice to hear an alarm and have an actual fucking catch.’ It didn’t help that he felt like he might finally have found a lead on those other two wolves. A kid had disappeared around the time they each popped up, same one both times. Might have been an adolescent they’d been teaching, and if so that meant those two were probably of the same pack, found in the same area. It was worth looking into, but first he’d hoped to have this one’s skin and fat stored away for processing. Hunting unrelated wolves at the same time could be an absolute bear.

Heaving a sigh as he tossed the sack into the back of his van, shutting and locking the doors, Armel shook his head and started for the driver’s side.

If he wanted to get this done before the wolves caught on, he was going to have use the hands-on approach here.

*** ***

They changed where they normally sat in the lunchroom. Ostensibly they picked a new corner spot so that Richie didn’t have to deal with people side-eyeing him through lunch, his friends now a full barrier between him and the rest of the rest of the school. Functionally, he was able to actually eat when there was a lower risk of somebody noticing that he had claws half the time.

*~*

“Had lunch with some of the guys from the west end. Apparently they’ve been finding pools of blood out in the Dockside District,” his dad said during dinner one night, to he and his mom’s surprise both.

“Pools,” she asked.

“Pools. Lab came back this morning saying they’re dog but, has to have been some big fucking dogs. Hewitt says it looked like somebody’d bled the damn things out.” Richie kept his eyes on his salad, already tasting like ashes in his mouth before the topic had changed. Dog sounded far too good in that moment.

“Do they have any idea who did it?”

“Not a clue. All they’ve know is whoever it was loaded them into some sort’ve vehicle and they wear a size ten boot.” His mom shook her head with a tight frown.

“That’s horrible.”

“Yep,” his dad said, “some sick people out there. What the fuck would you even need all those dogs for, they found at least ten pools.” Stomach rumbling loudly, Richie shook his head and changed the subject.

*~*

Unsurprisingly Richie got into five different confrontations once the ‘dead dogs’ news trickled fully into the school. Physical violence was thankfully avoided, but only because three times he’d been with Virgil and the girls and had numbers advantage, and the other two the ever-popular Joey Bombura had helpfully reminded everyone involved they needed to get to class and escorted people himself. After all, who in their school was going to fight him about it?

The way his blood started pumping whenever he was challenged, Richie was more than grateful for the help.

*~*

“Gear?” Only halfway through the fight did the others notice that their friend had just, stopped in midair. Out of the way, thankfully, but still odd behavior to put it lightly. Enough so for Hurricane to abandon the conflict- not like the other girls couldn’t handle it for a minute or two- to fly over and check on him. “Gear? Are you okay?” She put a hand on his shoulder, reeling back when he started like a spooked deer.

“Hurricane?” Eyes torn from their opponent- yet another newly public Bang Baby who’d figured out how to weaponize walking on anything- he faced her, breathing heavily, muscles tense.

“Are you okay,” Hurricane repeated, a twisting worry in her gut. Slowly, Gear nodded.

“Yeah,” he said haltingly, “yeah. Just… I think I should probably bow out today.” Well, that did nothing to help her concern. Still, Hurricane nodded.

“Okay. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”

*~*

“Did you read in the paper,” Frieda asked at lunch one day, “Jaron Coombs got shot last night.”

“Who,” Virgil asked, echoing the first word in Daisy’s head.

“Wolfboy,” Richie said.

“Oohhh, him, okay. What happened?”

“More importantly,” Daisy cut in, “who’s ‘wolfboy’? I thought we only had Richie?”

“He’s a Bang Baby,” Virgil explained, “tried to go on a rampage pretty much immediately. Then Hotstreak lit him on fire, and he’s mostly kept a low profile ever since.”

“You’ve got to give him that at least,” Richie said. “There aren’t too many people around here who figure out they’re outclassed and decide to just keep themselves to themselves.”

“Nobody’s really sure what happened,” Frieda said. “Some old lady found him curled up under her porch, took him to the hospital. He’s still there.”

“Well,” Daisy said, “I hope he recovers alright.”

She didn’t mention the niggling in her gut that some paranoid local may have mistaken him for Richie. They probably all were thinking it anyway.

*~*

“You’d think ‘The World’s Greatest Detective’ could take a fucking hint. Why is he still calling us?”

“Do you think the Justice League has a complaints department we can get in touch with?”

“I’m beginning to hope. Wonder Woman would take us seriously about it, I’m sure.”

*~*

Richie was so fucking hungry…

*~*

He’d begged off lunch, even though it visibly sent up about every red flag in the world for his friends. Still, they’d let him go, begrudgingly accepting his list of excuses as to why he needed to hit the library up that day and why he couldn’t go after school and why they totally should just go and have lunch themselves he’d be fine don’t worry about it. They were going to worry about it, and he felt guilty, but that was no change from his new norm and

And he couldn’t do the lunchroom right now.

Not when he could smell all that meat, right there. Not when it made him itch- and it was definitely that making him itch. He hadn’t been able to admit it when the theory first came to mind- not while he still couldn’t handle eating the stuff and god had he tried- but the longer this went on the more he knew it in his rumbling gut. Especially now the scent left him about ready to vault a table and sink his teeth into whatever fleshy bits he found. Better to go the empty library and keep himself busy until they could all sit down and talk about it. Keep himself distracted from his stoma-

“Richie, man, I was wondering where you were. You never skip lunch.”

Alarm bells started going in his chest as Richie looked up from the book he was hardly managing to pay attention to to see one Joey Bombura crossing the room with a smile. They weren’t necessarily friends, but they’d always been friendly, willing to lend each other a hand if needed, and even as the school descended into werewolf paranoia the other boy had never been one of the ones eyeing him like he’d bite. Never worn silver (not even a little charm-)

“Hey Joey,” Richie said with a pasted on smile, resisting the urge to scratch the itch creeping up his spine. “Yeah, got a full day so, only time I’ve got for the library.” Joey nodded as he reached him, a wall of teen that would’ve felt like it was looming had he been anyone but himself (so much meat-), holding out his fist companionably.

“Do you need some company,” he asked as Richie mirrored the action, stomach roaring (meat-), hands itching (meat!)

His lunge stops short, jaw snapping shut over open air. Joey’s sudden grip on his shoulders is tight, sleeves catching under his claws as he tries to dig in, rip it away.

“Richie, Richie relax!” He strains harder against the hold, teeth yearning for a throat they can almost reach-

Joey walks backward, dragging him with him. His arms are locked, holding Richie at a constant distance as he checks the hall and pulls him into it. This doesn’t stop Richie’s struggles, snapping, snarling, clawing and kicking at him in an attempt to get close enough to bite, kill, eat, he’s so hungry- The third door down the hall is nudged open, and Richie unceremoniously tossed inside. He goes to spin around, lunge again as the door slams shut

Something squeals.

Like a switch Richie turns towards the back of the room, sniffing for the source of the sound. A big glass tank, a fuzzy little thing running in circles, terrified by the sudden appearance of a new predator in its vicinity. His chase instinct kicks in.

In a flash his head is in the tank, snapping once as the critter bolts away. There’s not enough space to avoid him though, not when he has two hands to snatch and teeth to snap. Quickly it’s crunching in his jaw. Hot blood, soft flesh, crunchy bone. He doesn’t normally eat all of his prey but he’s been so hungry for so long and soon his hands are empty, his stomach beginning to settle as he licks them clean-

“Richie? That better?” He froze, every muscle going tense as Joey’s hand fell onto his shoulder and his human mind clicked back into place.

He just ate Mr. Thornton’s guinea pig. In front of Joey.

He just tried to eat Joey.

“Oh god,” Richie groaned, pulling away and sinking against the back cabinets, guts twisting as he hit the floor. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- I wouldn’t- I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Joey said, still smiling as he knelt beside to him. “No harm, no foul.”

“I tried to eat you!”

“But you didn’t.”

“Because you shoved me at a guinea pig!”

“And I’d do it again.” Looking at him, Richie could only stare. Clearly being cute, strong, and personable was all that was keeping this boy alive, because he apparently had no survival instinct. “Are you still hungry? They’ve got those riblet sandwiches in the lunchroom today.”

“No, thanks,” he forced out, thumping his head against the cabinet behind him, willing away claws and teeth with effort. His heart and gut couldn’t take it. Not after everything, and now a guinea pig. Nearly a classmate! Joey nodded calmly.

“Okay.”

*~*

There were only so many things you could hide from your team. Or, more to say, only so many things you could keep quiet about. So long you could keep you’re here-to-fore unproven theories to yourself. Especially when they already had gotten up your butt more than once about not talking to them about shit you were dealing with. He’d been pushing that line for days.

So, that afternoon, when the team met up pre-patrol, Richie flopped down on the couch with a tight smile and confessed.

“I almost ate Joey Bombura today.”

The rest of the team froze, turning towards him slowly.

“Say that again, Rich? I seem to have gone deaf.”

“I almost ate Joey, at lunch today. He came looking for me when I didn’t show up to eat and…”

“Does he know you almost ate him,” Sharon asked, with the sensibility and foresight that came with being the only adult in the building. He nodded slowly.

“It… it was really, really obvious.” Surely straight up admitting to trying to rip a guy’s throat out with his teeth wasn’t necessary, they wouldn’t make him do that. “He’s not hurt.” They also surely wouldn’t make him admit to eating Mindy. Mr. Thornton’s afternoon classes had all been cancelled after he found his beloved class pet nothing but a small puddle of blood-soaked bedding, and even thinking of his reaction was like a spike through the heart.

“Ah.” Daisy collapsed beside him, staring straight ahead. “So, he knows the werewolf thing for sure now.”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “I think he’s cool though. Literally said ‘no harm no foul’ once I came back to my senses.”

“I knew there was a reason I voted for him,” Frieda said, plopping down on his other side. “Is there a particular reason you tried to eat him? Normally you’re very… Puppy.” Chewing his lip, he glanced around at everyone, watching him with concern and curiosity.

“I was hungry,” he settled on. “I was so hungry and he was just, so much meat in one spot and unprotected.” Besides his own strength which, thank god for that. The others glanced between themselves guiltily, which did nothing for his own regret.

“So, avoiding meat has been a bad thing for you then,” Frieda said more than asked, and Richie cringed. Logically he’d known they had to have noticed his change in diet, but nobody had said anything and he’d let himself hope- Hope that he wouldn’t cause them any more worry than he normally did. (Bad boy-)

“We should’ve known,” Virgil muttered. “He’s a fucking werewolf, of course he needs to be eating meat!” He collapsed into one of the other chairs with a huff and a guilty frown, Daisy leaning over to pat his good arm.

“Okay, yeah, we probably should’ve accepted it was a problem, but nobody is hurt and we can handle it now.” She turned her attention back Richie’s way. “Why haven’t you been eating meat, if you need it?”

The room went quiet. There were a million things Richie could’ve said. He could’ve lied. He could’ve told them everything. He could’ve downplayed things. He could’ve dropped a flashbang, jumped over Frieda, and booked it home never to bring this up again. It took what felt like forever for him to make a decision that didn’t pull at the dark spots in his brain too much.

“You,” he finally said, “try eating fourteen people and see how looking at a hamburger makes you feel for the next few weeks.”

“That,” Sharon said, kneeling down and putting a hand on his knee as the others looked anywhere but at him, “is perfectly understandable. It was a bad experience for all of us and you were the one right in the middle. But, if going without is going to mess with your control like this, we’re going to have to figure out a way to get you passed it.”

Richie nodded slowly. He knew that, he really did. But that didn’t make it better. Didn’t make the smell of meat excite and disgust him any less, or the taste bring back any better memories. Maybe, he could just let the change take over for a bit? He’d eaten the guinea pig fine (meat-) But then could he trust, in that state, that he wouldn’t try to eat a person again? That wasn’t a chance he wanted to take.

“I think, first of all, we should probably take him off patrol,” Frieda said, looking his way. “No offense, but, I think all five of us would feel better if you weren’t getting riled up right now.”

“No, no, I get it.” He nodded, a little relieved somebody else had brought up the option. “I totally understand.”

“So, we try to get him eating meat again,” Virgil said, “and you girls handle things on your own in the meanwhile. That’s totally doable.”

“And, we make sure he’s not going around alone anymore,” Daisy added. “I’m glad Joey’s okay, but someone else might not be so lucky.”

“I’ll have a talk with your mom,” Sharon said, “maybe she can figure out some ways to sneak meat into your diet without setting off your trauma.” Fuck, she was right but hearing it called that burned. “Meanwhile, you and I can see if we can talk you through this. Set up some meetings when we’ve got time. Okay?” Still, Richie nodded again, making himself smile wider. Anything to not hurt anybody again.

“Okay. Thanks, guys.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

*** ***

The fucking wind had changed. At the last minute, just as Armel’d lined up his shot, the goddamn wind had shifted right around and left him upwind. He’d still tried to take the shot, of course, but the wolf had known he was there and bolted as soon as they glimpsed the flash of metal. The bullet hadn’t even lodged, going through the back of a leg and winding up embedded in the wall of the building behind them, and there’d been no chance he was going to catch up with them, even with the injury.

He'd hoped for another chance, but some moron had found and moved them to a hospital, and the reward wasn’t worth the risk of having to fight through a bunch of innocent, idiot civilians.

So, he’d been forced to move on to the other lot. Taken a few days to scope out the home of that potential adolescent, look at the neighborhood. He was pretty sure he had a pack going there. There was some wolf scent, and a look around the property when it was empty had found claw marks at the back of the foundation that lined up well with a digging wolf. It was a relief after the shitshow on the west end, to have this part come together so easily.

Now he just needed to find a good spot to lay some traps, where no kids or anything would run into them, and hopefully things would be golden.

*** ***

“Seriously, man, who designs these fitness tests? I’m a werewolf and those sprints left me out of breath.”

“You sure it’s not just that you still haven’t dropped that weight,” Virgil laughed, poking him in the little remaining pudge around his middle. Richie bit back the urge to playfully swat him with his own backpack.

“I’m still at over ten more pounds of muscle than you, Virg, I’m allowed some fat!”

Idly, he wondered if he’d have kept more of the fat on if he’d kept up eating meat or if the amount of cheese and eggs he’d tried to replace the protein with should’ve managed that on its own. He’d have asked in their health class but, it was only two days after the great guinea pig ‘vanishing’ (meat, meat-) and he wasn’t ready to look Mr. Thornton in the eye like that.

He was still avoiding the lunchroom, the brief taste of meat having seemingly put a sharp edge on his cravings. Instead, he was continuing to spend lunch in the library, and the rest of his team had begun skipping as well in solidarity and to make sure nobody got eaten. Joey had been joining them, had even brought an extra hamburger (meat-) the day before in an attempt to keep Richie fed, though he’d come empty handed that day, after being told having meat there might do more harm than good. He’d even offered to fill the role of walking him home once they, giving in to the fact that he was already in on the werewolf thing, gave him a brief- heroless- run down on the situation, but been politely informed the position was filled.

The fact it was filled by Virgil was a point of contention. Not with Joey, he was cool, but Sharon’s big sister instincts were screaming at her. After all, while Virgil was pack, and just as powerful as the rest of them, he was also the most grievously injured. Concussions could take a while to heal, yes, but broken bones took longer. Sharon had insisted that this meant he was in greater danger if Richie got desperate enough to forget he was pack, Virgil had been indignant about the idea that he couldn’t protect himself from his bestfriend, there’d been furious debate over whether Richie even could get that desperate without outside influence- In the end everyone had been forced to agree that, since they were the two currently not doing the hero thing, it was the most convenient option, and the risk to Virgil himself was low, so Sharon was outvoted.

“If you’re not careful, Rich, you’re gonna start looking like your dad, and how are you gonna find a man then?” Oh, were it not for those busted ribs (meat-)

“I’ll have you know there are plenty of guys out there-” He paused for a moment on the sidewalk as a sharp, metallic scent hit his nose (meat, meat, meat-) then shook his head clear. “There are plenty of guys who are into fat dudes.” Virgil stopped short when he did, worry creasing his face and lips twisting down.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, waving the matter off as best he could with his hands full. “Somebody got back from the butcher or something” (meat, meat, meat, meat-) “I’m, I’m fine.” For obvious reasons, Virgil didn’t look convinced.

“Come on, let’s get your butt home.”

Richie didn’t know that he was convinced either, especially as they started back off, at double the pace, and the scent only got stronger (meat, meat, meat-). Enough to set him itching, shifting their backpacks in an attempt to scratch. No dice. The closer they got to home the stronger the scent was- red meat, bloody, dog, it shouldn’t have smelled so appetizing it was dog (meat, meat, meat, meat, meat-) and the fiercer the itching. He picked up speed again, Virgil jumping to keep pace, as he tried and failed to force the transformation back, clothes shortening, teeth shifting, pants too tight

“Richie? Come on, just a one more block, we can play videogames or fetch or something, you just have to-” Their backpacks hit the ground and he’s running.

It feels so good to run in the open air after those days locked up. To stretch his legs and howl to the bright, blue sky. Bone-aching hunger is all that keeps him from running laps around the neighborhood, the bright metal scent of blood and flesh calling like a siren’s song, over fences and through yards. Even the wind’s shifting back and forth can’t deter him, too late and slow to hide his heading. The call brings him to an empty house, one of the hundreds of abandoned buildings that litter every inch of his city, the doors and windows open wide.

He beelines for the meat, a pile of furry pieces sitting in the kitchen, up against the oven, and skids to a halt in front of it, horking down great mouthfuls before he’s even stopped moving. Not the most marvelous thing he’s eaten, that’s the little squeaker that’d come after weeks of all-but nothing, but certainly the next best thing. Warm meat, soft and bloody, the itch of fur a pleasant addition, sliding down his gullet in big chunks. This, this is what he’s been needing all this time, why had he ever stopped

A chunk of silver lodges in his throat.

*~*

It always took a little while to group up for patrol. The entire team had different things they had to deal with after school or work, and so generally never ended up going directly to the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude (and now that they had it to themselves for the next while the girls were considering changing the name while they couldn’t be outvoted under ‘we were here first’ law). But they did generally end up getting there at about the same time, more often than not walking in as a single unit.

Meaning every active member was there at once to find their current least favorite hero standing ominously in a corner.

They all tensed.

“Batman,” Sharon led, as the eldest, “what brings you here?”

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” he said.

“Really? Nothing’s come through on our end,” Frieda lied through her teeth.

“Maybe the communicators aren’t working,” Daisy offered. “I mean Static’s all electricity all the time, he might have shorted them.”

“Maybe.”

“This is important,” he cut in firmly, eyes narrowed at them.

“Important enough to catch us out of costume,” Sharon countered. She was fairly certain there was some sort of code about respecting secret identities. But then, this was Batman, he’d probably known who they all were before even meeting them.

“I’ve been maintaining surveillance around the Foley home,” he said like all three of them weren’t going to immediately have their hackles raised to the ceiling.

“Hold on,” Daisy said, “you’ve been spying on one of our team?!”

“Only outdoor cameras, nothing in the home,” he said. It didn’t make it better, but he continued before any of them could say anything. “I noticed this.” He pulled out a picture and held it out for them. Frieda caught it in a gust of wind to bring closer- it showed an old brown van, nondescript, uninteresting.

“Okay, and...” she asked.

“That van was stopped on their block four days in a row. Always on a different street. During this time, a man inspected the property while Mrs. Foley was out. Prior to this the van came up on multiple cameras in the Dockside District.” Where those puddles of dog blood had been found. And, fuck, hadn’t that one wolfy Bang Baby gotten shot out there…? “I’ve checked across the city and there’s no sign of it in Dakota prior to the last full moon.”

Sharon could all but hear pieces clicking into place for the girls, same as they did for her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“Someone’s hunting werewolves,” she said faintly. Batman nodded.

“I think so.” He didn’t even finish the words before Sharon had her shock vox out, putting out a call. She couldn’t let the boys run around not knowing this. Fuck, they’d had enough going on- picking up Virgil’s slack, poking at leads for fixing Richie, figuring out what was wrong with Richie now- they’d never given the mess out there a second thought, considered that it might be a werewolf thing, or that whoever was behind it might gun for Richie…

“Virgil,” she started as soon as he picked up, but got no further.

“Richie got a scent! He bolted!”

Fuck.

“Find him, now! We’ll be right there!”

*~*

Shoving his shock vox back his pocket, Virgil flew as fast as he could in the direction Richie had run, cursing his broken arm. Getting the Static Saucer out of his bag with one hand was more difficult than he’d like at the best of times, and Richie was fast enough like this that he was left to scan from the air for signs of his passage. Torn up yards, scratched up fences, a swing set still going. Thankfully Richie had never been a wolf to hide his tracks, and it wasn’t difficult to trail him to an old house, the door wide open.

Virgil nearly fell off the saucer in his haste when he flew low to investigate only to hear banging and gurgling whines.

“Richie!” He didn’t even think to be wary as he charged inside, nearly tripping over his own feet. Something was clearly wrong, and once again they were not losing him!

Though it may have been a near thing.

Following the noise led him directly to the home’s kitchen and far more blood than he ever would have liked. There was a pile of raw meat on the floor, but more pressing was Richie, thrashing about, whining and hacking. Blood poured from his mouth as he strained, fighting, against a chain running from the oven into his throat. For a good three seconds Virgil’s heart didn’t beat.

“Richie,” he cried, running to his side and trying to get a hand on him as he rolled and clawed. “It’s gonna be okay, man, it’s gonna be fine! Just gotta be a good boy and calm down for me-” The whine that came out of him, bloody and agonized, tore right through Virgil’s heart. “-come on, just a bit so I can help, please.”

No dice. Richie was very clearly in pain and panicking, neither of which Virgil could blame him for. Instead he turned his attention to the chain, wrapping his good hand around it and trying to yank it free. If he got lucky, then working together they could do it and then Richie would calm down. But this clearly wasn’t his day. The whole thing was slick with blood, both Richie’s and whatever poor animal had been dismembered for the trap, and he couldn’t get a grip.

Virgil threw out every curse he could think of as he gave up. He might have to wait for the girls, if Richie lasted that long.

“Fucking finally!” Spinning in place, Virgil saw a large man stood outside the open window.

“Who are you,” he demanded as the pit of his stomach fell out. Wasn’t hard to guess that this was the work of some sort of hunter, but the seeming confirmation, and that they were right there, certainly did nothing to help anything.

“Was beginning to think this city would fuck me over completely,” the man muttered, ignoring him completely in favor of eying Richie. “Rangy thing, but the pelt’s pretty enough.” Lips pulling back in a deep scowl, Virgil surged to his feet, sparking heavily as he sidestepped a thrash from poor Richie.

“The pelt’s off limits,” he said, forcing himself not to growl it even as the image of Richie’s skinned hide hanging on somebody’s wall sank itself into his brain. Finally, the man looked at him, eyeing him up with an unimpressed frown.

“Of course you’re a fucking Bang Baby,” he said, shaking his head, “because a ‘good samaritan’ civilian wouldn’t be annoying enough to deal with… Whole city’s fucking infested, swear to god…” As he grumbled, he took a few steps back, raising a rifle Virgil hadn’t seen.

Practice as a hero had Virgil acting before his brain fully processed the weapon, letting off a blast of electricity that shattered the window and sent the hunter diving to the side and out of sight. A string of annoyed curses came through on the breeze, fading quickly as the man seemingly ran off, though who knew for how long. Virgil’s first instinct was to go out after him, but another, weaker whine pulled him back to the whole of the situation. The idea of leaving Richie bleeding out alone wasn’t one he could entertain, not for a minute, especially not now.

But there was a man with a gun outside looking to kill them, and he had to do something. Glancing frantically about for something, anything he could use, Virgil found himself putting his powers to use moving the fridge in front of the broken window, and a busted old dish cabinet in front of one of the two passages into the room. That left only one weak point in his patchwork defense, and he made sure to face it as he dropped to his knees beside Richie again.

“Come on, Rich, work with me, I know it hurts but you need to let me help.” His thrashing was weaker as he wore himself out and lost more blood, and with every heartbeat Virgil’s worry heightened, that it may be too late before he could get Richie still enough to find and fix the problem.

A crash rang outside that certainly didn’t help matters, not when he didn’t know who or what he was dealing with, or if the man had back-up, what he was doing out there-

“Virgil?! Richie?!” At no point in his life had he ever been so happy to hear his sister yelling, or the thump of shoes on carpet.

“In here!” Sharon rounded the turn to the kitchen fast enough to overshoot the entrance and have to readjust. “I can’t get him still!” Immediately she nodded and took the cue, using her powers to hold Richie firmly to the floor. It didn’t do anything about the heart wrenching whines, but with the thrashing stopped wholesale they had a proper chance to work.

“We’ve got a hunter gearing up out there, Batman and the girls are handling him,” she said as she dropped down at Richie’s other side and, seeing the chain, wrenched his mouth open. The name ‘Batman’ raised Virgil’s hackles, but he had bigger things to worry about right now than what the man would say or do. Without an ounce of hesitation he shoved his hand into Richie’s mouth, feeling down the chain into his throat, muttering ‘good boy’s all the while. Something was down there, angular and sharp inside a tattered piece of meat, and he set immediately to carefully easing it free and out.

He didn’t even look at it, tossing it aside carelessly in favor of pulling Richie’s head into his lap.

“There we go, you’re gonna be okay now, the nasty thing’s gone,” he said, breaths coming heavy and heart going a mile a minute at the close call. Richie continued to whine, but his tail faintly wagged as Sharon stuck her hand into a hole in what had once been his clothes and gave him a good belly rub.

“You were a very good boy there,” she said, “very good. But you can’t keep running off like this, or I’ll be grey by thirty.”

“We both will,” Virgil managed.

“Oh, thank god.” With a brush of fresh air Frieda and Daisy slid into the kitchen, quickly joining them on the floor, burying their hands in Richie’s fur as his tail managed to wag harder. There was no way Virgil could’ve felt more safe and secure in the circumstance. But even that couldn’t stop him tensing when Batman followed only a few minutes behind them.

The older hero gave them as wide a berth as he could as he passed, heading for the trap. Finally, Virgil looked at it, ire rising in his chest at the jagged, z-shaped hunk of metal Batman hefted in his hand. That had been stuck in Richie’s throat, purposefully baited to be swallowed. Clearly Batman found it as inhumane as he did, scowling harder than any of them had ever seen as he turned it over and, inspection done, dropped it to clatter unceremoniously back onto the floor. Only then did he turn his attention to the team, standing, wiping his hand clean on his pants, and taking the few steps to join them. Virgil resisted the urge to spark as he knelt down beside him, eyes on Richie.

His brother whined.

Batman put a hand between his ears. Gave a little scritch.

“Don’t worry, with what was in his van, that man will be in prison for a very long time, I promise you.”

*~*

“Okay,” Sharon said as she finally joined the rest of the team in Richie’s room, taking charge of his desk chair after a quick visual confirmation that between the teens and BackPack there wasn’t space to collapse on the bed anymore, “I think your parents and I have managed to talk Batman around. Or at least convince him you’re not normally dangerous.”

“So, silver lining, seeing somebody try to hunt him and another mostly-innocent wolf for profit got him off our backs,” Virgil asked, good arm still right where it’d been around Richie’s shoulder when they’d first gotten to the house.

“Oh no, he’s still annoyed at the rest of us for ‘being reckless with civilian safety’,” Sharon explained with a sigh, “and intends to have a talk with us at some point, but he seems to have accepted that Richie being dangerous is abnormal. I had to give him a full rundown on how we were managing your presumed allergy and the current situation but, I think we’ve managed.”

“Hold on,” Frieda said, “‘the current situation’, tell me you didn’t tell him Richie nearly ate somebody. He’s already spying on him!”

“Wait, what?!” Richie sat up straighter, voice still slightly raspy and eyes going wide as his grip on BackPack tightened.

“Relax, man,” Virgil said, pulling him back down, “now we know we can find and fry his cameras, we’ll make a day of it.” Frowning heavily, Richie made himself relax.

“I’m scavenging at least two for parts.”

“We expect no less.”

“I kind of had to,” Sharon admitted. “It’s not like a lack of transparency’s done us any good in the past. I think he’s probably going to go talk to you guys’ friend before he makes a final decision though.”

“Joey?” Richie’s expression shifted to something more curious, then he nodded. “I’m good with that, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s not like he’s going to throw Richie under the bus,” Daisy said. “He’s too nice for that.”

“That’s good to hear.” As she said it a visible weight shifted off Sharon’s shoulders. “When I came up here Batman was talking about helping your parents get some recipes together so they could sneak meat back into your diet, so, fingers crossed. I think your mom might lock you in the basement again at this rate, though. Says these past two months have taken a decade off her life.” The others sighed, shaking their heads. Richie patted BackPack as the machine whirred at him.

“You know, after today,” he said, “I’m almost willing to go along with it.” Huffing a little laugh, Daisy clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You say that- I’m pretty sure by the time this next moon’s done you’d be howling a different tune.” He huffed one of his own, giving the rest of the team a small smile.

“That depends, how do you guys feel about taking a few nights off?”

#fanfic #commissions #commissionwork #static shock #i think the formatting issues are fixed if not i did what i could

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emyluwinter · 2 years

Text

You know, sometimes I think that some songs are wildly suited to some topic, au or something else. It's like it's a piece of a puzzle to put together a complete picture. And for the Silver Bullet, the author of Au - @jackplushie

I think the "I'm so sorry - Imagine Dragons"

youtube

In my head fits perfectly. Especially the chorus for yandere boys, it's a really great script!

"Life is not always what you imagine it to be Turn your head for a second and the tables will change places And I know, I know I did the wrong thing to you. But will you believe me when I tell you that I will make it up to you? Somehow, somehow?"

And perhaps the theme of the song somehow reminds me of the theme of the industrial sphere. Something like the game Assassin's Creed Syndicate. You're expecting a "big piece" from me, aren't you? Well, I'll try to satisfy your curiosity, dear ~

Oh, I forgot to mention! TW - Be careful here there is a description of the wounds. Little. As well as mentions of severe bleeding.

Enjoy~ ***

With difficulty leaning with all his weight, and with a terrible creak opening the distorted, almost broken, twisted door, Crowley definitely did not intend to see a monstrous pogrom in his bar, having descended for another "conversation" with their sweet, modest bartender…

Ah, how many changes caused their appearance!

Boys in the form of different heads of their mafia clans or gangs, whatever they were called, none of them smashed his bar! And in any case, they did not even think of harming the Bartender. Which could not but please. And finally! Finally, there was a neutral zone that everyone was waiting for anyway! Both ordinary civilians and the smallest criminals just to have a glass of something tasty or maybe strong. As a last resort, fill your stomach with simple snacks and an aperitif. Find yourself in this quiet oasis, an island of tranquility, tobacco jokes and endless conversations. Like the most ordinary people, ordinary workers and hard workers. Even if the walls have "ears" here they are silent. Every word remains dissolved in the haze of cigarettes, the smell of alcohol and musty stuffy air due to the old room… Well, over time and with some "investments", the bar acquired an increasingly presentable and pleasant appearance.

But now……

Taking his revolver from the inside pocket of his coat, Crowley looked around intently. Yet the old criminal habits will go away with the last nail driven into his coffin with him. The whole mayhem indicated that something very creepy had happened in the bar.. Several sturdy wooden tables were broken in two and strewn with bullet marks. And there were also a few traces of paint…

Wait.....Traces of paint?

Crowley chuckled in displeasure. If there were traces of paint in the bar, then the Bartender had to take up arms…

Which was definitely not encouraging. Is the situation out of control?

A shotgun with sleepy bullets carefully donated by Crewel for the bartender as protection. Even if you just shoot ordinary bullets with paint, it was no less painful than if you beat with your fists. The bartender refused to have a gun until the last, but Crowley said it was a prerequisite for the job.

Because, firstly, the Bartender is an ordinary civilian. Not having a drop of experience, strength, or skills to resist thugs who had to put up with the fact that blood and the smell of slaughter would be their signature and only perfume. Finding several "bodies" in a deep sleep, Crowley kicked one of them in the side to see several cuts on his arm and a very distinct boot mark on his stomach and chest. The second one had an excellent boot print on his face and apparently the blow was good enough to break his nose and cause severe bleeding. It seems that some of them had scratched hands and faces like claw marks? Were they attacked by a cat?Ah, it doesn't matter now.

Where is their employee?Are they alive?Are they injured? All these little gnats didn't interest him much…They will be taken care of later. Picking up his phone and quickly dialing a number, Crowley was intensely examining the mayhem trying to find a certain person. Along the way, examining whether there are any identification "signs" of the gang or some kind of stripes to identify the attackers. This would greatly simplify the "task" to deal with the remnants of this gang, if there were any.

-Crewel. The code is a "ruined nest". My bar. Grab a first aid kit and your dogs.

Quickly disconnecting from the call, Crowley noticed a bloodstain on the floor that led a thin path to the staff room. A small modest interior room with a sofa and a bedside table, and a round mirror in an old artful frame, a place where you could relax from everyone or change clothes.

Damn it. Let it be just a scratch…

After taking a breath and removing the safety from the revolver, Crowley gently knocked on the door handle. The bar was filled with a sickening silence that made Dyre's stomach twist into a knot. He should have seen it coming. Everything was going too well. No one in their right mind attacked the neutral zone. Unless they had at least some remnants of brains or perhaps their intentions were more bloody than the world had seen before.

-Yuu… this is Crowley. I open the door

Still, it was worth warning, because the Bartender often asked them to notify them of their appearance.Because a couple of times Crowley almost got under the influence of sleepy bullets with paint. Of course, they are not dangerous, the victim will just sleep off properly and will feel weak for a couple of days. Mandatory condition from Yuu. There are no real weapons in the bar, this is not a bloody battlefield and they were not going to become a murderer by negligence or intent.

To Crowley's surprise, the door was open…?

And oh, merciful heavens, he never wanted to see this picture in his life. Even in his nightmare.

Lying near the wall, almost reaching the sofa, the Bartender Yuu lay in a small puddle of their own blood. It would seem, with great difficulty, taking every breath and forcibly forcing your lungs to work in beaten and broken ribs. Their wheezing as they breathed sent a chill down Crowley's spine for the first time in his life. Opening the door and running up to poor Yuu, Crowley briefly examined the wounds inflicted.. The shirt was mercilessly torn and the right hand was hanging from the brush with a small rag. A couple of buttons were missing. Purple-red hand mark on the neck.. The vest barely held on to the only remaining seam on the left shoulder. Their always white shirt was soaked with splashes of someone else's blood, an uneven blood-red circle was slowly spreading from the right side. As well as on the left thigh, through the dark fabric of their trousers, this stain looked unnatural… His right arm was swollen from the wrist to the elbow and was literally blue. Yuu's left hand tightly held a shotgun with a reserve of sleepy bullets, as if they did not intend to give up even now. A lot of small scratches, bruises and abrasions. The right cheekbone was so swollen and swollen that it closed they eyes. And Grimm….he got hurt too, but he stayed until the end. This stray cat with a striped ribbon donated from Yuu lay next to them and licked his wound on his paw, mewing piteously and gently rubbing against the pale cheek of the Bartender.

-C… Crowley? - A hoarse low whisper escaped from the already blue lips of the wounded Yuu.

-Drink, don't talk. - Taking a small bottle from his inner pocket, Crowley quickly removed the lid and carefully brought it to the Bartender's lips. Pouring the liquid so that they take at least one sip. The painkiller will keep them conscious for a while. But there was catastrophically little of it now.

-This is….h… it h-hurts..

-You've lost a lot of blood, just concentrate on breathing and don't make any movements.

-mm.. - softly mumbling in agreement, Yuu took a slightly deep breath and relaxed a little when the wild and terrible pain finally eased. Their tense muscles stretched like strings finally lost all tension.

Hearing the noise of a car approaching, Crowley quickly looked out into the bar noticing the familiar Crewel logo. So Divus is already here perfectly.

-Who the hell could do this to poor puppies?! - Divus swore while providing first aid for the Bartender. After quickly closing the wounds and stopping the bleeding, Crewel immediately snapped his fingers and pointed at Yuu so that his subordinates would do the rest of the business. They couldn't be left in this state. Despite the anger and irritation bubbling in his veins, Crewel remained collected and distributed commands.

-Treat them like the most fragile snowflake in a hot fireplace. Take the cat, too.

-Boss, what to do with these "attackers"?

-Great question ~ - Crowley's voice suddenly rang out, who was carefully watching what was happening and pondering in his head in the shadow of everyone.

-Collect this garbage and take it to the "interview" for my "Ghosts". Tell him I'll be back in the evening to find out the motive and reasons for the attack on neutral territory. And ah! Please put up a sign that the bar is closed indefinitely. Divus, I leave these two in your care.

-I'll let you know about their condition later.

Although Yuu was barely holding on to his consciousness, familiar voices still reached his ears. And after the arrival of Crewel, the body became so sluggish and as if all the fatigue accumulated over the past months of such hard work finally broke through and captured every cell of the body. But now there was no such red-hot destructive pain with every movement or even thought. Everything seemed so sluggish and limp. Feeling how several pairs of strong hands so carefully and so carefully lifted their fragile, wounded body. The bartender chuckled slightly in his thoughts. They could never imagine that criminal persons would hold they so gently and so gently in their hands. But they often mercilessly wound someone and hurt someone. In the distance, the voices became quieter and quieter, but Yuu still heard snatches of phrases from those who carried them.

-Damn these freaks…

-Just look what they did to the poor bartender… poor guy.

-They tried to set fire to the bar?!I saw one wall smoked.. Feeling like they were being held by big and strong hands, Yuu was even a little embarrassed. The strong shoulder on which they rested their bandaged head smelled pleasantly of cologne. A delicious smell, will have to ask what brand of perfume it is. They were definitely not used to being carried around like that, and all these thoughts were trying to somehow keep the remnants of their mind and calm. Someone even tried to cheer them up with light strokes on the head or wiped their lonely tears. Occasionally running down their cheeks. The bartender no longer held on, their shell cracked, and it was possible to cry from impotence and shock. How much their head was splitting. But suddenly a very good thought ran through.

He'll skin them, but Crowley will give them a vacation..to hell with everything. First, a sick leave with medical insurance coverage, and then a vacation.

They're too tired. They didn't care where they were being taken. Quietly asking those who carried them so lovingly about the fate of the cat. These people in business suits, with lab aprons and long protective gloves, showed how one of their colleagues also carefully carries a Grimm. Strangely, Grimm didn't even mind being touched by others and behaved like a sleepy cat. And he was also treated to eat. These "chain dogs" as they were called in other gangs, definitely liked Yuu They smelled delicious, they didn't let go of their hands even though they could. And in general they were the most exemplary people for all the time that the Bartender has ever met…

-By the way, I counted 8 people so… were they beaten up like that by the Bartender?….And the cat?

-Yup…..I kicked their ass … - Yuu replied quietly, trying not to lose consciousness. It was definitely a valuable victory for them that they survived this massacre at all. These "dogs" tried to somehow distract the bartender from all thoughts and they probably just wanted to talk about something other than work. On Yuu's account, they didn't ask anything personal.

-Oh, yes, they definitely didn't lie to us when you whipped someone with a wet towel on an impudent ass.

-They offended….my Grimm… - Yuu whispered softly as they were carried to one of the dark expensive cars. Apparently they will be taken away somewhere until they lick their wounds and recover properly. -Get punched for offending a cat…

-Pete, shut your mouth. The cat is sacred.

-He's good….drove away all the mice and rats.. - It seems now Yuu knows that there are cute cat lovers in the gang of the ferocious Divus Crewel.

-Yeah, and also this furry asshole demolishes all the glasses without supervision. Yeah, I'm talking scoundrel about you!You're still snorting at me, and I wanted to feed you..

Yuu thought that they looked like the most ordinary people who just chose a completely wrong field of work. Ordinary people with their hobbies, interests and lives. The side that clearly did not cover all their actions..

Meanwhile, to the bar, under loud swearing, whose bouquet with roses was better, the duo of Adeuce was heading. They both came up with the idea to give the "impregnable fortress of the heart" in the form of a Bartender a bouquet and hope for their mercy and maybe a small increase in the chance of a date~ After passing a familiar alley, they immediately hide around the corner when they notice a bunch of black tinted cars with a very familiar emblem. Emblems and signs that the leaders in the gangs categorically forbade them to contact.

-What are the Crows and Dogs doing here?! - Deuce cursed softly, looking out for all the people he could see from his hiding place and trying to figure out what had happened.

-Something tells me that they didn't come to the bar for tea and cookies…Look at some bodies being taken away. - Snorting in response, Ace tsked with displeasure, realizing that going further is a straight road for at least a beaten face and a couple of broken bones. In the best case, they will simply be asked to go off into the sunset.

-Ace….we need to tell the others about it…

-I knoooow….Imagine how Riddle will explode when he finds out that the bar is surrounded by these dogs and crows. Not even a speck of dust can get past them. They are a different level.. Putting the Bouquet under his arm and dialing the number of his the leader, Ace was almost at the call button when he froze in place. White with horror.

-Holy shi..

-Uh.. this!!! Ace and Deuce could not believe their eyes when they saw the wounded Yuu who were very carefully carried in their arms by one of their chain dogs. Their wounds, their blood, their face swollen from the blows, caused a furious flame. The flame flowing into the red-hot magma spreading through their veins. Flaring up stronger and stronger, as if from a small spark, sprayed to a fiery tornado, mercilessly demolishing everything in its path. Breaking from their hiding place and forgetting about the roses, the two of them rushed as if for the last saving straw that was stretched out to them. Someone dared to touch the Bartender without their permission. Someone dared to spill their blood.. Hurt them… And condemn themselves to the most terrible and monstrous fate that they could only imagine…

-Hey!YOU! Where are you taking Yuu?!?

-What did you do to him?!? The duo's screams and their rapid approach, despite all the guards, attracted attention. But no matter how they tried to stop the "abduction in front of their eyes" of their dear and beloved Bartender. It didn't work out. The chain dogs got into one of the black cars with them in their arms. They were quickly pinned down and immobilized, to Ace's surprise, without even trying to harm them.Just so that they don't twitch and behave "obediently." He even had to calm Deuce down so that their fate would not get even worse… Remotely being already in the car, Yuu gradually turned off from fatigue and from impotence, but they clearly heard the screams of a duo of walking problems somewhere nearby. It could have been a hallucination that all criminal persons from all over the neighborhood are now flying like bees to Yuu's wounded soul. Maybe it was worth thinking about HOW they would now pay the whole two gangs for their "mercy and kindness". But now, having already spent the last drops of their strength, Yuu gave themselves permission to just fall into this dark water … and fall asleep. They shouldn't have messed with this world, ever. It was worth thinking twice before agreeing to this job for lack of other options. Crowley could at least assure the others that Yuu is not a talkative person. They don't tell what they don't need. Everyone sees, everyone hears, but they don't say anything. That was more than enough…. ***

News of the attack on the neutral zone spread quickly. Faster than anyone could have imagined. It was practically a declaration of war to everyone at once and to no one in particular. But there was no note, no witnesses or the attackers themselves… The gang leaders were furious. For several reasons.

They couldn't find their expensive bartender Yu no matter how hard they tried. The chain dogs perfectly removed all traces of their presence.

The attackers did not suffer "punishment" for their act at their hands..

The older gangs did not give them answers. All the gangs were one step away from unleashing their terrible criminal tendencies to turn over every stone in the city. But to find their "kidnapped lover" They tossed, growled, were in the most disgusting mood that their subordinates could only see for all the years of work for them. Their thoughts and hearts had no rest until they saw live, with their own eyes, that their cute Bartender was standing in front of them again. With their polite smile and polite conversations, what kind of drink is worth trying today, while they fix their gaze on every inch of their body and catch every particle of their breath… *******

haaaaah…Maybe I'll do the second part about the return of the bartender…But I need to rest.

I hope you enjoyed it!

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twsited wonderland #twst crowley #twst crewel #twst mafia au #mafia au #silver bullet #It came out a lot more than I expected..#I have a couple of ideas about returning #but I'm not sure which option is more suitable #Youtube

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codenamesazanka · 3 years

Text

Extremely embarrassed it took me until just now to understand the

But if I pretended to be a high school girl, the public became just a bit nicer to me.

And I was like, okay. Good to know. So that's why she wears a high school uniform.

But I didn't think about the hows and why, I didn't think about what this meant in context of HeroAca Society, in relation to her overall character, the bigger picture. Toga Himiko is 17 years old, she's high-school-aged, and that's where I stopped looking deeper.

Toga looks like a high-schooler, but she isn't one. Can't be one if you're out of school.

Being out of school means not studying for exams or doing club activities or thinking about her future. She doesn't even have a home to go back to at night, sleep, wake up in the morning for a new day of learning. She's wildly deviated from the normal path she's supposed to be on, the rigid process of growing up in modern times: elementary school, middle school, high school, college, job, etc. Following that path is the unspoken rule that must be followed to be accepted as a functional person, a civilian worthy of participating in life.

But those are all things Toga cannot access anymore. Even if she does the right thing and turned herself in, it's prison or a mental institution that's waiting for her. If she gets released, there's gonna be a record that follows her for the rest of her life. That will not help her get accepted back into society at a socioeconomic level; and anyways, she's never been accepted as a full person with her quirk.

Shigaraki Tomura says, several chapters after this one, "Since when did we ever need a future?" Very edgy and him, but he speaks a truth of everyone the League: none of them can really imagine having a normal future because it doesn't exist for them. They already didn't have a normal past, so this is just following the distorted trajectory, which isn't going to be knocked back on track, because Heroes don't save Villains. Heroes don't intervene with help.

As far as Toga knows (believes), more than that, Heroes might just end up killing her.

Using the literal meaning of the concept 'girl attending high school', Toga Himiko is not a actually high school girl. She's a dropout with only a middle-school education; she's a homeless street kid, she's a criminal. No one's going to look at her and see someone in need of compassionate help. That sounds cynical, but in HeroAca, where people accepted the neglect of an abnormal-looking, injured five-year-old wandering the streets, there was never going to be any hope for an older, [no-more-perception-of-having-small-child-innocence] teenager.

I think this is probably what she notices about the behavior of the people around her. Quickly learning that if she looks like what she actually is - a delinquent street kid, and all the implications that carries, the failure people will judge her to become - people will at best ignore her as if she doesn't exist, shooing her away from public spaces and thus access to stores, access to necessities; and at worst people will get suspicious and see her as trouble. Even worse trouble once they realize who she is.

This is why Toga Himiko pretends. She got herself a uniform, she got a satchel. Her appearance is neat and clean and cute. She looks and acts like a high school girl, and as a result, people are nicer to her because they see her as proper, correct, future-citizen. They trust her to be on the right track, like she's supposed to be; trust her to be normal, just as she's been told before.

Even then, Toga says things only got a *bit* nicer. Here's only guess as to why, but it's probably because this pretending comes with its own different set of problems. One example: Anyone ever tried to play hooky successfully before? Harder than just 'not be in school'. Without a home or established place to hide in, you gotta be outside, visible as an out-of-place kid, avoiding police, avoiding adults asking why you're not in class, you shouldn't skip, let's call your parents, let's call your school. Then keep yourself busy, because boredom can settle in quick. In Toga's case, that's something she had do for six or so hours everyday; constantly on the move too, keeping ahead of Heroes, avoid ever getting caught.

With Jin, we saw him as teenager that was out of school as well; but he had a job that gave him a work jumpsuit; after he was fired, he dressed in regular clothes, shirt and jeans and coat and sneakers. He looked homeless, and I saw him as such, able to connect that more easily and quickly to the idea he had it hard.

With Toga and her uniform, I didn't draw the line as fast, I knew her circumstances vaguely, intellectually-- but overall I looked at the surface and saw the image of a pretty well put-together high school aged girl - just like it was meant to show.

#Toga meta again!#they do not come often to me #but when they do #they come pretty easily #Toga Himiko #nalslastworkingbraincell #Hero Society #bnha society #Heroes and Villains #long post #thank you for reading #Toga <333

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 325: Deku VS the Outside of U.A. ~Conclusion~

Previously on BnHA: Ochako was all “dear bloodthirsty mob, this kid you see standing before you has fought harder than anyone and put his life on the line to protect you all, so please chill the fuck out, jesus christ. like, putting aside that he’s humanity’s best hope and so it’s very much in your best interests to let him rest and recover someplace safe so that he can keep fighting for us, are y’all seriously going to turn away an injured and exhausted child in front of his sobbing mother?? seriously?? come on now.” I’m paraphrasing here but that’s basically how it went down. Anyway so then the mob was all, “...” and Deku collapsed to his knees in tears, and Gigantic Fox Lady and Kouta ran over to give him a hug but then the chapter ended.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “FINE, YOU CAN HUG HIM”, which, was that so hard?? The U.A. Clown Mob is all “come to think of it, we’ve kind of been taking the heroes for granted this entire time, maybe we should be less passive in the future. anyway so Deku if it’s not too much to ask, can you please save everyone and fix everything.” Deku is all “I sure can, and by the way I forgive you for swarming around all menacingly two minutes ago and trying to deny me basic shelter and stuff.” Ectoplasm is all, “hey Todogang get a load of this. [walks in a circle].” Hawks is all, “that’s literally the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rat Principal is all, “anyway so that’s what your students did today, hope you’re enjoying your new *~*ROBOT LEG*~*, Aizawa.” Aizawa is all “[lots of exposition about Kurogiri and for some reason, Toga, while being all brooding and sexy].” All Might is all “[standing here right outside of U.A. doing absolutely nothing and being foreboding AF]” and that immediately sucked away all of the warm fuzzy feelings from the hugs, goddammit.

each new week has become a waiting game of “when will Deku finally get to take a bath so people will actually be willing to go near him and give him the hugs he deserves.” the stakes have never been so compelling. I’ve almost forgotten about AFO entirely

lmaoooooo

me: for the love of god will someone please give Deku a hug before I die of old age

Mineta: YOU GOT IT!! --

Iida: [SWIFTLY CUTS HIM OFF] NOT YOU

fucking losing it at Mineta’s crying face. he really wanted to hug him. I legit feel bad but this is also the funniest thing I have seen all week, omg

somehow Kouta, who last week was only a hand’s breadth away from touching Deku’s head, is now twenty miles away from him in this new chapter

can I make a Loki reference here. is this recap a good place to insert a joke about someone using a TVA time-rewinding device to fuck with my poor boy Kouta over here. well anyway there it is

AND NOW HE’S BACK ALL OF A SUDDEN OMG

(ETA: since when is he “niichan” omg?? can’t handle this cuteness.)

BUT THEY’RE STILL NOT HUGGING HIM FFFFKFFFFF. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. WHO DO I HAVE TO BRIBE AND/OR BLACKMAIL

OH NO KOUTA IS CRYING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR

“when I heard that lady I knew that I had to go, but then stop again within inches of actually touching you because you smell like week-old rotten onions.” listen Kouta, I’m not saying I don’t get it, but you all can’t keep doing this to me. it’s the way you guys keep teasing it. like, if you’re gonna hug him, hug him. don’t just stand there with your arms held rigidly out in front of you like a molded action figure

OH MY GOSH BUT HE SAID THE THING

KOUTA SWOOPING IN AT THE LAST MINUTE TO TAKE ALL THE CREDIT FOR FIXING DEKU LIKE THAT ONE KID IN THE GROUP PROJECT WHO DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT STILL TAGS HIS NAME ONTO THE REPORT ANYWAY, WHAT A KNAVE

GASP

( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

SHE PICKED HIM UP LIKE A LITTLE BABY OMG?? she just leaned right over and lifted this child like he was a small animal. like a lil baby futon that she was about to hang up to dry. oh my god

-- HEY WHAT

(: well that’s extremely fucked up. though sadly not too surprising given what we just saw these past couple chapters

incidentally, I hope that anyone who was legitimately defending the civilians’ perspective earlier takes note here of how quickly that line of thinking -- “we’re just trying to keep our families safe” and all that-- can lead to straight up bigotry. if you’re willing to deny a child shelter and protection simply because he’s not YOUR child, and because you’ve decided based on Internet rumors (no real-world parallels there, I’m sure) that he might present a threat, it’s really not that much further of a leap to discriminating against entire groups of people simply because you perceive those groups as being dangerous. I’m sure the people who turned Gigantic Fox Lady away also told themselves afterwards that they did it to protect their families. “better safe than sorry.” “she’ll be fine, someone will take her in, but as for us, we can’t afford to take that risk.” people can come up with all kinds of justifications for treating other people as less than human, and the really scary thing about it is how fucking easy it is

one last quick side note, which is that Horikoshi does a great job here of showing how scapegoating works, given that AFO is the one who’s really to blame and who presents the actual threat, and yet Deku is the one who ultimately winds up being the target of the mob’s fear and outrage despite him being as much of a victim as they are. gotta love that irony, which unfortunately plays out far too often in the real world as well.

anyway I’ll get off my soapbox now, sorry about that. let us continue

YES, FINALLY OH MY GOD!!!!

AND THAT’S THE STORY OF HOW GIGANTIC FOX LADY BECAME THE GREATEST HERO. PACK IT ALL UP, WE’RE DONE HERE KIDS

holy shit. the real MVP right there. thanks for getting it done champ

jesus christ I have had it up to here with these people

literally the bar is set so low at this point that I’ll go ahead and take it. helping him because it offers them a tactical advantage is at least one step up from not helping him at all

“WHY NOT SHIKETSU” MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

-- thank you!!

okay this one guy with the antennae hair is having himself a character development speedrun here

-- okay, but this part?? fucking this part, right here??

can we repeat that again?? the part where this guy acknowledges that the problems of hero society were caused not just by said heroes, but also by said society?? the part where he acknowledges that they treated the heroes like celebrities who were putting on a show for them?? the part where he acknowledges that when push came to shove, the vast majority of those heroes, when faced with a situation that offered no reward, were nonetheless willing to put their lives on the line to protect the very same people who then turned around and blamed them rather than thanking them?? are the civilians of BnHA even allowed to have actual deep thoughts about this stuff. holy shit

bro!!

ANTENNAE HAIR GUY SHOVING KOUTA AND GIGANTIC FOX LADY OUT OF THE WAY TO SLAP HIS NAME ONTO THE END CREDITS AS EXECUTIVE PRODUCER. CONGRATULATIONS SON YOU FIGURED OUT THE CORE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AT THE VERY HEART OF THE MANGA. WAY TO GO BUD

meanwhile, on today’s episode of “one more chapter to go till the big volume cliffhanger, how else can I drag things out let’s see”

it’s a panel. of people’s feet. just a bunch of normal feet. with sneakers and shit

this All Might shirt guy is getting more screentime in this arc than 90% of the class 1-A kids

I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for this dude now that he’s all “if we let you stay here do you promise to somehow magically fix every single problem that we are now currently facing?” those are some ridiculously exacting standards my dude. come on now

KACCHAN SIGHTING

thank fuck I’m not the only one who’s thoroughly unimpressed by absolutely all of this lol. I feel better now. meanwhile Iida and Kouda and Kiri are ready to run over there and hug them all. you guys are way too forgiving. damn you and your pure hearts

anyway so Deku’s like “yeah, definitely”

(ETA: almost forgot to comment on the “I’m no longer alone” part – he basically corrects the guy and says “sorry, but you’ll need to direct that question towards all of us, not just me, because moving forward we’re a team.” good stuff.)

you know what though, all joking aside... fuck yeah. because perfect victory, right. the strongest guys don’t settle for anything less. so I guess Deku has pretty exacting standards himself

also can you all just take a look at this fucking kid who’s got so much light in his eyes now that I’m gonna need eclipse goggles. hot damn. “you’re welcome” says All Might Shirt Guy as he is frantically interviewed by several local news networks asking him how he daringly managed to save Deku all by himself. “well I guess I’ve just never been the kind of guy who can sit back and let a bunch of rabble-rousers blame a little kid for all of humanity’s problems. someone had to step in and take action, you know?”

oH MY GOD THE SCENE IS FINALLY ENDING

don’t let the door hit you on your way out All Might Shirt Guy

but meanwhile, sudden Tododrama action??

oh shit

there are honestly so many ways in which Ochako’s very moving speech could have wildly backfired that I genuinely have no clue where this is headed lol. how exciting!!

so now Horikoshi is once again stalling for time with random filler panels, but this one is 10x better than the shoes lol omg

(1) was Ectoplasm’s jacket always this oversized. (2) did you guys know that if you go back to chapter 319 you can see that Horikoshi gave us a sneak peak at Enji’s Sad Detective disguise and I in fact made a joke about it in the 319 recap not realizing it was actually the stone cold truth. (3) did Shouto deliberately speed up out of impatience because Hawks was walking so fucking slow and he couldn’t take it any longer. (4) and what, I ask you, is up with these dramatic speedlines. so many mysteries here. what a masterpiece

everyone is acting all shocked about something ahh what’s going on

wait what

what the heck. did they just loop around behind everyone. what was the point of that lol. “anyway, so this is what they look like from the back” well okay, thanks for that Ectoplasm

(ETA: so it seems like they were actually hanging out someplace else away from the crowd this whole time, I guess? here I thought they had more faith in Enji’s disguise. I guess Shouto and Hawks don’t particularly want to attract this crowd’s attention themselves right now either, though.)

I am so fucking confused lmao

speaking of All Might WHERE THE FUCK IS HE lol. but yes, good, OFA brings everyone together, and Hawks is very deeply moved about this out of the blue all of a sudden. you know how it is

aw heck yeah now this is another filler panel I can get behind

Mineta really wants that hug, good lord. I genuinely love this actually. Mineta if you could just stay little and cute and keep crying about how much you love your classmates in a non-gross way for the rest of the series I would be so appreciative. you’re doing great

IIDA IS HOLDING DEKU’S HAND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ONE TIME WASN’T ENOUGH FOR MY MAN HE’S ADDICTED NOW

what did I tell you. Kiri wants to get all of the mob’s autographs now. Kiri you’re a peach

Shouji having a conversation with another mutant type is a very nice touch! we really need to get to his backstory soon. I feel like that casual remark from GFL earlier was kind of hinting at more to come

is this the first time we’ve ever seen the Yaoyorictionary in action?? never forget that Viz tried to call it the “Yaoyorozu Reference Book” because they hate fun

last but not least, KAMIBAKU IS BACK ON THE MENU, FUCK YEAH. Kaminari trying to spice things up and introduce a little bit of controversy by smacking Kacchan on the back of the head for god knows what. I will be deeply disappointed after this if I can’t find at least one person unironically declaring that KamiBaku is now toxic and abusive

lfkdlWLWK TODODRAMA??

oh my god. Shouto’s face. Enji’s face. the back to “oyaji” again. the blunt, not-taking-no-for-an-answer, “I don’t know how much louder the universe can scream at you that doing things alone is not it, so hopefully you got the point” directness of it. fffdlkslj I’m so ready for this Horikoshi please don’t fuck it up my expectations are so high

HOLY FUCK

I SCROLLED DOWN AND HE WAS ALL “( ❛‿❛)” AND I JUST WASN’T FUCKING EXPECTING THAT OKAY. JESUS CHRIST. GIVE ME A SEC

lol okay moment over and now Enji’s pulling his hat down all dramatically like a world-weary Cowboy

OH MY GOD WERE YOU FACETIMING??

AHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: not to put Iida down or anything, but it’s kind of strange that Aizawa is all “the class rep sure did great” when Ochako is the one that was giving that whole big speech for like twenty minutes just now lol.)

(ETA 2: “thank god Iida stepped in just in the nick of time to keep Mineta from hugging Deku.” sorry Mineta I really do like you lately but it’s still low-hanging fruit lol.)

HE LOOKS SO SAD??! HE LOOKS LIKE HEARTBREAK ITSELF??! I AM BESOUGHT WITH THE URGE TO REACH INTO MY SCREEN AND PULL HIM INTO THE SAFETY OF MY ARMS??? MY GOD, AND I THOUGHT DEKU NEEDED HUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay I was gonna just hold down the letter H for a full minute and count it out loud but within about ten seconds I realized I needed to chill lol

-- but then again NO, I DON’T NEED TO CHILL, I HAVE ZERO CHILL, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE IT’S AIZAWA WITH A ROBOT LEG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMPLETE WITH ROBOT TOES FOR THAT EXTRA TOUCH OF AUTHENTICITY!! I LIKE HOW HORIKOSHI PUT ALL THIS EXTRA “!!!” EMPHASIS AROUND IT IN CASE WE COULD SOMEHOW POSSIBLY FAIL TO TAKE NOTICE. “REMEMBER, EVERYONE?” SAYS HORIKOSHI HELPFULLY. “REMEMBER THAT TIME AIZAWA CHOPPED OFF HIS OWN LEG?” oh wow now that you mention it we somehow forgot all about that. like who do you take us for

OH NO NOT THE SAD BOYFRIEND ANGST THAT I WAS SECRETLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WITH GLEE

well at least he’s not M.I.A. or back with the villains again like I thought he might be. still, that’s gotta be brutal to know your friend is in there somewhere, but to not be able to reach him again no matter how hard you try. that’s the kind of angst that pays off in final battles just when you most expect it. such is my hope, at any rate

what’s this now??

trying to decide if this is Horikoshi’s way of saying don’t worry about that, or his way of saying definitely worry about that lol

anyway so Aizawa is out here being all irresponsibly handsome once again. when is someone going to do something about him

here for Sexy Robot Leg Eyepatch Aizawa clenching his fists and making speeches about revenge. pretty sure we’re all here for that

WELL, WELL, WELL

IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME

I’M VERY GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY WELL, THOUGH!

BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK THOUGH, ALL MIGHT

ffff. bracing myself for that cliffhanger next week. you’d better not touch one hair on this man’s head Horikoshi. I’m watching you

#bnha 325 #midoriya izuku #u.a. clown mob #class 1-a #aizawa shouta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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dwaynepride · 3 years

Text

just like we were kids

pairing: young!gibbs x reader, young!ducky + reader

summary: 5 times gibbs kisses you and 1 time ducky kisses you.

warnings: reader is kidnapped, mentions of rope burns

words: 4,196

a/n: very loosely based off the 400th episode but not strictly

It’s been a very long day.

Gibbs sat next to a crying baby on the bus riding into DC, the hotel receptionist gave him a hard time when he tried to check in, and he was forced into the trunk of a car with a gun pointed to his head.

“He forced you, Marine?”

Gibbs withheld an annoyed sigh; only because this agent was pretty alright. “There were civilians around. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“Noble,” the agent responds. “But a gamble.”

Yeah. A gamble that only sorta paid off because Gibbs knows you’ll give him an earful just as soon as you get here.

“If it wasn’t for that idiot driving on the wrong side of the road, you might be the one in our morgue.”

God, Gibbs hopes he doesn’t say that when you’re around.

In the distance, he hears the elevator ding. And the agent motions toward it. “Now, you got a chance to say thank you. Looks like he’s back from the hospital to give his statement.”

Gibbs turns, spotting the man in a bowtie with his arm in a sling and talking the ear off of the women who brought him up here. The Scotsman was ranting off about American driving habits, no doubt blaming it all on why he crashed. Hearing it makes Gibbs smirk.

“Mr. Mallard,” the agent greets.

“Actually, Dr. Mallard. Well, former doctor,” he corrects.

Without any hesitation. Jethro likes him already. “Sergeant Gibbs. Former trunk.”

That’s when Dr. Mallard finally looks to him, paying little attention to the scrapes on his face. “Ah,” he replies. Gibbs can’t help to notice he looks just a little amused.

“I owe you a drink,” Jethro says.

“Well, that depends,” Mallard intercedes immediately. “How do you feel about scotch?”

“I’d feel better about bourbon.”

“Sold.”

Smiling, Gibbs reaches forward to shake the other man’s hand. They reflect each other’s expression - Dr. Mallard pleased for a free drink, and Gibbs just happy to be out of that trunk. “It’s the least I could do, considering your car was probably totaled-”

“Jethro!”

Oh no. Gibbs and his rotten luck was about to rub off on you.

He hadn’t even prepared anything to say. Hadn’t thought of a special way to ease your worries because Gibbs has been too caught up with the NIS agent and giving his statement. So when he looks over Mallard’s shoulder, watching as you march up to him with wide eyes, Gibbs visibly winces. “Hey. First of all, I’m okay. Second-”

“How could you possibly be okay?” Your eyes were immediately focused on the red scrape on his forehead - right now, he figures you’re expecting the worst. “This is serious, Jethro. How do you think I would’ve felt if I got a call saying you were dead? I know you like to think you’re big and bad, but-”

“Have you met Dr. Mallard?” Gibbs immediately turns your attention to the Scotsman in the bowtie, who immediately greets you with a tight smile once you face him. “He’s the one who saved me. Kind of.”

“Only by sheer stupidity, believe me.” Mallard reaches out a hand, and after a moment, you take his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You let out a tiny sigh, seeming to Gibbs like you were winding down, now that you’re sure he was okay. “Thank you, Doctor. As you can tell,” you snap your eyes to Jethro, “he gets himself into trouble, a lot.”

Gibbs says nothing, now that the eyes of four different people are on him. He shifts his weight awkwardly, reaching out to grip your arm and pull you closer. And to really suck up to you, he leans over to press a kiss against your temple - he hopes that’ll be enough of an ‘I’m sorry’ for now. “Well, the Doctor’s gotta give his statement so I think we outta let him,” Gibbs says, hoping to turn the attention off of himself.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Mallard agrees. Gibbs is grateful - up until Mallard faces you again with a smile. “Though, you should most definitely join us for a drink. It’ll be on his tab, and you’ll be there to keep him out of trouble.”

For a moment, Gibbs feels almost defensive. He’s about to speak up, but before he can say anything, he sees you nod your head. Even worse, you’re smiling. As if agreeing with Mallard that Jethro needs watching over.

Though, you’re smiling now. Maybe it’s not so bad.

It’s late. And the coffee doesn’t seem to be working anymore.

Gibbs had training for staying up all night. There’s been times when he’d gone three days with only a couple hours of sleep. But even that would’ve been preferable to sitting at a table, staring at files and papers, and listening to Dr. Mallard’s mumbling.

“It doesn’t make any sense...we’ve got to be missing something...”

Yeah. No kidding.

Gibbs rubs his eyes with a long sigh. He’s tempted to just call it a night and try again in the morning when he and Mallard are rested up. But Jethro stays - much too stubborn to walk away, even if it’s past midnight.

He has his chin propped up on his hand, fighting the alluring close of his eyes, by the time Jethro hears the front door close and your footsteps against the wood floor. “You guys are still awake?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs mumbles.

“We’re nearly finished,” Dr. Mallard says - he’s slightly more awake, but not by much.

“Right,” you reply. Jethro recognizes the disbelief in your voice. It’s the same tone you use with him a lot. “Well, are you two hungry?”

Coffee is the only sustenance he’s had all night. At the mention of food, Jethro looks over. And a grease-stained paper bag has never looked so amazing. “Is that…”

“Just some burgers from a diner. Not many places are open this late, so it was a bit of a drive.” You approach with the food, and Jethro stands to take the bag from your hands. And you’re smiling at him - looking tired, but still so sweet and soft and it immediately relieves the ache of exhaustion from Gibbs.

You drove all around town to bring him and Mallard some food. He didn’t deserve you.

“You didn’t have to,” Jethro says. Though, he handles the burgers like an injured puppy. “We got stuff here…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, man.” Dr. Mallard stands as well, taking the bag from Jethro and opening it up to retrieve his burger. “It’s not right to downplay the generosity of your partner. Try thanking her.”

Gibbs narrows his eyes at the other man, but his hunger wears down his stubbornness. The burgers smell fucking amazing, and Dr. Mallard is right.

He looks back to you, steps in closer, and leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Your skin is cold from the night air - Gibbs feels bad that you went through the trouble. “Thanks. We appreciate it,” he says lowly. If Mallard weren’t here, Gibbs might’ve dragged you to bed. Warmed you up and thanked you in his own favorite way.

He notices your flush. Maybe you picked up on his own personal thoughts, somehow.

So Gibbs looks away, reaching out to retrieve his own burger before the doctor notices anything. And you clear your throat, smiling at the both of them while backing up. “Well, enjoy the food. I think I’m gonna go get some sleep. Try not to stay up all night, you two!”

A smirk comes over Jethro’s lips as he falls back down into his chair, and he doesn’t notice Mallard watching him until Gibbs is just about to take a big bite out of his burger. His teeth are on the bun when his eyes flicker up. “Wha’?” He asks hotly.

Dr. Mallard simply shakes his head, taking his seat and moving his files aside to make room for the burger you brought him. “Nothing. It’s just that...she’s a keeper.”

Jethro didn’t need some Scot to tell him that.

“Keep looking out here! I’ll check inside!”

Jethro didn’t bother yelling out an acknowledgement. He took off in the other direction, letting Dr. Mallard make his way into the dark, silent building by himself. Maybe if his heart weren’t pounding so fast or if he weren’t so fucking angry and scared and worried, Gibbs would be smart and think about Mallard’s safety.

After all, if these scumbags had the balls to take you, what’s to stop them from killing him?

Jethro doesn’t think about that, right now. His shoes pound against the pavement, swinging his flashlight around wildly. The parking lot is empty and pitch black - the shine of the flashlight barely does anything to cut through the darkness. He tries to stem his breathing and silence his heartbeat; just in case you’re crying out for him.

He hears nothing. The taunting hoot of an owl, but that’s it.

This is his fault, of course. Everything is his fault. Maybe if he just left the case alone and let those agents deal with it, you wouldn’t be missing and he wouldn’t be running around trying to find you. Dr. Mallard tried calming him down and reminding him that they’re trying to get these bastards off the streets for this very reason.

Doesn’t seem worth it, though. Not when it comes to you.

Jethro takes a few more steps, panting hard, still straining his eyes against the blackness. His grip on the flashlight is so tight, his fingers start to hurt. Maybe you’re not even here. Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe they missed something-

There. On the far end of the parking lot. Something reflects the light of his flashlight, and it’s too big to be anything but a vehicle.

Immediately, Gibbs takes off again. His shoes barely hit the concrete with how fast he’s running, and when he finally reaches the car, he shines the light inside. Finding empty seats, Jethro’s stomach drops.

That is, until his eyes find the trunk.

Jethro calls your name as he comes around to the hitch. His breath is stuck in his lungs, and he barely even registers the light tapping from inside the trunk before he yanks it up.

You flinch at the sudden bright light. Hands coming up to shield your face, balling yourself up tighter. Gibbs immediately notices little red lines around your wrists. Notices the little tears and scuffs on your clothes. He shakes with something mixed with rage and relief.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Jethro breathes out. He tucks the flashlight under his arm to reach out for you. His hand on your arm seems to calm you - it lets you know that you’re safe and he’s got you and everything is okay now. You peek out from behind your eyes, cheeks wet from tears but they’re not wet enough to loosen the tape strapped to your mouth.

Jethro reaches out instantly to pull it off. He’s slow, gentle, and as soon as your lips are visible, you suck in a deep breath. “Jethro…”

“I’m here. You’re okay now.”

He tries his best to hide the tremor of his hands as Gibbs takes his knife out and cuts the rope off your wrists and ankles. These bastards really went all the way - taking you and terrorizing you just to get to him and Mallard. He’d make sure they paid.

As soon as you’re freed, your arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders, face pushed against his chest and sniffling. The flashlight is obscured, but Jethro doesn’t need to see the harsh tears staining your cheeks. It’s bad enough to hear your little whimpers of his name, and the most he can do is hug you back and murmur out comforting words.

Eventually, you pull away. Still leaning on him, not even pulling yourself out of the trunk yet, but wanting to see his face. “It happened so fast,” you tell him, voice small. Jethro frowns as he fits his hand against your cheek - there’s a bruise there that concerns him. “And they were saying how you and Dr. Mallard were getting so close, and I was insurance, and I didn’t know if you’d find me, and-”

“Hey, I’ll always find you, okay?” His thumb caresses over your cheek, mindful of the purple bump there. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. You shouldn’t have gotten caught up in this. I should’ve protected you better.”

Your eyes are wide and frightened, but the way your eyebrows quirk together slightly tells him that you probably had something to say. Probably to negate what he’s said because he knows you don’t like when he says things like that. Blaming himself for things he can’t control.

Instead, Jethro leans in to desperately press his lips against yours. The kiss tastes like salty tears and a hint of blood but you hold onto his jacket so tight that he doesn’t even think about if the kiss might hurt.

He was worried. You were scared. He just wants to kiss you.

And even the sound of Dr. Mallard calling his name from across the parking lot isn’t enough to break it.

“She’s fine, right? That’s what the doctors said?”

“That’s what I said,” Mallard tells him, voice tight. But there’s an empathetic look that helps calm Gibbs down a bit. “I assure you, I wouldn’t lie about her condition. I checked her over myself - the worst of it is only the rope burns on her wrists.”

Gibbs breathes a little easier. It’s been a wild couple days and it feels like the first deep breath he’s taken since.

“I assume you’d want to see her.”

Jethro nods his head once, brow furrowing together. He’d done enough waiting.

Dr. Mallard smirks before he turns and walks with Gibbs down to your room. He knows it’ll be hard, seeing you laid up in the white hospital sheets. It was hard enough pulling you from the trunk of the car and sitting with you until the ambulance came. Hard enough having to put you on the back burner to finish what he and Mallard started. The guilt was still there, of course. He knows you don’t blame him, but it’s not enough.

Gibbs feels a nudge against his arm, and he looks over to find Dr. Mallard watching him. “You should be happy,” he points out.

“I am.”

“I hope you’ll be a better liar once we get in there.” Gibbs scoffs and looks away, but the doctor isn’t done. “You’re fortunate it wasn’t any worse. With the men we were dealing with-”

“Yeah, I know, doc. They coulda killed her, or worse. And it would’ve been my fault because I wasn’t smart enough to think ahead and protect her.” Jethro turns back to Mallard, and he doesn’t bother to hide his scowl. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. It is,” he replies boldly. Fucking of course. Gibbs is tempted to walk off before Mallard's gaze turns more sympathetic. “But that’s not what she wants to hear. So better to get it all out right now so you can’t dump all those guilty feelings on someone who’s already been through enough.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Jethro’s eyes drop. Mallard was right, of course. It pissed him off to admit it, but Gibbs probably would’ve gone in there and apologized for something you didn’t really want to relive. Another case of him not thinking.

Dr. Mallard pats him on the shoulder. When Gibbs looks up, he motions to your room with his head. “Well, let’s get a move on. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

And Jethro will be glad to see you, too.

He wastes no time reaching your door, and he carefully opens it but can’t help poking his head in just as soon as he can. Gibbs doesn’t quite know what to expect, and even with Mallard peeking in from over his shoulder, he feels like he should be walking on his toes.

But the image of you sitting up in bed with a smile proves him wrong.

“Hey! You’re here!”

Jethro doesn’t reply. He just smirks and revels in his relief that you’re actually okay.

“Of course, we are!” Mallard replies, moving past Gibbs to approach your bedside. “We wanted to tell our partner about the outcome of our little investigation, didn’t we, Gibbs?”

Jethro’s eyes move away from your bruised face, glancing to the doctor before nodding once. “Yeah. Bastards got caught trying to leave the state. They got ‘em at the border,” he tells you. Though, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering. Your arms, once so soft, are marred with bandages and bruises. Jethro reminds himself to breathe.

“But obviously, we were also worried about you,” Dr. Mallard adds on. His tone is softer, this time. And as Gibbs moves past him to take the seat by your bed, he continues. “You’ve got nothing to fear. They can’t ever hurt you again.”

Jethro reaches out to take your hand, and you squeeze his right back. Dammit, Mallard was so good with that heart-to-heart stuff. It never really occurred to Gibbs to put your mind at ease, like he had. He’d just been so angry and guilty and worried - well, it goes to show how much more you deserve than him.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice is light. A little hoarse. The sound of it makes Jethro tighten his grip.

“He’s right,” Gibbs speaks up. And when you turn to look at him, he makes sure his face is hard and determined. Not as shaky as he feels. “I’m never gonna let something like that happen again. I promise.”

“Yeah,” you respond. “I know.”

Your smile grows. Just a little, because of the bruises. But it prompts one on Jethro’s face, and as his chest gets a bit tight, he softly lifts your hand up. The bandages cover up the ugly rope burns around both your wrists - they’ll go away in a few weeks. Still, he places a soft kiss on top the bandage. Just to help you heal a little faster.

If it were up to Gibbs, he would’ve taken you right home and let you rest. And personally, after all the bullshit, he really just wanted a quiet night with you and a couple glasses of bourbon. And no Dr. Mallard.

Things never usually go as planned for him. A night at the bar is in order to celebrate.

Though, Jethro can’t complain much. You’re seated on his lap, and he’s free to wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close and glare at anyone giving you a second look. Call him protective, but he’s just being safe.

And he let you and Mallard chat away about the case. Mostly about how the NIS agents took all the credit for bringing them in.

“It’s unfair,” you say crossly, glancing back at Jethro before looking to the doctor again. “Do they know how much danger you guys put yourselves in? Or what I went through? And they get the credit?”

Jethro’s grip on your waist tightens. He smirks when he feels your hand settle on his arm.

“It’s not really about the credit,” Mallard replies, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “For me, I’m just happy those bastards won’t be out terrorizing any more innocent people. I looked into some of their victims - poor unfortunate souls who wouldn’t have been missed by anybody. No friends. No family. It’s a real shame.”

The table grows quiet, even as the bar ambience around them is still as loud as ever. You end up leaning back against Jethro; likely needing his comfort.

And he readily gives it. Because you so easily could’ve been one of those victims. Not unknown without friends or family, like the others. But still gone. Still ripped from Jethro’s arms.

“Would’ve missed you,” he finds himself mumbling.

Gibbs didn’t intend for you to hear. He was counting on Dr. Mallard keeping your attention. But it seems like the music and the chatter wasn’t enough to keep his mindless words from your ears. Because as soon as he presses a light kiss against the ball of your shoulder, you’re twisting your head around to smile at him.

His eyes immediately dart away, because he knows the kind of smile you’re wearing.

“Have a little too much to drink, Jethro? You’re getting all affectionate.”

“Yes,” Mallard speaks up, happy to change the subject. “I think he’s gone on to his third glass of scotch!”

It’s one o’clock in the morning. Gibbs kept checking the time.

He wouldn’t say anything about it, though. Not when you were having fun and relaxing after that whole ordeal.

Still, Jethro couldn’t help a little sigh when he finally stepped out of the bar. He holds the door open for you and Ducky - a nickname you’ve given the Scot that took the hold of liquor to stick.

“Well, that was a jolly time. Been a while since I’ve had a sip with companions I could tolerate a conversation with. I’ve found there’s very few people in America who want to sit down for a drink in a pub…”

“Bar,” Jethro says. He hears your soft snort of laughter from behind.

“Bar,” Ducky repeats with a smile only a drunk man would wear. It brings to mind when the doctor had been teasing Gibbs about drinking too much. And just as he goes to sit down on the curb of the street, you’re right there to help him down. Preventing the intoxicated doctor from falling straight on his ass and patting his shoulder once he’s leaning against a stop sign.

Jethro smirks at the sight, shaking his head lightly as he approaches the street to flag down a taxi. Yeah, it was late. It’s been a trying couple of days. But he can’t admit that he didn’t have a little fun. Ducky attempting to teach you some Scottish drinking songs was surely a highlight.

His hand waves up at an oncoming taxi, and thankfully, it notices him and veers over. “Alright, doc. Time to get you home. You know the address of your hotel?”

Gibbs comes over to help you pull Ducky back up, but the other man just regards him with a huff and a frown. “Of course I do, Marine. I’ve got a very good memory, you know. Like a Bottlenose Dolphin. Do you know it’s theorized that dolphins have an even longer memory than elephants?” Ducky stumbles a little over his own feet, almost falling into the street in front of the taxi. But Jethro catches him before he can fall. “Imagine that: a whole metaphor undone because of a single study…”

“That’s very interesting, Ducky,” you tell him lightly, a giggle edging your voice.

Jethro pulls the door open, intent on helping Mallard in so you don’t strain yourself doing it. But the doctor puts a hand on the roof of the cab, balancing himself so he can turn to face you. He’s reflecting your easy smile, and Jethro can’t help but narrow his eyes as he watches the doctor lean over to take hold of your hand.

Is Mallard some kind of drunken flirt? Gibbs fixes his jaw.

“You’re a very charming person, and I do look forward to working with you again. I pray it’s sooner rather than later,” Ducky says. And with no hesitation, he presses a chaste kiss against your knuckles - still a bit tender, but you don’t look as if it bothers you.

Which is why Jethro is tempted to just shove Mallard into the taxi and send him on his way.

Granted, the kiss was brief. He releases your hand and turns to Gibbs, whom he gives a brief nod to. “Same to you, Marine.” And with that, Dr. Mallard ungraciously climbs into the backseat of the taxi, and Gibbs can tell he’ll be chatting the driver’s ear off the whole way. His voice fades as the car drives off.

“That was fun.”

Immediately, Jethro’s eyes leave the cab to look at you. “The drinking, or that kiss?” He asks maybe a bit too sternly.

Your eyes go wide in surprise, lips slowly quirking upward as you gaze up at him without a word. And Jethro winces inwardly at the can of worms he likely opened without even meaning to. He turns away, intent to find another cab for the two of them. But you’re not ready to drop it. “Well, I don’t know. Which did you enjoy the most?”

“Geez,” he mumbles. “Ya know, we should’ve just stayed home. You’re really in no condition to be out and about.”

You don’t reply. Instead, your arms appear right around his waist, closing tight and leaning up against his back. He’s thankful for the position, at least, so you couldn’t see the smirk on his lips. And when Jethro places his hand on your arm, he’s careful to avoid the bandages. He wants to touch your skin, anyway.

“Y’know, Jethro, if you wanna kiss me, you don’t have to wait until after Ducky does it.”

#ncis x reader #ncis reader insert #ncis imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #donald mallard x reader #gibbs imagine #ducky imagine

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iridescent-honey · 3 years

Text

Mysterion characterization

In my opinion, he is one of the most mischaracterized people in the hero franchise.

He is often portrayed as an angsty, edgy, and a ruthless antihero.

Although I can see how that conclusion is come to, here are my thoughts:

*TL;DR at the bottom in red*

*This information is coming from both the game and show, if I can find direct clips, I will show them*

I used the word anti hero, allow me to elaborate on that briefly. For anyone unaware, an antihero is described as “a central character in a story, movie, or drama who lacks conventional heroic attributes.” I would also describe it as someone who is fighting for good while being uncaring/unhelpful to others if it means the majority of the public is helped. Note that the definition of what an antihero is varies from person to person. Poorly characterized antiheroes are written as villains who are part of the hero’s team for some unknown reason.

The first episode we see Mysterion in is in S13E2, he is seen as a rival to The Coon, however he does not view himself that way, in his eyes, he is helping because that’s what he should do, not to spite Cartman.

I think this episode is often forgotten when people view him as an anti hero. We see him expose his identity and putting himself in danger to not have citizens caught in The Coon’s attempt at blackmail. Not my exact idea of an antihero however I digress.

Spoilers for the the game

In the game, the entirety of freedom pals aren’t introduced until the halfway point, however Mysterion, Wonder Tweek, and Tuppaware are introduced very early as opposition. After a lovers quarrel between Tweek and Craig, Doctor Timothy have an argument causing the two factions to fight. Craig is a mandatory player on your team.

While you fight the Freedom Pals, Tweek is the one doing the most talking (I say Tweek because it is very out of character for Wonder Tweek). Throwing insult after insult at Craig, even when the insults aren’t at him directly, Craig respondes as though they were. Tuppaware is not to important, he does his job and fights you, nothing too noteworthy there. But this is about Mysterion so I’ll move on.

In this fight, nearly every time you attack him or his teammates, he responds with how we are only being used by The Coon and we can do better than the Coon and Friends franchise. Also, note that when the opposition show interest in attacking Wonder Tweek he appears fearful, Tuppaware looks disgusted, but Mysterion appears surprised? Disappointed? I’m not quite sure but it’s definitely different than the rest of the Freedom Pals’s reaction. (I know how pointless it may seem to analyze the facial expression when they’re drawn, well, like that. But also consider this! I don’t care.) The best way I could describe it is as being upset/disappointed that that he is being attacked. It is my belief that this is because he doesn’t want to fight. This is countered by the fact that he is a relentless fighter. The only time he isn’t is stated before: the first time you fight him.

The second time however is a different story, he attacks you ruthlessly. He gives you one chance at the beginning of the of the fight, saying that “Fighting Doctor Timothy is a mistake beyond your comprehension.” But afterwards makes no attempts to help you, instead changing to his one liners.

This is another thing I need to talk about. I have a post made for the future where I talk about way too many of his quotes but I’ll summarize it for you.

Being angsty

Being ruthlessly

Being dark

Being concerned for his teammates

Cheering his teammates on

There are some more types but these are the most important because a lot of his lines are dark, angsty, and ruthless and tend to overshadow his other quotes. The appeal to throw in the towel and say that he’s an antihero would be very easy but I truly don’t see it. Despite his quotes he isn’t as angsty in most parts and is seen being distressed for other teammates and trying to help whoever he can.

I believe that he says his quotes only to scare the opposition. When he interacts with his teammates and civilians he stops the angsty-ness and acts as a protector. In my opinion, an antihero would not care about their perception, if the job gets done that’s all that matters. But clearly Mysterion doesn’t abide by those rules.

Although alignment charts are a gross oversimplification for explaining characterization but I think it is a very simple way to explain it. On the character sheets, the alignment is more simplified and only allows lawful, neutral or evil. He describes himself as lawful but that is not a proper alignment. I am still torn on his alignment but I will show three alignments definitions then my thoughts.

Definitions

Lawful Good

A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act. They combine a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. They tell the truth, keep their word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished.

Lawful good is the best alignment you can be because it combines honor and compassion.

Lawful good can be a dangerous alignment when it restricts freedom and criminalizes self-interest.

Lawful Neutral

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs them. Order and organization are paramount to them. They may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or they may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government.

Lawful neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you are reliable and honorable without being a zealot.

Lawful neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all freedom, choice, and diversity in society.

Neutral Good

A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. They are devoted to helping others. They work with kings and magistrates but do not feel beholden to them.

Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order.

Neutral good can be a dangerous alignment when it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.

*I did not add lawful evil because it is so wildly out of character there is no point in talking about it.*

Breaking it down

Lawful Good

A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act.

Mysterion shows himself to be a good person without wanting payment many times. Most notably when he reveals his identity to prevent harm to other citizens, and when he shows kindness and hope to the player despite the character and their teammates showing none back.

They combine a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly.

The commitment to fight evil seems self explanatory so I will not acknowledge that, what I will elaborate on is the “discipline to fight relentlessly”. Earlier in the post, I explain how he seems to not want to fight but does so fiercely. This explains it. He is the calmest out of the heroes at nearly all times, the only time this is false is when a teammate is unjustly injured. While he does get angry, he is never seen actively trying to start a fight, but he will always end one.

They tell the truth, keep their word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice.

Throughout the series and the game, he never lies, however, he is never asked to tell the truth and I’m hesitant on saying that the lack of evidence is evidence. Despite that he does keep his word, his promise to protect his city, and promise to protect Karen are always fulfilled. When the Coon acts against the group, Mysterion is quick to shut him down.

A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished.

In the game, he tells us multiple times that being a hero is ugly. That the merciless don’t deserve mercy. He has made it clear that he is the bringer of karma.

Lawful Neutral

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs them.

Mysterion is an upholder of morals. His own ethics pave how he reacts and behaves. For the most part, he follows the law very closely, but he will break off and actions will become unforgiving if the person deserves it.

Order and organization are paramount to them. They may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard…

His origin as Mysterion was to organize the town through peace and to help stop crime. He tries to keep his team peaceful and succeeds when part of freedom pals. When the franchise was whole, the Coon could break his peaceful exterior.

or they may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government.

This is the most difficult to defend. Yes, he does feed information to the police, but only when they are passive crimes. When active crimes occur, he attempts to deal with the issue himself.

Neutral Good

This is not in line with his personal alignment identity, but this seems the most plausible. Allow me to elaborate:

A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do.

This has been explained in many places throughout this post and so I do not feel the need to repeat it.

They are devoted to helping others.

Once again, Mysterion is constantly seen putting others first: revealing his identity, handling Hindsight by himself, and risking his life and immortality to save them from Cthulhu.

They work with kings and magistrates but do not feel beholden to them.

This feels more natural than the last explanation for lawful neutral. He works with the cops in certain situations but is quick to work by himself or with his teammates if needed.

The alignments have been broken down and the evidence has been laid out, feel free to make your own decision.

TL;DR

Mysterion is not a dark antihero, he is a vigilante, a defender of peace, and beacon of hope to his citizens. He puts the needs and safety of others before himself.

Alignment possibilities: lawful good, lawful neutral, neutral good.

#Character analysis #Mysterion #South Park: The Fractured But Whole #SP: FbW

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump #19: Fear

Warnings: death mention, pills, fever, injured, thermometer

Hero found Villain in a cellar, severely injured. His ribcage was close to crushed and blood was gushing out of mulitple wounds. He was only just conscious, but his breaths were ragged and strained.

"Villain," Hero said, even though she knew that he wouldn't be able to recognize her presence in his state.

She crouched next to him and ran her hand through his sweaty hair. Villain mumbled something that sounded like garbled nonsense than something of actual intellect.

"Shh," she soothed and wrapped Villain into her arms. Without a second thought, she whisked them away to her home using her teleporting powers.

Even as they were still in the tornado of color, Hero was already rushing to her first air kit to stop the blood flow. That nasty Supervillain...

When Hero returned, Villain was awake and pressed against the wall, breathing hysterically.

"Get away from me!" He yelled, defensively. Hero immediately put the first aid kit down and approached Villain with lowered hands.

"I will," she promised, only to say right after, "only if you let me clean you up."

"Never," Villain snapped and lunged forward. He tripped and nearly landed face first, but Hero caught him.

His body convulsed which made Hero's heart lurch in worry. But then he relaxed, melting into Hero's arms. She began to rock him back and forth while very slowly inching towards the first aid kit. Up close, she noticed that many of the wounds had shrapnel stuck in them. She sighed, this was going to hurt.

The first one would've came out easy if it weren't for the fact that Villain pulled out of the way rather quickly. Hero sighed again. Villain had super-strength and speed.

"S-stay away-way," He slurred, but maintained a steady posture.

"I can't do that, you need help," Hero tried to reason, but the villain wouldn't listen. He shook his head wildly.

"Don't, don't, don't," Villain mumbled and put his hands on his forehead, clutching it and swaying. Hero started forward, only to hesitate.

Without another word, Villain ran forward and pushed past Hero. He went over to the door, fumbled with the doorknob and then ran outside.

Hero, shocked, shook the daze out of her eyes. Villain hit her hard. But she wasn't worried about a little bump while Villain was bleeding out on the streets, so she followed him out the door.

She first assumed that he wouldn't be able to get too far, but she was wrong. A mixture of super-strength, speed, adrenaline and fear must've fueled him to get out of there. Hero groaned in annoyance as she teleported around, trying to latch onto Villain. Being able to teleport also granted her the ability to teleport by feeling anyone's emotions and thoughts of those emotions.

Only that wasn't easy when Villain was running around one hundred miles per hour.

Hero squeezed her eyes shut and traveled throughout the city, dipping her hand down into puddles of people's thoughts as she searched for pain and fear, likely the only thoughts running through his head.

Hero squeezed her eyes even harder and concentrated on as a wave of emotions entered her brain and fueled the powerful blood that coursed through her veins.

She could feel her eyes dart around in their sockets as she searched. Searched for two emotions that were tied together that would mean Villain.

Keep on moving, keep on... the thought trailed off, leaving Hero in the dust, but she knew that it was Villain.

Keep on going, gosh this hurts. Pain, pain, pain. Rest, just rest. Who cares if she finds me. I need her help. I am tired, done. Legs, just give up already- the thought was cut off by a loud ringing noise.

Hero's mind threatened to pull away from Villain's, but she held on. Villain had collapsed, she knew this. She also knew that she desperately needed to grasp onto that last straw of consciousness to teleport successfully.

Sleep... let go Villain, let go...

Hero grabbed onto that thought and teleported. She landed on top of a dumpster with a painful thud.

But her determination to find Villain covered the pain. She jumped up and searched frantically around until she spotted a lump next to a pile of cardboard.

"Villain!'" Hero exclaimed, not taking any precautions to make her appearance less threatening. She rushed over to Villain's side and without thought, checked for his pulse.

Her heart started to race when she didn't find it. Maybe she sucked at searching for one? She didn't know, so she reached downwards and put her cheek to Villain's nose.

Soft air blew against her sweaty cheek, cooling it. Hero almost let out a cry in relief until she remembered that Villain was currently bleeding out on her lap.

"Hold on bud," she whispered into Villain's ear. She didn't care that he was incapable of hearing, but it made her feel better about the situation.

The next morning, Villain regained consciousness with a scream, loud and agonizing. It shook Hero, who was drowsily reading a book by his side, to the core.

"Are you okay?" Hero asked, yawning. Villain's pale, ghost-like face was clammy and covered in a thick layer of sweat. Hero looked away, slightly embarrassed to see him look like this. Weak and helpless, completely at the mercy of Hero. Not that she would hurt him. No, she would never to that. She always looked up to him with admiring eyes, as hard as it was to admit it. Seeing him like this was like witnessing your parents cry. It was unnatural and something that she hated.

Villain squinted his eyes and furrowed his forehead. Only that effort seemed to waste too much energy because he relaxed his face and sagged into the pillow again and shivered.

Hero fought the urge to use her hand to check his temperature. It would be a kind gesture- maybe even soothing and would make him feel safe- but Hero knew that Villain would take it the wrong way. She could just imagine extending her hand to him and him freaking out and hurting himself-

A soft whimper drew Hero out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the villain with pity. His eyes seemed to get more and more unfocused as the seconds ticked by. Hero put her hand half-way out. It wouldn't hurt would it?

She place her hand on his burning forehead.

Villain's eyes widened and focused as he tried to pull away, rubbing the cuts on his back. Hero had to face the choice of laying him on his stomach, which would aggravate his ribs, or lay him on his back, which could rip the stitches that Hero spent hours on. He was too weak to lie on his side. She ended up choosing the back for breathing purposes.

But now she really regretted that decision as she heard stitches tear and Villain cry out. Blood started dripping again and all Hero could do was grab Villain's flailing wrists and hold them tightly.

"Stop this," she pleaded with her delirious patient. His gaze flickered to her and watched her movements with suspicion. Hero deftly pushed his arms to his sides and clicked them into the handcuffs. This wasn't the first time that she had cared for an injured person.

Her mind briefly flickered to Sidekick's last week alive. How she struggled and struggled to live, but the deep abdomen wound that... Hero glanced down at the writhing Villain. That Supervillain caused, just like what he did to Villain.

Maybe it would be better to let him suffer. Hero contemplated the idea, weighing the pros and cons (cons being much more) about letting Villain live. Less civilian deaths, less destruction, avenge Sidekick with a fellow villain's death...

But Hero couldn't let someone in pain suffer as they die. She knew how traumatizing it would be for him if he linked Hero's face to this excruciating pain if he indeed lived.

Hero left the scene momentarily to grab a thermometer and tylenol to kick the fever. Her hand lingered over a painkiller too before grabbing that bottle as well.

Villain's eyes were half-lidded by the time Hero returned, but his mouth was clamped shut. She gently opened his lip with the thermometer, but wasn't as successful with slipping it through his clenched teeth.

She sighed and grabbed his jaw, pressing her fingers into his cheek to pry his mouth open. He obeyed, and Hero placed the thermometer under his tongue. Villain's eyes widened at the sudden discomfort, before drooping again. He weakly swallowed the saliva that built up. Hero gingerly rubbed his throat.

The thermometer beeped: 103.9, almost 104. Hero gulped, she needed to lower this fever as soon as possible before it got out of hand. She gently placed the tylenol on Villain's slightly sticking out tongue and dumped some water down his mouth. Villain sputtered and coughed, unable to swallow. His eyes widened in panic and he started writhing around again, pulling against the restraints.

Hero dipped his head back and rubbed his throat.

"Swallow. You can do this," she murmured softly. She wanted to give him the pain meds too, but seeing his inability to do a simple task like swallow, she would have to revert to other means of pain control.

Villain ended up swallowing. His body instantly relaxed as his eyes finished closing. Hero grabbed onto his hand and rubbed in slow, circular motions until his breathing slowed. She smiled, at least alseep he wouldn't hurt.

#summer of whump #protective hero #villain whumpee #fear #tired villain #super powers #hero caretaker #hero x villain #injured #feverish whumpee #day 19 #writing #death mention

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

Oh lord, here we go. Don’t be surprised if my sugardaddy!Billy and couture Steve turns into five parts orz for now, here’s part 3!

This is originally a birthday gift for @lazybakerart 💋and @edith-moonshadow enabled me to keep going with this with their Harringrove for Palestine donation🙏🏻.

Part 1 here ~ Part 2 here ~ read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

A week passed.

Billy didn’t leave a number for Steve to call, and when he tried to phone Billy’s secretary, she gave him a bullshit lie about international calls needing to occur within a certain timeframe, etc. Steve understood he was butting into Billy’s goings-on, during an hour he couldn’t play civilian.

That was another aspect of their relationship they kept dodging.

Steve did not consider white-collar crime unfamiliar. In fact, it’s wildly rampant in society; it just takes the right lawyers and judges to keep things swept under the rug.

Maybe Billy didn’t talk about it for the same reason Steve didn’t open up about his fears of being disposable. When they managed a safe little time capsule where underlying circumstances didn’t exist, things went great. Splendid, even.

But time capsules have to open at some point.

Billy called Steve.

“Hello?” he said to the unfamiliar number. If he sounded a little miffed, it’s because he’d taken more spam calls than genuine correspondences this past week, having not known what Billy’s international number was—

“Steve.”

That sounded…wrong.

“Billy?”

He could hear the man’s breath on the receiver. Heavier than it should have been. “I know you don’t like this. But I need you to come here.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Billy sounded half the man he was. Steve wanted to know what happened to the other half.

“I’m injured. I’ll be fine—”

“Define ‘injured.’”

“Steve,” Billy huffed like a laugh, but Steve could hear it stick in his throat. He hovered in the middle of his apartment, helpless to do anything but hold the phone to his ear. “I’m not arguing right now. Could you just…get in the car that comes to pick you up?”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“The driver will use the buzzer of your building. They won’t come up. Just get in the car and then the plane—”

“Plane? Billy, where did you go?”

He laughed again, a little of his voice leaking into it. “Steve, please. Can I see you or not?”

Steve croaked into the receiver, revolving listlessly in his apartment while his brain failed to keep up. “I-I—wha—um.”

Except, despite everything, like how very likely he would come back to only one or no jobs, it really wasn’t a choice for Steve. His chest ached for Billy. He missed the bastard’s smug smiles and longed for the animation he let fill his face when he relaxed with Steve.

And he felt the itch of being wanted. His ingrained eagerness to be with the person who needed him.

All of it scrambled in his brain so Steve wound up raising his voice while fisting his hair, “A plane? I have to pack! What do I pack?”

Billy’s voice came out breathily on the phone, like he filled it with relief. “You don’t need to pack anything—”

“I NEED PANTS, BILLY!”

Steve got in the car.

Steve got on the plane.

The stupid private jet in which Steve could have his own disco if he wanted because it seemed like only he and the pilot were on the damn thing. He brought the book Billy had gifted him about The New Yorker for something to distract himself, even though he mostly stared blankly at the pages while he waited for the plane to land.

A part of him expected to arrive in the middle of nowhere. Which, to be fair, they had to land in a private hanger outside of the city. But then the next car took him amongst grand buildings and turned into a narrow side street only residents would use. Steve burst upon the sidewalk, only hindered briefly by the receiving of a hotel key and the remark, “Room 532.”

Steve skipped the elevator. He wore heels in his spare time; he would’ve beaten the lift anyway.

As with any hotel, the key took some figuring out, but when he managed, he stepped into the suite. “Billy?”

It smelled like any other nice hotel. Cream carpets and matching walls. A splash of color on the rumpled bedspread amongst Billy’s clutter. Steve followed the floor plan of the sitting room to the bedroom and then the bathroom, where he heard the shower running. He knocked on the door, “Billy?”

And then louder, “Billy?”

“Come in.”

Steve carefully pushed into the room, unsure what he’d find…

What looked like two open first aid kits sat on the counter. Steve couldn’t read anything from those alone, but he didn’t have to because the shower was a large, glass cubicle. It stood big enough for four people. Billy sat on the floor, his chest wrapped in sodden cotton and gauze; barefoot underneath his black slacks. Steve opened the glass door as Billy lifted his head—

He knelt on the hard tiles, putting his arms around Billy’s neck to greet him, to hold him. Cool tendrils seeped through Steve’s hair, soft claws over his scalp until the water properly soaked his strands.

“Steve, your clothes.”

Instead of answering, he looked at the shower knobs and turned the hot water up. As soon as heat seeped over them, Billy melted against him. His head fell easily where Steve pulled him into the bend of his neck. Billy’s hands fumbled a little to find him, but all he could do was grasp onto him to avoid bending or twisting his injured torso.

Steve remained kneeling over him long past being soaked through.

He did not cry until Steve undressed, leaving his sodden raiment on the shower floor to retrieve the scissors from the first aid kits. He carefully snipped through the ruined gauze and medical tape. Soon a pile of white, and diluted pinkish-orange blood also sat on the floor. Whoever had stitched up Billy’s sides had done a good job, but Steve had to dry him off and rebind him.

After the first wince, Billy came undone. Steve wished he could say something to make it easier, but all he had were small reassurances and quietly given orders.

“Can you hold this here?”

“Lift your arm up.”

“Hang on. Almost done.”

An odd talent of Steve’s: tolerating pain with silent grace. A skill which Billy ironically lacked. But where Steve withheld, Billy knew how to release. Perhaps here was one of their bridges.

“Put your arm around me. Lift with your legs.”

The towels Steve put over their shoulders helped them grip one another. Once standing, Billy halted, “Wait. Take these off.”

To each of their credit, neither made a joke as Billy’s trousers and underwear landed with a wet slosh next to Steve’s pile. Steve wrapped his towel around his waist once Billy sat on the bed. With his hands freed, he went about drying Billy’s hair with his towel and opening the bed for Billy to fall into.

“Have you taken any meds?”

“Nothing spectacular.”

His head sagged on the pillow, following Steve to the bathroom, where he found an ibuprofen bottle and shook out two tablets. His eyes followed Steve’s hand raking his hair off his face, and the movement of his throat around a swallow. The filling of a glass at one of the sinks.

Billy let him wrangle a pillow underneath his body so he could swallow the pills with ease. Before he did so, Billy informed, “The blue pill bottle is sleeping meds.”

Steve went and read the label, even peeling the thing off to read the lengthy underside. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. I need to rest now.”

But Steve went into the living room and pilfered through the mini fridge. He returned with apple juice and a granola bar. “If you take this on an empty stomach, you might vomit. I’m not letting you suffocate in your sleep.”

“They put that on there to avoid lawsuits,” Billy complained even while he accepted the juice bottle. He munched slowly, almost carefully on the sugar-glazed nuts of the granola bar while…

Steve got dressed. In Billy’s clothes.

He crouched right in between Billy’s suitcase and the open wardrobe to select one of his long-sleeves and boxer briefs. Billy blinked softly, feeling warmth blossom through his chest and sink through his belly.

Regardless, he sassed, “You’re not gonna sleep naked with me?”

Steve climbed next to him, facing him as if he intended to get up again soon. He tore into his own granola bar. “I don’t know what to expect with you. I’d rather not be forced out of the building naked.”

Billy’s hand touched his leg as he bit into the bar. “Nothing’s going to happen. There’s a menu on the table out there. Order room service.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve refused with a cheek full of almonds. “We’ll eat tomorrow. Or…when the sun’s up in two hours.”

Billy didn’t ask him to, but Steve stroked fingers through his hair after Billy took his sleeping medicine. “Don’t leave,” he moaned tiredly, the force of the little pill dragging him under.

“I’m not leaving. But you can’t octopus me in your sleep.”

Billy sighed, intending for more words to come out than the ones that did. “…test me…”

When his breaths came and went like the heavy sway of the ocean, Steve kept petting through his hair. Even though Billy couldn’t hear him anymore, Steve sighed, “Scared the shit out of me, idiot. I missed you. Don’t do that.”

Billy hummed in his sleep as if he heard him. Even drugged unconscious, the man tried to retort.

Steve leaned down to kiss his temple and tucked him in to keep him warm. When a knock on the door sounded, Steve donned one of the bathrobes and held a shoehorn behind the door as he answered. The shoehorn was a ridiculous ornate thing from the wardrobe; more like a walking stick than a device to help a heel slip into a boot.

The woman on the other side of the door dressed as expensively as Billy and appeared just as austere. Steve had never seen her before even though she acted like she knew him. “Is he well?”

“He’s asleep. What do you need?”

“To go over his intended schedule for today.”

“Reschedule it. He isn’t doing anything for at least two days.”

She did not look anxious. Merely…disappointed? “That will be…difficult.”

“He’s a difficult man,” Steve sighed, his posture tilting back into the room and warranting an end to this discussion. “Whoever expects to see him likely knows that.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” she dismissed.

“What is your name?” he halted.

“Elena Varma. Hargrove knows me as Elicit Vagina.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and if she were anyone other than Billy’s secretary and personal guard, now would be the time to take his head off. Instead, she elaborated, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Right,” he nodded dazedly. “Are you single? I know somebody.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, but her mouth and brows moved with amusement. Like a test, she inquired, “Are they butch?”

“No,” he said a bit perplexedly, thinking of Robin’s amber blond bob and all of her many-colored Converse on which she doodled.

A pause. Then, “Does she have bad taste?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve exhaled, “Great,” under his breath as he shut the door. Crossing over to the living room, he set the shoehorn down and picked up the room service menu.

When Billy’s eyes next opened, it was to the beckoning of dishware clatter and summons of browned butter and tangy, aromatic cheese.

Steve sat much as he last remembered, sitting facing Billy while a tray sat where his pillows ought to be. A cart of more food stood by the food of the bed. Billy’s blurry gaze traveled back to Steve, who chewed on a croissant with a newspaper, of all things, in his hand.

It was perfect.

Minus the abhorrent headache and parchedness of his throat.

“Coffee.”

Billy couldn’t not smile at the wide eyes that lifted up to him. Steve rushed to swallow the lump in his cheek and handed him his glass of water from the tray. Billy shook his head. “No. Coffee.”

“Water first.”

Billy sighed and leaned over as much as his injured side allowed him to. He drained the glass. And he never got his coffee. Steve made him drink a strong cup of tea, as if that would replace Billy’s usual espresso in the morning.

“Your, um, personal assistant came by. She knows to reschedule all of your—whatever you do. I said you need two days.”

“Two days?” Billy chirped in the middle of grumbling over his tea. “That’s a vacation.”

Steve huffed a sound, but looked toward the window and it’s sheer, white curtains. “What street are we on?”

“What was that sound?” Billy diverted.

Steve looked at him. “What sound?”

“The sound you just made.”

“You mean the sound of you complaining that I work too much but consider two days a vacation. That sound?”

“Yeah, that sound,” he remarked. “I stand by what I said. You don’t need two jobs.”

“Billy, you got stabbed yesterday. Twice. Or whatever the hell happened to you.”

“I’ll have you know I was only stabbed once. The side mirror of a moving car clipped my other side.”

Whatever mirth he intended to be in that statement wilted in the face of Steve’s glare. Billy took the silent admonishment with grace and, after a moment, said, “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”

“I never said you were one.”

“Walking around with a stab wound and clear assault damage isn’t helping my case,” he responded with another unhappy sip of his tea. At least Steve put milk and sugar in it. Dessert for breakfast.

“Long story short: I got a job and the old man CEO noticed me. He liked me a lot. I was the one male secretary in the place; it was easy to notice me. The women liked me—”

“Women have always liked you,” Steve retorted quietly. But he set his things on the tray and laid across the bed to pillow his head on Billy’s thigh.

He gazed up at him while Billy continued, “It was easy. If the head of a building likes you, job promotions come fast. Training happens in the boss’s own office. Then the asshole died and both his heir, and the board, did not take it well to my name being in the will. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of their mess.”

Steve listened and processed, “This heir was driving the car?”

Billy snorted and instantly grimaced for the pain it caused him. Steve began to get up for the painkillers, but Billy’s fingers plunged into his hair; not gripping him, but softly holding his head. “Stay. I’m fine. No, I doubt the idiot even has a license. He can’t aim a blade, either. He’s running out of money, that’s why he’s so desperate.”

“Where is he now?”

Billy’s head tilted almost piteously at him. “Do you really want to know that?”

“Well I can’t decide which is more romantic: inviting me into a shit storm, or making sure I’m safe first.”

He could see some of the tension leave Billy’s face and shoulders as he reached for Steve’s tray and took his other croissant. “He’s in the hospital. But I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Steve could read between the lines. “Us trust fund kids. We’re not built for street fighting.”

That earned an animated frown from Billy, who spoke regardless of his full mouth. “You gave me a hell of a wallop once.”

“I lost that fight.”

“You didn’t have a homophobic, retired veteran waiting for you to bring your sister home. And this guy clearly doesn’t have a pretty boy waiting for him or he might’ve won.”

Steve laughed but it faded as he just…marveled at Billy. They had never talked this openly before. However proud of Billy he felt, though, the nagging dark corner of his brain turned his thoughts onto himself. He let slip:

“You work so much harder than me.”

Billy immediately wasn’t having it. His head tilted again but instead of pity, it was chastisement. “Steve.”

“No, no—I just mean I’m proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me without sounding like I’m about to toss you out onto the curb. I just told you the very idea of you helped keep me alive.”

“And I abandoned two jobs and an overpriced apartment to be here, so I hope you mean it. You might be keeping both of us alive for a while—Hey.”

In between thrown bits of croissant and grapes, Billy chided, “I’ve been. Trying. To convince you. That I mean it. And it takes a drive-by to. Get. Your. Attention.”

“Okay! Okay—this is disgusting. Stop it!”

Steve reared up only to be ensnared by Billy’s overstretched arms. Steve caught himself on Billy’s collarbones so he did not press on his chest, tugging the skin on his sides. “B! Be careful.”

A hand cradled the side of Steve’s head as a soft smirk lifted Billy’s mouth. “Let me kiss you.”

Steve, defiant till the last, pushed him down so he didn’t exert himself. Then he kissed Billy slowly, reverently. He liked kissing Billy a whole lot. Loved it. He liked Billy’s taste and the sound of their lips parting before meeting for more. He liked the puffs of Billy’s breath across his cheek and his hands reaching for Steve. Finding him. Holding him.

Eventually, though, Billy whispered against his lips, “Why did you ask what street we’re on?”

Steve rolled his lips together, perhaps seeking a balm for being chapped from kissing, or nerves. “It’s fashion week. We might be able to see stuff from the window.”

Billy claimed one more kiss and then released him to clean up the bed and scout the street below. Billy managed to reach the bathroom on his own, where he took another pair of meds and readied for a day in. With Steve.

Steve, who insisted he stay in bed.

Steve, who found a full-length mirror in the wardrobe and held it half out the window so Billy could see the horizon of the street reflected from his place on the bed. He watched Steve more than anything. His giggles at how ridiculous it was to hold a mirror out the window. When his features relaxed as he watched the traffic and people arriving to a place a few blocks down. When he asked Billy if

“Can you see the red coat? That thing’s massive.”

And, “Somebody famous just got there. The paparazzi are going nuts.”

Steve really should have expected the events of the next day, but Billy still faced the stern glare and long blinks when he sighed. “B, you’ve only rested a day. Your stitches could still tear.”

“One runway isn’t going to kill me. We’ll pop in and not attend the after party. Elicit’s already managed to get tickets—”

“Her name’s Elena,” Steve frowned with his hands on his hips.

“No, it isn’t,” Billy scoffed, and went to dissect Steve’s luggage himself...

He grasped the linen shoe bag, recognizing the shape inside. He lifted one of the Hot Chick 100s. “You took packing seriously, huh?”

Steve seemed to be really grappling with patience. “I didn’t know what you needed. A nurse or a kinky leg to hold onto.”

“So I got both,” he grinned.

A reluctant, little smile pulled at Steve’s face. “I’m not wearing those out.”

Billy had already set the pair on the living room table when he grimaced, “What? Why not?”

Steve glanced at the windows like they might hold an answer. “Because I’ll be giant and make more noise than anyone else in heels.”

Billy wasn’t buying it. He held onto the back of the couch to help himself stand and then made his way to his own clothes. “If there’s any time to wear what you want and get away with it, it’s fashion week. Come here, no one’s going to let you wear jeans beside a runway.”

Billy had way too much fun dressing him. A quiet little warning bell went off in Steve’s head over this, but he couldn’t listen to it without also admitting that he enjoyed himself. One of Billy’s silk button-ups around his body felt nice.

Intimate.

A black suit jacket over it made Steve feel chic and professional. And when Billy asked him to lift his foot onto the bed, Billy double wrapped the chain of his pendant around Steve’s ankle. Amber and opals on one side, and a golden saint on the other.

“If you’re tired or hurt at any point, tell me,” Steve lectured in the car.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, but Billy’s hand on his thigh tightened.

“I know, baby. I’m okay. The show’s not even two hours long. Try to relax. You look real hot.”

Steve snorted and rubbed the silk of his shirt between his fingers. “Is this shirt new?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear it. And it would’ve matched my green shoes,” he added with slanted eyes at him.

“So what if I wanted to match my partner? Try and sue me.”

Partner. Steve caught his face in his hand, eyes aching with the moisture overflowing from his heart.

The car pulled up alongside a bustling street. Elena Varma accompanied them through the open double doors, but she kept to herself. She sheltered Billy’s other side while Steve slid an arm over Billy’s shoulders and held onto him. If a pair of eyes scrutinized them, Billy was hardly the only rich man with a pretty thing in heels on his arm. And people only had compliments for Steve’s classic choice in shoe.

The off-duty models sitting around them in the chairs along the runway were very sweet. Steve and Billy kindly refused their inquiries over attending the later afternoon events, but gratefully accepted their information about the show.

Models talk. And in this world where everyone knows someone who knows everyone, the models explained the architecture of the runway, the designer’s vision, the gossip about the model opening the show, and the model closing the show, etc.

“I like the butterflies,” Steve said, pointing to the ceiling, where a myriad of paper butterflies on wires fluttered with the air conditioning ventilation.

“I like you.”

Steve pointed flustered but narrowed eyes on him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“To the important things,” Billy replied, leaning back with an arm over the back of Steve’s chair. He did contribute, “I like the columns. The effect of the eroded marble and gold filigree is interesting. I enjoy looking at it.”

Steve leaned into him, resting a hand on Billy’s thigh as the lighting changed and the show began. The fashion proved largely sculptural instead of practical, but Steve pointed as models went by.

“My mom would know what that means.”

“If the designer was inspired by Greece, then it’s something mythological. Greece seems to be very in right now.”

“You read my magazines,” Steve accused with a smile.

“I smell the colognes.”

That earned Billy a soft nudge before Steve’s jaw relaxed in sight of a male model striding past them. “You’d look really good in that.”

“The gold speedo?”

“No,” he lightly slapped Billy’s knee. “The shirt.”

“I don’t really go for pastels.”

Steve turned soft eyes on him. He touched the underside of Billy’s chin with a fond knuckle. “You and your jewel tones.”

Then a model turned onto the stage wearing a sweatshirt totally encrusted with jewels. Steve and Billy exchanged looks, which ended with Steve covering his laughter and Billy pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve and Billy left the show with at least one pocket full of models’ agents’ business cards. Steve had taken the time to write the models’ names on each card along with a descriptor, as if they actually intended to remember and reach out to them later that night, should their plans change.

Their plan did not change.

If anything, Steve and Billy only more firmly wanted to retire to their hotel room after they ordered coffees—and Steve nearly broke his ankle stepping off the pavement.

“The puddle lied! The water lied to me,” he lamented through laughter, having thought that the water was far shallower than it actually proved to be. He powered through their venture in the coffee shop, but as soon as they were in the car, Billy pulled his leg up to inspect his ankle and Steve held up one of the shoes.

“Holy shit. Look at that.” The flat of the heel now had a harsh angle to it, as if he’d worn these shoes for a decade instead of thrown off his stride by a waterlogged pothole. Both shoes had water and grit on the insides too.

“I’m sorry, B. These might need some work—Oo!”

Billy had touched his ice coffee to Steve’s ankle. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lighter note. “The ladies we sat with were really nice.”

“What about the show?”

That gave Steve pause. “Um. Honestly? They all walked too fast for me to really see much.”

Billy laughed so hard his stitches made him stop.

#harringrove #deeper than skin #neonponders #pondermoniums

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spellcasterlight · 3 years

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@flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt: #FFF120 A Greater Horror

@myaekingheart's OC-tober Day 1 Prompts: Civilian & Ninja

This actually goes really well with a one-shot I have in mind for these two meeting! 😁

Warnings: Feelings of Mild Terror. Mild Blood Mention. Mild Minor Character Death. Mild Feelings of Hopelessness.

This was a nightmare.

All Zoka knew about this man was his name, and he was now her husband. She hadn't even had the time to talk to him the night before because she had passed out as soon as the vows were said.

Now she had to leave the only home she knew to travel Zoka didn't even know how long to live in; she didn't even know what type of place.

The Aburame clan; Zoka didn't know anything about them. Her family had gone out of their way to tell her nothing about them before she had taken their name in the arranged marriage she was told about only the day before.

Zoka supposed she should be grateful it was better than what her father and brothers initially planned on doing to her; weakness was not appreciated in the Fuma clan after all.

So there she was, all her stuff packed and trying not to pass out, the carriage doing nothing to stop her from feeling every bump in the uneven road sitting beside the head of the Aburame who seemed to ooze silence and respect and authority; it was practically tangible in the air.

Maybe this wasn't a nightmare at all. So far, Shibi had been nothing but courteous to her. Catching her when Zoka passed out in the wedding hall being the first interaction they ever had after saying their vows, after all, she hadn't been forced to do or say anything she didn't want to he had even sent a medical ninja in to look after her when she woke up from her fall.

The coach suddenly jolted sideways, nearly tipping over entirely before slamming back down. When the Amegakure native curled into herself, Shibi pulled her to his side only when they rolled to a complete stop did he release her feeling the danger was over.

This man, her new husband's immediate reaction to danger, was to try and keep her safe; the Fuma's wouldn't have cared.

Perhaps this was the start of a fantastic new life for her, not as a failed shinobi but as the civilian wife and representative in a serene, normal, loving and protective envir-

"Stay here."

With that, Shibi was out of the coach, leaving her alone.

She had barely taken a cleansing breath. It was easier to breathe now that they were stationary before the sounds of in agony screaming and the clashes of metal flooded the air.

Curling up on the seat, Zoka did her best to hide she hated fighting, she didn't have the strength for it even if she didn't hate everything that came with it; the reason she was tossed out of her home, to begin with.

Trying to regulate her breathing, Zoka slammed her hands over her ears and took in as much air as she could before slowly breathing out through her mouth; she couldn't pass out, not now, she needed to stay awake no matter how cold and scared she felt.

When the noise around her stopped, the yells and the in pain cries ceasing completely, only chilling her more; the carriage door opened again, and she raised her head to ask Shibi if he was hurt, but her arctic blue eyes went wide at what she saw. Zoka couldn't stop herself from scrambling as far back into her seat as the Amegakure native physically could.

Bugs Shibi had bugs coming out of him, crawling in and out of his face and neck like it was ground dirt. He didn't flinch, didn't even react. It was horrifying.

"Are you hurt?"

The Amegakure native could feel herself hyperventilating. She couldn't rip her eyes away from watching the tiny black insects crawl over him and eating the blood that was splattered over his coat.

"Zoka."

When she died, would it be like maggots on a corpse? Would they feed her to their human eating insects and watch on uncaring?

"Are you injured?"

A terrifying thought occurred to her. Did her family pick these-these monsters because they were just as bad as the Fuma's were? Just as battle-hungry and ruthless and cutthroat and outright disturbed? Could they possibly be worse?

Digging her nails into the cushions below her, Zoka shook her head so hard she thought she might faint. "N-No."

He took that moment to tug his tall collar back into place, hiding the insects from view that were still burying in his flesh, but she still knew they were there, her mind tricking her into hearing their movements, and somehow that was even worse.

"We will see if there are; anymore," Shibi stated in that same calm, cool tone she had only heard him speak in. Her family would be yelling and screaming their delight at the fresh kills. The Aburame did the opposite, remained as silent as the grave at the moment the Amegakure native didn't know what disturbed her more. "I will send Kana; to look after you."

With that, Shibi walked away, several of his clanmates, Zoka assumed, speaking his name to get his attention.

The carriage door being left open, she could see what remained of one of her attackers, and it made her stomach squirm those disgusting flesh-eating black beasts crawling in and out their enemies insides as if they buried inside him only to burst out while he was still alive so they could-

She bent in half, and dry heaved.

Her old family had decided selling her like a slave was more beneficial to them than killing her and her new family were something out of a horror story insects feeding on them and their opponents as if they were already dead.

Zoka's small glimmer of hope at a normal life crumbled to dust as quickly as it appeared.

Slamming her wildly shaking hands over her lips didn't quite manage to hold in her sob.

This was a nightmare.

#flashfictionfridayofficial #oc-tober 2021 #oc-tober #myaekingheart's naruto oc-tober #shibi aburame x OC #shibi aburame #OC: Zoka Aburame (née Fuma)#fanfic #❤️❤️❤️

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maddogofshimano · 4 years

Text

Saejima (1988) Character Story

Yakuza 4 and 5 Spoilers

It took me a while to get to this one because there was a Valentine’s Scratcher event going on with Goromi as the top scratcher prize (only in game, not in the actual event story sadly) so I went ballistic on that.

Anyways, here’s our card!

For character stories they generally have one, maybe two talk sprites, so Saejima here is going to be looking like this for the majority of the story, even when it’s wildly inappropriate. Don’t worry about it!

Summary: A month before the hit in 1985, Saejima starts tutoring a kid and forms a bond with him. After 27 years Saejima is back in Kamurocho, but the kid was changed by the hit just as much as Saejima was...

1985, March One month before Saejima Taiga would become "The Legendary 18 Count Killer".

"Haa~ Thanks to getting wasted with my kyoudai, my head's pounding." (Tl note: he is not actually wandering around with the guns I promise.)

Saejima decides to stop in for coffee to help with his hangover. He overhears an elementary school-aged kid getting thrown out of cafe alps, it seems he just bought a single coffee and then hung around all day.

The manager tells him to go study at home. Saejima asks if there's a problem, the manager explains the situation, and the kid says that he's got a big exam coming up but his home is too noisy to study in.

Saejima asks if the store is really that crowded that he can't look the other way on this. The manager says that it's not an issue of being busy or not, but if he lets one kid sit there all day then all the kids are going to want to do the same. The kid begs for one more hour, just to do the practice exam. The manager refuses and tells the kid to scram, but Saejima says that if he pays for something for the kid, that'll be fine, right? The kid is overjoyed and calls him ojisan. Saejima says he ain't an ojisan, just call him Saejima.

The kid calls him Saejima no ojisan, and introduces himself as Ichirou, Nishiyamada Ichirou. (Tl note: there's a few different ways to read 一郎, but Ichirou is a common one and kind of matches up with the number+son of 吾郎 Goro, so that's what I'm sticking with.) Saejima tells him he better study hard, cause there's plenty of people in this world that don't have the opportunity to.

A few days later...

Ichirou is once again getting thrown out of Cafe Alps. He keeps telling the kid to go home, but he just won't listen. Saejima happens to see this again. He asks why they're going through the same song and dance again, and the manager asks if Saejima knows that after Saejima paid for Ichirou he ended up staying until the store closed and didn't cough up another cent? Saejima did not know that. Saejima asks Ichirou if anywhere quiet would work for studying. Ichirou says as much, and Saejima brings him to a nice place he knows near here.

Ichirou: Ojisan, what is this place? Saejima: Oh, here? Saejima: (I can't just tell him that it's an abandoned building the Sasai Family used to make use of...) Saejima: Uhhh... it's... an acquaintances building. We can use it however we like. Ichirou: Hmm, I see. But... there aren't any desks? Saejima: There's some mandarin boxes, ain't there? And for a cushion... cardboard will work well enough for ya. Ichirou: Yeah! ....This is kind of like a secret base, huh.

Saejima changes the subject back to this practice exam Ichirou is taking. He wants to go to a good school, but he's not very good at studying, so he hasn't been able to get the grade he needs. Saejima asks to see his study method. Ichirou shows him and Saejima agrees, that's not a very efficient method, and shows him a better one. Ichirou is surprised he knows how to study. Saejima tells him of course he does, dummy, he wanted to be a teacher. Getting kids to study would be a necessity.

Some time passes with Saejima teaching the kid how to study better, like identifying which problems will have the same sort of solutions. After a successful day they head out.

Ichirou is really thankful for all the help. Unfortunately, Ichirou's older brother's friends, a pack of goons, arrive. One of the goons tries to shake Ichirou down for cash, which Saejima does not take kindly to.

The goon calls Saejima an old man and tells him he's a dumbass if he thinks he can take on this many guys, and even Ichirou tells Saejima not to fight them, they're all members of a biker gang, and they're really strong. Saejima is of course not deterred by this, and tells Ichirou to run away if he needs to while he handles it.

Saejima tells them to keep their hands off Ichirou from now on, they agree, call him a beast, and flee. Ichirou thinks Saejima is just the coolest. Saejima asks if those guys are usually shaking him down like that, turns out they are, and Saejima is pissed that they'd do that to a kid. He tells Ichirou to let him know if they try anything like that again. Ichirou agrees, but he doesn't think it's right to be protected all the time, so he'd like to get stronger too.

Saejima asks what he means by stronger. Ichirou says that he actually wants to become a cop. His father was a great cop, and he wants to be like that. Saejima is shocked that his dad is a cop.

He recovers quickly though, and asks more about why Ichirou wants to become a cop. He says that his dad is super cool, he's so brave to be facing yakuza and protecting the common folk from bad people. Saejima says he sounds like an excellent father. Ichirou agrees, but he's always worried about his father getting hurt with how dangerous Kamurocho is, so he wants Saejima to teach him how to fight. Saejima is hesitent about this, it's dangerous to fight people, and it's better to just get out of there.

Ichirou begs to be taught, if he's going to be a cop he needs to be strong! He swears he'll be Saejima's disciple. Saejima asks if he'll be okay if Saejima's tough on him. Ichirou says of course! Thank you, Saejima-sensei! Saejima's a little embarrased to be called sensei. Ichirou asks what he usually does. Saejima says... he's a freelancer. Ichirou doesn't know what that means, but that's fine.

1985, March 10 days before Saejima Taiga would take his first steps towards becoming "The Legendary 18 Count Killer".

Ichirou hasn't shown up for tutoring for several days, leaving Saejima to wonder what's going on. He heads out to look and sees Ichirou in the street and asks him why he's stopped going to the hideout. Ichirou immediately bursts into tears.

Saejima calms him down and they go to a cafe to talk about things. Apparently Ichirou's father has been seriously injured while doing police work. He was dragged into some trouble, there was a shoot-out while trying to protect a woman but... his father was shot badly, and may never walk again.

Saejima lets Ichirou cry it all out and asks if he'll be okay to get home on his own. Ichirou says he'll be fine, and brings up Saejima's "school", which it takes Saejima a moment to realize is the ruined hideout. Ichirou thinks he's going to stop, he doesn't want to be a police officer anymore. Saejima asks if Ichirou got scared because of what happened to his dad. Ichirou says it is, and asks if it's okay if he stops going to the school.

Saejima says that things have been hard, so it's fine to take a little break, but he shouldn't lose sight of his goals to live up to his father. Even if he gets off-track, he can get himself where he wants to go anyways. He may not have his father to live up to right now, but he has his heart, and that will guide him true. Ichirou thanks him, and Saejima tells him to get some rest. (Tl note: the phrase Saejima uses a lot here is 見習うべき背中 which I couldn't find as an idiom or anything, but is along the lines of learning from/imitating [someone's] back/spine. "Live up to" is what I used for the most part)

Saejima does wonder about that yakuza incident, and figures he can look into it. Of course, by "look into it", he means beating the information out of a hapless goon.

Saejima: A few days ago there was a scuffle on Pink Street between some yakuza. Were you the one involved? Yakuza: Ah!? What do you mean!? Saejima: Ya tried to shoot that civilian woman, right? But the bullet ended up hittin' the cop who was protectin' her... Saejima: So then ya booked it outta there... That seem about right? Yakuza: Bastard, are you a cop? You can't prove nothing... Saejima: Nah. I ain't a cop. Let's just call this... payback.

Saejima thinks to himself that Ichirou should be able to rest easy now that Saejima's gotten some vengeance for him.

A few days later...

Saejima is walking past the hideout and notices the lights are on in it. Ichirou is inside, seems he's doing a lot better now, and he says that he's been thinking about what Saejima said and has decided he won't give up on his dream of becoming a police officer. He was really inspired by what Saejima said, and he thought that it's not just his dad he wants to live up to, there's another man he wants to emulate. He wants to be a man like his father, and like Saejima-sensei!

Saejima is touched. Ichirou says that with all that in mind, he's ready to continue!

A few days later, in Saejima's apartment...

Saejima gets a call, someone wants to talk to him about something important. He meets them at the park.

He's told about the hit, and asked to think it over and give his response soon.

Saejima: (For Boss Sasai's sake, there's nothin' I wouldn't do... That's what I've always thought...) Saejima: (A hit, huh. And on the Ueno Seiwa family...) Saejima: (I've steeled my heart. But even still... This is crossin' a line I can't ever undo)

Saejima goes to the hideout.

Ichirou: What? Today's our last day? Ichirou: W-Why!? Saejima: ......Sorry. Ichirou: Why? Why are we stopping? Saejima: I ain't the kind of guy ya want to live up to. Chasin' after me will bring ya nothin' but sorrow. Ichirou: ...Ojisan. I don't understand... Saejima: Ichirou. I'm sorry. ...Become an excellent police officer. Ichirou: Ojisan...

1985, April 21st. ...Saejima Taiga massacred a large gathering of the Ueno Seiwa Family. After the incident he was called "The Legendary 18 Count Killer". For his crimes Saejima was given a death sentence...

2012, December in Kamurocho... It's been 27 years since Saejima's 18 person hit. Upon hearing of Majima's death, Saejima has broken out of Abashiri Prison in Hokkaido in pursuit of the truth. This search has led him once more back to Kamurocho...

Saejima is on the run from the cops. He ducks into an alleyway only to be faced by goons. He doesn't have time to deal with them right now, and considers if he needs to just hide until they go away. Thankfully for Saejima, a police officer stops the goons. They complain, haven't they paid the cop enough? The cop tells them that he's got no room to complain, after all, it's thanks to him that these goons can eat all the great food they want outside of a cell.

They hand over the cash. Unfortunately the cop spots Saejima. He turns to run, but the cop recognizes him.

Cop: ...S-Saejima... sensei?

Saejima: Ah? Cop: I knew it... it is you. The escaped convict I kept hearing about... Saejima: ....Y-You're, no way, are you... Saejima: ...Ichirou? Ichirou: ........It's been a while. Saejima: ...I see ya managed to become a police officer. Ichirou: Yes. As you can see. Saejima: Yeah. I'm glad. As much as I wanna enjoy meetin' again, ya caught me at a bad time.

Saejima: ....Ichirou. I'm sorry to ask, but could ya pretend ya didn't see me? I still got somethin' I need to do. I can't get caught yet... Ichirou: ...Heh. What, got another person to murder? I was shocked when you killed those 18 people. "Saejima-*sensei*"... Saejima: ! Ichirou: You kept the fact that you were a yakuza a secret the whole time. Despite that, you pretended like you were a good teacher... Saejima: No, that was... Ichirou: ...It's fine. I'll look the other way. I don't know what you're planning, but that's fine. Ichirou: And, 500,000. I'll take it as a payment. Saejima: Ichirou... you... Saejima: Isn't that the same bribe you just got from those chinpira? Where did ya pick that habit up? Ichirou: Saejima!! I am nothing like the child I once was! Saejima: .....Wouldn't this make your dad sad? What happened to becomin' an excellent officer? Ichirou: ...Like a murderer has any room to talk. ...Well, whatever. Just pay me the money already. Saejima: .............Ichirou. I don't have any money to pay ya with right now. Ichirou: Is that so. In that case, I don't have any reason to let you go, right? Saejima: Yeah... Ichirou: Well, guess I have no choice... You all! Come make yourselves useful! Goons: Eh? Ichirou: Beat the hell out of Saejima. Try not to kill him. Goon: H-Huh? Why us? You already took all our cash, now this... Ichirou: ...Robbery and assault. How many more things do you think I've looked the other way on? Goon: Hnn... Ichirou: Do you want to eat shitty rice in jail!? Are you going to ruin your life!? Goons: S-Shit!!

After the fight the goons cower, Saejima is just too strong. Ichirou decides to escalate, and pulls out a dagger he had confiscated. He gives it to the goons to use, and tells them to stab Saejima to death.

Saejima: ...Ichirou. You... Ichirou: Saejima!! This is the price of your betrayal! I'll get the credit for this! Ichirou: Well!? I'll be putting away all of you fucks if you don't!! Goon: .....D-Dammiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!! Damn this shitty cop! Ichirou: Wh-... Are you really turning against me, even knowing what will happen... Goon: Shut uppp! I have a *much* better use for this! You're the one who's going to die!! Ichirou: A-Ahhhh!

Ichirou: Eh? Saejima: ...Guh... Damn, that really hurt. Goon: ....Ah. Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah... Goon: Ahhhhhh!

Ichirou: ....W-Why? Saejima: C'mon. You were about to get stabbed. Saejima: Ain't it the same kinda thing yer father suffered? Ichirou: ....... Saejima: ....Shit. I... made my choice... to take that blade...

Saejima: ...Ichirou, what are ya doing? Aren't ya gonna arrest me? Nothin' I can do about it, right now. Ichirou: ...... Ha, hahah. Ichirou: You haven't changed at all, have you. Add yet my hands have gotten so dirty...

Saejima: ! Ichirou... Ichirou: .......27 years ago. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to think there had been some kind of mistake. Ichirou: ...I was in shock. I had seen the kind of man you were, and you were dazzling... Ichirou: ...But now, once more... I was able to see that again. Saejima: ...Ichirou. Saejima: ...Guh... Shit... Ichirou: I know a back alley doctor. They're close by... Saejima: No, I don't need taken care of. I'll do somethin' about this myself. Ichirou: But... Saejima: Heh. Stop givin' me that soft look. Ichirou: ... Then get out of here before anyone else comes. Is there anything I can do for you? Saejima: Is that gonna be okay? Just look the other way. Ichirou: Heh... I became a dirty cop a long time ago. Looking the other way one more time, for you, that's no problem at all. Saejima: ... I'm sorry, Ichirou. But... once I'm done with this, I'm going to atone for my crimes. I'll do it right. Ichirou: ... Atone, huh. Ichirou: ...Hey. Can you tell me one thing? Could I, even after all this, could I start over clean? Saejima: Yeah. People can always become better. Your feelings are proof of it. Ichirou: ........Truly? Saejima: Heh. That's what I learned from 25 years in the clink. It's the truth. Ichirou: Haha. You may be right... Police: There he is! Saejimaaaa! Saejima: Tch. They're comin'. Ichirou, see ya. Be strong! Ichirou: You as well. ......Saejima-sensei. Saejima: !

Saejima: ......Haha. Man, that's still embarassin'. ....See ya!

Ichirou: Someone to live up to, huh... Ichirou: ........Saejima-sensei. You truly are... the best teacher.

<END>

Bonus time: Hey rggo team? Hey guys?? You didn’t need to hurt Saejima MORE can’t the guy catch a break???

I like the expressions on this card a lot, here’s the rare “happy 1985 Saejima”

He makes that face exactly once for like 3 lines of dialogue while he’s teaching and then never again. Hey that hurts too actually. This card is just painful all around!!

an extra special bonus, all of the Goromis I got in my mania

She’s my highest atk unit now, beating out even Legend Majima

#rggo #Saejima #yakuza #Ryu ga Gotoku #ryu ga gotoku online #Saejima Taiga

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hanaasbananas · 4 years

Text

A Little Love

This is my @mlwritersguild Valentine fic for @epcot97!!

It's not super long, but I had to split it into parts for narrative reasons so...

Part Two, Part Three

AO3

It began, as things often did in Paris, with an akuma attack.

Marinette had found that the employees at Gabriel were particularly susceptible to akumatisation, especially right after they’d had a meeting with Monsieur Agreste himself, and she’d come to anticipate them.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t be caught off guard though. With fashion week only a few days away, and so much work still to do, she’d sequestered herself away with the designs and sewing supplies, not noticing the akuma until it was too late.

Shitshitshit she thought hysterically, scrabbling to reach for her purse as she crawled behind the

overturned table for temporary shelter, her mind racing, eyes darting around wildly as she tried to find a way to escape. Oh, why had she chosen to work in the one place with only one exit? Could she transform here? She briefly entertained the notion, but no, it was too risky with the akuma right there and-

The table was ripped away from in front of her, the akuma-apparently hell bent on destroying any and all Gabriel employees, from top designers to bottom of the barrel interns- bearing down on her, his lips stretching wide in an ugly sneer. He reached for her with sharp needle like fingers that she’d seen rip the door to shreds in seconds , and, resigned to her fate, Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, hoping somewhat futilely, she thought, that the pain would not last long.

She’d barely felt the whisper of his fingers on her skin when strong arms grabbed her, one wrapping tightly around her waist, the other underneath her knees. “Hold on!” Chat Noir yelled in her ear, securing his hold and lifting her up and away.

Marinette’s eyes flew open just in time to see them pass above the akuma who roared in fury, extending his arms to try and stop them, catching her leg and scoring a shallow cut all the way down her calf. Chat Noir didn’t set her down until he’d cleared the building and set her down at the entrance.

“Are you alright?” Chat gave her a quick once over, grasping her by the shoulders as she nodded, dazed and swaying on her feet. “Shit ,” he hissed, eyes alighting on her injured leg. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-I-” the building behind them trembled and he swore again, head whipping around to look up as the windows rattled, some of them shattering from the force.

“I need to-will you be alright?” Marinette saw the concern swimming in his green eyes, warring with the need to get back to the fight and she nodded, smiling faintly, though she suspected it looked more like a grimace.

“Go,” she urged him, “I’ll be fine.”

Chat opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, another tremor ran beneath their feet, and with one last dubious look at her, he went back inside

***

It wasn’t until later that evening that Marinette saw Chat Noir again. She’d been ruminating on their encounter, remembering the feeling of his arms around hers, the sheer power she’d felt thrumming through him as he carried her to safety.

Marinette wasn’t blind , she knew that Chat was attractive-handsome, even. And he was her partner, the only one who truly understood the struggles that came with their dual identities. Perhaps if there had been someone in her civilian life, the pull might not have been as strong, but Marinette was tired of resisting, of holding herself back from him.

A movement across the street caught her eye and Marinette grinned. And she would start right now. She jumped up, ignoring how the tea she was holding sloshed over the sides of the mug from her quick movement.

“Chat Noir!” he barely stopped at her voice, slowing just enough to grin and wave before faltering as he saw her face.

Using his baton, Chat vaulted over to the balcony and perched on the railing. “Hey…” he trailed off, head tilting to one side curiously.

“Oh,” Marinette laughed, noting with interest the slight blush that dusted his cheeks. “I guess we didn’t have much time for introductions earlier, huh? I’m Marinette.”

***

The arrest was discreet.

Father had asked for that much, in the end, speaking of a son who had nothing to do with his own schemes, and did not deserve to have his name tarnished.

Chat wanted to laugh, to ask where that care had been before, when his son had needed him, but instead he remained silent.

“We need to tell the son. Adrien, I think his name is.” Ladybug spoke up beside him, her voice subdued as they watched fath-no Hawkmoth being led away in disgrace. “He shouldn’t have to find out from the press, at least.”

“No.”

“What?” Chat averted his gaze when she turned to face him, “we have to tell him, Chaton.”

“Yes, I mean no , I-” he shook his head in frustration, trying to piece his jumbled thoughts together.

If Ladybug showed up to talk to Adrien, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep it together. He was barely holding on as it was, and distantly, he wondered if this was what a cataclysm felt like. Like all of his negative emotions: grief and hate and despair and rage, and rage and rage had been amplified tenfold, churning around inside him in a dark mass that threatened to consume him, to destroy him from the inside out.

“I meant…” he licked his lips “I’ll talk to him myself, you don’t have to. Go home, m’lady, it’s been a long night.”

“If you’re sure,” she turned his face to meet hers, worried blue eyes scanning over him and he nodded, mustering up a weak attempt at a smile.

Briefly, Chat contemplated visiting Marinette, but he dismissed the thought. In the past few weeks, she’d become a good friend to him, and he’d even caught himself thinking about seeking her out as a civilian, so that he might ask her out. But he knew that if he arrived on her balcony tonight, if he allowed himself to break, to crumble in her arms, he would certainly reveal his identity to her and then what would happen?

What would she think when she found out that the hero she had befriended, who she had allowed to visit her so often, had invited into her home and cared for, was the son of the supervillain who had terrorised Paris for years?

No, he couldn't handle a rejection tonight, no matter how well deserved. Not now.

“I’m sure.” Chat said instead.

“Well...okay then,” Ladybug hesitated a long moment before stepping on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can meet up somewhere to discuss…” she shrugged, seemingly at a loss “to discuss things, I guess?”

“Mhm.” He watched her go with a heavy heart, imprinting the image of her zipping across the skyline with her yo-yo, in his mind, a dull certainty settling like a heavy weight in his stomach.

Chat Noir would not be seeing Ladybug ever again.

***

A week after they’d defeated Hawkmoth -her boss! Marinette could hardly believe it, though she supposed that explained the amount of akumatisations that happened there-for the last time, Marinette found herself at the Eiffel tower, waiting-for the second time.

Looking over the small picnic she’d set up, she ran her fingers through her hair again, rearranging the set up for the fifth time that evening. The food she’d meticulously packed into the basket with the knowledge that it was Chat’s favourite had probably gone cold by now; the wine which had been cooling in a bucket of ice now sat in water, and still, Chat Noir was not there.

Marinette wouldn’t give up though. Not now. She couldn’t. Flipping open her yo-yo, she called him, barely blinking when he didn’t pick up and it went to voicemail.

“Hey, Chaton, I just thought I’d call to say I’m at the Eiffel tower if you want to meet up, I’ve missed you, and well... I think it’s time we reveal our identities to each other. Call me back, okay?”

She tried not to let her worry get the best of her-Chat had been acting strange after the last battle, maybe he’d come down with something and was sick, maybe he just needed time to adjust to the new normal. He hadn’t visited her balcony either, or she might have considered revealing herself to him there.

Marinette shivered as the wind picked up, grabbing the picnic blanket and wrapping it around herself to keep warm. Whatever it was it didn’t matter; she’d wait as long as it took.

#mwg feb event #miraculous ladybug #marichat #ladynoir #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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bugged13it · 4 years

Text

Lucky Feather Charms - Reveal

Y’all still here for more wing AU!? ‘Course you are! Even though it’s been months :’D (but just in time for AU August, yay?) Anyways, I was fretting over part two so it just started gathering dust. It was originally going to be Marinette’s side of the lucky charm exchange, but that wound up being a rehash of the Befana episode(but with wings)—and that’s a horrible idea so here’s your LADRIEN WING AU/HALF REVEAL.

Check out the first part if you haven’t already! Part One || Part Two(U R Here!)

(Psst! If you like my writing, also check out my works on AO3: (Time Travel Fic) (Mermaid AU) Written before AU August, but hey, this month is all about AUs!)

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Gotta find a spot.

Adrien’s shoes pounded loudly against the pavement, but any noise he made went unnoticed, quickly drowned out by the frantic screaming of the crowds and the blaring roar of an akumatized victim as it terrorized tourists from the banks of the Seine. Luckily, Ladybug had swooped in fairly quickly, so at least he didn’t have to worry about any unprotected masses.

He would have joined her in a heartbeat, of course, but Adrien had been held up for far longer than usual. Evading his bodyguard was a bit more difficult when the car had gotten stuck on one of the bridges leading to Notre Dame. Even when he managed to slip away, he found no suitable places to hide since any practical space was already occupied by groups of terrified civilians.

“There!” Plagg shouted from his pocket, frantically pointing ahead the same instant Adrien spotted the fire escape on the side of the building. “Get to the roof!” he urged.

Adrien gunned it, sprinting toward the ladder and jumping up with a wild flutter of his wings to neatly grab a hold of the lowest rung. The rusted, flaking metal protested with a teeth-grinding squeal, but eventually gave in thanks to Adrien’s encouraging kick. It slid down from the platform and allowed him to properly scale the building. The clanging of the scaffolding beneath his feet echoed loudly with his every step as he scrambled over the zig-zagging stairway, and Adrien winced at the cacophony, hoping that it wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Any normal person could have easily flown up to the rooftop without breaking a sweat and avoided the mess of noise in the first place, but Adrien knew from experience that he wouldn’t be able to lift off. Thanks to his father’s stupid rules, he wasn’t allowed to fly. As a result of avoiding any wind-blown scruff, his wings were very much out of practice—at least, they were when he wasn’t transformed.

Adrien finally stumbled onto the flat rooftop, unable to help glancing back when another furious roar ripped out across the distance. A gigantic reptile with pebbled skin and slender, flailing limbs crashed through the surf and swung its head from side to side. With a stuttering heartbeat, Adrien realized that Ladybug was no longer fighting against it. As his eyes frantically swept through the clear sky, he saw no signs of his partner.

He was so… so late. Ladybug had spent way too long holding off the akuma on her own. Unable to wait for Chat Noir to show up, she’d already exhausted the use of her lucky charm. Unfortunately, it looked like the monster hadn’t let Ladybug anywhere near its akumatized object, and her time must have finally run out. Hopefully, she was only missing because she was busy recharging her kwami, and not because she was seriously injured somewhere.

Adrien tried not to dwell on that, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the rooftop. It was well secluded, and with a quick scan he spotted what looked like a decent shed, immediately sprinting toward it.

He didn’t even hear the flutter of wings until it was too late, too focused on hiding so he could transform as quickly as possible and help his lady. Tearing around the corner of the shed, Adrien only caught a flash of red before he suddenly collided with another person, their large, white wings flaring up in surprise as they let out a surprised shriek.

“L-Ladybug?” That was the only thing Adrien was able to get out before she suddenly slammed her hands over his eyes and a shrill beeping reached his ears.

“Don’t look!” she yelled desperately. And then, a flare of pink light flashed along the shadow of her palms.

Adrien froze in place, his pulse starting to race when he realized that, rather than the cool feel of her suit to act as a layer between them, the new warmth pressed against his face was from her direct touch.

Oh, his brain absentmindedly hummed. These are Ladybug’s hands…

“Uhm… P-please don’t look.” Her voice wavered, and he could hear the hushed sound of her feathers rustling nervously. He could completely understand why. One wrong move, and her identity would be exposed—not that he would ever do that to his own partner. Even if she was out of the suit… And standing right in front of him...

Stop that, he mentally chided himself. He knew her identity must be kept a secret, despite the pounding of his own heart about the fact that she was right. There.

“I’d never look,” he instead reassured her, just barely resisting adding a, ‘milady’ to the end of that. His voice sounded much more calm than he felt as he gently laid his hands over hers to hold them more securely in place. There would be no accidental reveals on his watch.

Ladybug stiffened beneath his touch and let out an odd noise—something akin to a sharp whine—but she didn’t pull away.

“Got it!” a high-pitched voice cried out, and Adrien recognized the sound of Tikki’s voice.

“H-hurry, Tikki…” Ladybug pleaded nervously. “N-not that I trust you at all—NO! I mean—I trust you completely!” He could feel delicate brushes of wind from all the fluttering her wings were doing. “I just feel better with your eyes covered...”

“Don’t worry, I understand the need to keep your identity secret, Ladybug,” he said.

A stiff, stagnant silence settled between them while they seemed to mentally agree to wait quietly for Tikki to finish off her recharge-snack. Each passing second dragged despite the frantic pounding of his heart. Was it his imagination, or was Ladybug’s pulse racing just as much as his?

It felt like an eternity before Tikki finally let out an energetic, “Ready!”

Ladybug immediately called out to her kwami, and Adrien had to squeeze his eyes shut when the blinding light flashed over her hands. She finally pulled back, and he rubbed at his face, blinking away the spots in front of his vision to focus on Ladybug standing before him.

“Thanks, Adrien.” She lifted her hand in a shy little wave. “I know you—AAH! I knew I could trust you, that is!”

And with that, she turned almost too quickly to spread her wings. Ladybug flapped them once, then ruffled his hair with the resulting gust as she gracefully alighted from the roof and veered toward the akuma still terrorizing the tourists.

Adrien stared after her, a gentle smile tugging up the corners of his mouth as he waved his hand slowly, even though she probably wasn’t looking at him anymore. “She trusts me...” he murmured happily.

“Hel-lo!” At Plagg’s sharp yelp, Adrien jolted out of his daze. “Transform?” Plagg huffed, his feathers angrily ruffling up.

“OH. Yes! Right!” Adrien unfurled his wings, mostly just for his own entertainment as he shifted into a dynamic pose. But before he could call out the words, with his wings fanned out, and his pale feathers stretched out on either side of him, something odd caught his attention.

Despite Plagg’s impatient yowl when he paused, Adrien’s eyes flicked to the underside of his wings where he always kept Marinette’s lucky charm tucked away. It was usually hidden, but with his limbs extended, the blue feather could easily be spotted nestled within his light plumage.

From the corner of his vision, he didn’t see any dark splotch, and the lack of it made him panic for a split second, believing he might have lost it. But no, as he turned his searching gaze, he was instead met with something that took him completely by surprise. Adrien faltered then, not because the feather was gone, but because something had replaced it.

Marinette’s charm was still there, tied where it was supposed to be. Only, it didn’t look the same. The colorful little beads still hung in their place, but a new, sleek feather of unblemished white fluttered beneath them.

“What’s wrong?” Plagg asked, even though his kwami quickly followed his frozen gaze. Upon seeing what he was staring at, Plagg suddenly made a noise that sounded like he was choking on a piece of cheese.

“Marinette’s feather... transformed…?” Adrien whispered in awe, his eyes jumping over it as his heart started racing. It was a very familiar feather that he knew so well, from the shape of its vent down to the pristine color of its barbs. “...into Ladybug’s?”

“Tha-ha-hat’s just the way the magic works!” Plagg stammered as he flew up in front of Adrien’s face, waving his paws wildly.

“Then why didn’t mine change when she transformed?” Adrien demanded, his pulse ramping up and creating a tempo like a furious drumbeat in his ears. It drowned out Plagg’s further protests, and instead of listening to him, Adrien simply called out to his kwami to transform.

In the flash of green light that drew out his protective suit, his wings also changed. They grew and lengthened, shivering and crackling with an energy and newfound power as a darkness bled through their quills like ink.

And there, in the shimmering obsidian of his transformed wings, Ladybug’s feather waved delicately from its string, still as pristine and clear as a snowflake in a void.

“Ladybug is Marinette…” Adrien whispered, folding his wing closer to stroke the lone feather. He couldn’t feel anything through his suit, but he imagined it was just as soft and delicate as it was before.

“Chat Noir!” The sound of Ladybug’s yell in the distance jolted him from his thoughts. “Where are you!?”

“A-a-a-ah!” Adrien cried out as he spun around in a panic, his wings molting a few feathers as he launched awkwardly into the sky. “Here, milady!” He grabbed his baton, adjusted his flight path, and swooped toward the fray.

Marinette! He wasn’t able to hide his excitement as a grin broke out on his face. Just wait!

#ml fics #ml wing au #miraculous ladybug #lucky feather charms #miraculous fanfic #ml #ml fanfic #marinette #adrien #ladrien #lucky charm #short story #wing au #half reveal

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time-machine-fart · 4 years

Text

His White Shirt

Pairings: Steve X Reader

Words: 7.1k

Warnings: Angst (a lot of it), FLUFF, mentions of sex BUT NO SMUT! and mentions of blood and gunshot wounds (NO VIOLENCE THOUGH).

Summary: Post Civil War fugitive Steve is on the run, but he is shot. He can’t go to the hospital, so he comes to the reader’s house, who happens to be his ex-girlfriend.

Recommended music to listen to:

False God by Taylor Swift

Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Cut That Always Bleeds by Conan Gray

This is a long story. You’ll enjoy it better if you read it slowly. Make a cup of coffee, perhaps? Just kick back and relax, and enjoy this one shot ;)

I huffed as I tugged the last piece of cloth from the hanger and discarded it into a small bucket. With great effort, I managed to close the window that thudded loudly against the barbarous winds. Breathless, I took a seat at the edge of the bed as I surveyed my surroundings. The bucket contained the clothes that I had left to dry out in the morning, because the stupid dryer broke down again. I had hoped to save them from getting wet by the rain but unfortunately I was too late. They were thoroughly drenched.

The floor near the window was wet too, because I didn’t care to close the window before going to sleep. I internally groaned at the thought of going to work tomorrow amidst the humid weather and the moist muddy ground.

I glanced at the clock, which read 11:14 pm. I was having a peaceful, dreamless sleep, until I heard the rain thumping against my window.

I spent the next ten minutes cleaning up the mess. The sudden running about made me lose sleep, so I lazily dragged myself to the living room, where I ensconsed myself in the comfort of my sofa. I switched on the TV and absent-mindedly switched through the channels. I finally settled on a news channel.

A blonde woman, in her late 20’s, stood in front of an empty restaurant, with shattered windows and broken tables. She was wildly gesticulating at her surroundings, so I cranked up the volume to hear what she was saying.

There was a shootout, apparently. Civilians were injured, only one dead. I squinted at the screen. There was something about the restaurant that I quite couldn’t place. Had I been there before? The reporter answered my question when she mentioned the location of the restaurant. It was just a few blocks away from my home. That didn’t surprise me much, because my neighbourhood wasn’t exactly posh. Crimes were not uncommon here.

I listened to the reporter yammer on for a few more minutes before switching off the TV. I gazed at the grey empty streets of Munich and the trees swishing wildly against the wanton winds. My eyes grew heavy and my shoulders drooped. Perhaps I could sleep right here on the couch and not go to work tomorrow…

But the sound of the doorbell jolted me awake.

It was 11:43 am. My knowledge about this country was little, but I knew this much that Germans definitely didn’t just pop bye their friend’s houses at midnight. It could be my brother, I thought, as I dialled the emergency number on my phone. But he lived in the UK, and he’d definitely call me before he decided to visit me. I rushed to the kitchen to find a knife. It is an intruder, I thought. I was sure of it. The bell rang again.

I tip-toed towards the door, a knife clutched tight in my hand and the emergency number on the standbye. I ducked under the peep-hole and raised my head slowly to look at the person. Observing at the silhouette, I judged it was a man. And that’s when I recognised him. I cautiously opened the door, to find Steve Rogers in front of me, after seven long months.

You’d think seven months would change a person’s appearance, but he didn’t. His dirty blonde hair that I used to run my hands through; his rosy lips that would kiss me every morning despite my protests about having bad breath; his wide and muscular frame towering over me that (to this day) annoys me and used to amuse him…all remained the same. One could look at him and say nothing changed in these past seven months, when my entire world tipped off balance and fell right into the hands of this man.

‘Steve what are you doing here!’ I asked, my voice tremulous.

'Can I come in?’ was his reponse. He was taking short breaths, his hand clutched over his side. Was he hurt? It was hard to tell. It was dark outside, and his shirt was black.

I stepped aside, and let him in. He was standing in the middle of the living room, completely drenched. His wet shirt clung to his skin and beads of water trickled down his face.

'I’m sorry for ruining your carpet,’ he said, his tone pleasant and conversationary. His hand was still clutched to his side.

'Steve you are shivering.’ I stated. I could see his teeth chattering, even though he was trying to hide it.

He just looked at me. I was wrong before. Everything was the same, except his eyes. Those once steely, blue, confident eyes now looked spiritless, soft and…hurt.

'Steve, are you okay?’ I asked him finally. I tried to look calm, but my head was spinning with thoughts. It felt surreal, having him in my room when we had promised we’d never see each other again.

'I’d feel a bit better if you kept that knife down,’ he responded. He winced a little, as if talking hurt him. I barely noticed the knife in my hand. I placed it on the couch.

'I’m gonna get you a towel,’ I said and rushed to my bedroom. I came back with a towel in my hand and instead of offering it to him, I draped it around his shoulder. He graciously accepted the warm relief around him and hugged it closer with a sigh. I heard him wince when my hand brushed against his stomach.

'What’s wrong?’ I demanded, but didn’t wait to hear his explanation. I lifted his shirt a little to see what was the matter.

'Steve, you are shot!’ Alarmed, I leaned in to look at the wound more closely. A bullet was lodged in his muscle, just above the edge of his pelvis.

'Good observation,’ he replied.

'I’m taking you to the hospital.’ I announced.

'Y/N you’re not taking me anywhere,’ he gripped my wrist.

'Steve, you are shot–’ I began.

'That’s why I’m here, Y/N. You are a doctor,’ he asserted.

'I’m an intern!’ I shouted.

'Y/N you know I can’t be seen. It’d be a big problem for me and you.’ He stated firmly.

'How did this happen!’ I was on a verge of panic.

'I’ll tell you everything, but first I need your help sewing this up,’ he panted.

Defeated, I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. My eyes flitted to the phone in my hand, where the emergency number was just one tap away. I could send him to the hospital, where he would get the proper treatment. But the US Government would capture him again, and he’d have to sit in a jail for months, possibly years – no, that can’t happen. But I wasn’t an expert either. I could seriously hurt him if I did anything wrong. A final look at his pleading puppy blue eyes convinced me to make my decision.

'Alright, fine,’ I said. 'Lie down here.’ I cleared the sofa and helped him lie down. His warm hand was still clutched on mine.

He moaned softly as his body sank in the warm comfort of my couch. He scrunched his eyebrows and his lips parted in gratification. I couldn’t help but swoon a little at the sight of him – a supersoldier with the ability to pull helicopters from the sky, now just a normal man on my couch. Perhaps he wasn’t completely invincible.

'Thank you,’ he said sincerely, his eyes boring into mine. His eyes twinkled, and the blue in them looked more prominent.

I tried to smile, I really did. I wanted to assure him and tell him everything would be okay, that I’d fix him up properly, but I couldn’t. Instead I gave him something like a half-smile and a half-whimper, and gently pried his hand away from my wrist.

I walked towards my bedroom, my face calm and composed but my confidence dropping with every step I took. I pressed my shoulder against the cupboard and closed my eyes, my breath ragged as anxiety started rising in my chest. I cannot afford to screw this up. I tried to recollect everything my superiors taught me about gunshot wounds, but my mind was in a dissaray, constantly reminding me of a hundred ways I could screw this up.

I am not going to let Steve get hurt, I scolded my subconscious. I will fix him up first and then worry about other things.

With new determination and resolve, I rushed around the house to find anything and everything I would need to do the surgery. Washcloth, tweezers, gauze, needles, I checklisted the items in my head as I collected them one by one.

I was back in the living room, kneeling in front of him while I arranged the first aid kit at my feet. I tugged at his shirt, and rolled it upwards to get a better glance at the wound, but it kept rolling down.

'Steve, I’m sorry, but you have to get up again. You need to take off your shirt,’ I said.

He groaned softly, and I felt guilty for causing him ache and discomfort. I helped him take his shirt off, and place it away from the makeshift surgical field. His chest was bloody and wet.

Fear and anxiety tugged at my heart again. Usually I do this under supervision, and with proper equipment. One wrong nerve and I could mess him up permanently.

A gentle hand on my shoulder halted my train of thoughts. Steve’s hand inched towards my neck, and my heartbeat accelerated. Was he trying to calm me down? Because that wasn’t working. My hand involuntarily crept towards his chest, which was still cold, but atleast he wasn’t shivering any more.

'You can do this, Y/N,’ he whispered, his eyes scolding me to get a grip on myself. I noticed the close proximity between our two faces, when I knelt towards him and sat on the balls of my feet. His lips tugged into a boyish smile and said, 'I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t believe you were a good doctor.’

'Intern,’ I corrected, but a smile finally made its way to my lips.

'Intern,’ Steve repeated, as his fingers absent-mindedly stroked the back of my neck. I felt a strong desire in my heart to kiss him. I wanted to stop the time, and paint this moment right there, where he was back in my house, and we were in each other’s comfort, so that I’d look at it again and again.

But we had said our goodbyes. He was a soldier-turned-fugitive on the run and I was barely a doctor. I figured this would end some day. He finally said it, and I remember feeling numb at his words. Being in a relationship with him meant endangering my life, and he woudn’t allow me to get mixed up in his world. Governments, villains, anyone would use me as bait once they found out I was Steve’s girlfriend. Of course I protested. We shouted, argued, fought with each other for days but I knew it was a long time coming. When he left, it felt empty. I had fallen in love with the perfect person, and now he was taken away from me under the pretense of my safety. Getting over him was the hardest thing I had to do. I was not going to fall for him again.

I cleared my throat, and his hand dropped. I diverted my concentration on saving his life. It didn’t take as long as I had expected. I cleaned the wound, and managed to remove the bullet without losing pints of blood, thanks to his serum powers that healed him faster than normal people. My insides squirmed with dread as I picked up the needle that I would use to stitch him up.

I looked up at him, and found him staring at me intensely. 'Don’t look at me,’ I whispered. 'You are making me nervous.’

He chuckled weakly and looked away at the ceiling.

My fingers surprisingly moved slowly and efficiently with fine dexterity as I sewed up his wound. Apart from a few hisses and groans that Steve emitted when I would accidentally put too much pressure or prick his skin, I managed to stitch him up well. It wasn’t until I had attached the gauze to his wound when I let out a sigh of relief and slumped down to the floor. I rested my head against the edge of the couch. I was panting, as if I had run a marathon, when the only activity I had done was sit on my knees and move my hands a bit. But I felt instantly calm. The weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had managed to not kill my ex-boyfriend.

His hand clutched my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but hold his hand. Warmth spread through my body as our hands touched, just how it did when we had first met.

'Hey,’ he said, his voice soothing and stable than before. 'Are you okay?’

I couldn’t see his face because my back was facing him, but I noticed the concern in his tone. 'Just tired,’ I sighed, and my head leaned onto the unhurt part of his chest.

I heard his breath hitch in his throat. 'I’m sorry, doll. I truly am.’ he said, his voice hoarse.

My heart tingled with nostalgia and butterflies when he called me doll. It was something he called only me.

I turned around so I was facing him. His eyes gazed at me intently that made me feel weak on the inside. 'You don’t have to be sorry for anything,’ I answered, trying to avoid sounding feeble. 'I couldn’t have left my ex-boyfriend bleed to death on my doorstep, now could I?’ I smiled.

He laughed a little at my words and his mouth spread out into a goofy grin. 'Now what?’ he said, running his fingers across the gauze.

'I’ll get you some fresh clothes. You are still wet. You should sleep here tonight.’ I said, as I got up with a groan.

Steve hesitated. 'Are you sure, Y/N?’ He looked down at his fingers. 'I mean, I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.’

'Nonsense, Steve. You anyway can’t go out in this weather, let alone walk.’ I gathered the medical supplies on the floor. I didn’t let him answer back because I walked out of the room, but I did hear a faint 'I’m sure I can still walk…’

After dumping all the materials in the kitchen, I trodded towards my bedroom, to find some clothes for Steve. I opened my closet to find all my clothes in a cluttered mess. I rummaged through the bottom section and pulled out Steve’s old white shirt that I had kept with myself. My cheeks flushed at the thought of Steve finding out that I had kept one of his shirts with me.

'Now that’s why I can’t seem to find my favourite shirt.’ A voice said from behind me. I whipped my head around to find Steve looking at me, with his eyebrows raised and his arms crossed on his chest.

'You’re out of bed,’ I said as I got up, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

'I’m fine,’ he pulled his shirt from my hands, a mocking grin plastered over his face. 'And clearly I can walk.’

'But you shouldn’t.’ I scolded him.

I turned around to search for a pair of pants in the closet. I pulled out a set of sweatpants that my brother kept with me in case he decided to come over and visit me. I tossed it towards Steve, who catched it effortlessly.

'You still keep things messy, I see. Looks like you haven’t changed a bit.’ He teased me again. He did seem to be mocking me a lot lately, considering I just saved his life. But I had to admit before he came into my life I wasn’t exactly a functional adult.

I shot daggers at him as I shut the closet door a little too loudly. I hate it when I have nothing witty to say back.

'You can change here,’ I mumbled, and closed the door to the bedroom on the way out.

I sighed for the millionth time today as I poured myself a glass of water. Steve is here. Steve is here! I thought happily. Damn my brain for getting excited. He is here just for one night. He is gonna go tomorrow. My mind sobered up a little. To prevent myself from cooking up any more fantasies in my brain, I began making coffee.

I heard the bedroom door open after a few minutes. I walked out of the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in my hands.

'Oh sweet, is that for me?’ Steve said, as he ambled towards me. My heart fluttered at the sight of him, looking so soft in his white shirt and grey sweatpants. Just how he looked every morning when he’d get up, his hair a mess and his sweatpants hanging low…No, don’t you dare go there.

He still looked pale and I noticed him limp a little. Legs tend to get heavy.

I laughed. 'No, silly. This is for me. You can’t have any beverages yet.’

Steve frowned. 'Not even water?’

'Normally people must not drink after getting shot.’ I took a sip.

'Well, I’m not normal, am I?’ he smiled.

'Still. Go sit in the living room. You can’t have anything unless I tell you so.’ I ordered.

Steve rolled his eyes and dragged himself towards the living room like a scolded child, his wet clothes in his hands.

'You can give them to me. You’re not going to be wearing these again are you?’ I said, pointing at his wet and bloody clothes.

'Why? So that you can keep them with you?’ he smirked.

'Oh get off it,’ I mumbled, and snatched the load off his hands. I could feel his smile broaden as I tramped towards the kitchen where I threw them in the garbage.

Steve sat on the part of the sofa that was clean and not dirty with water and blood. I adjusted the thermostat to make the room warmer and silently prayed Steve didn’t catch pneumonia or anything.

I sat beside him, careful not to spill any coffee.

'I’m sorry I ruined your couch.’ He said, keeping a little distance from my face now.

'It’s okay. It was due for an upgrade anyway,’ I sipped. 'So tell me everything. What happened?’ I turned to face him.

Steve sighed. 'You know that Indian restaurant down the street? Well, I was there –’

'The one that got burned down!’ I gasped.

'Yeah, how’d you know?’ he asked.

'Just saw it on the news.’

'Oh,’ he replied. 'Well, I was there to meet Natasha’s informant –’

'Wait, where is Natasha? And Sam? Are they okay?’ I interrupted him again.

'They’re okay, and will you let me finish?’ Steve said, exasperatedly.

'Sorry.’ I pursed my lips.

'Yeah, so anyway. I was there to meet this guy who Natasha knew well. We’re beginning to track these criminals who are smuggling Chitauri tech in the Middle East. Natasha and Sam are in Berlin, meeting other people who might know about that stuff. So I was talking to him, when the feds burst in.’

My eyes widened. Of course, the US Goverment won’t just give up on finding Steve Rogers.

'I managed to escape with just one bullet wound,’ he placed his hand on the bandage. 'But the other guy died in the line of fire.’

I looked at him. A shadow fell over his face. 'I’m sorry, Steve.’ I said.

'I managed to call Nat by a public telephone to tell her I was okay. Of course, I wasn’t exactly okay. Then I thought of you. You lived closest to the restaurant, so I came to you,’ he said, his head hung low.

'I’m sure you did everything to save him,’ I assured. I truly did feel sorry for him. He had lost so many people already.

'Yeah, I did.’ He said, his voice thick.

The atmosphere suddenly became tense and heavy. 'I suppose you can drink some water now,’ I said after a few moments, trying to dissipate the tension. I returned from the kitchen to find him observing a picture frame of my family.

'How’s your brother?’ he asked me as I handed him the glass of water. Cole, my brother, was one of the few people who knew of our relationship.

'He’s well. He and Josh are thinking of adopting a little girl.’ I smiled and pointed at the picture of Josh, my brother’s husband. Steve nodded in acknowledgement.

'And your grandfather?’ he asked.

'Oh. He passed away 3 months ago.’ I said quitely.

Steve put the frame on his lap. 'I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ He looked at me with a countenance that said he knew the pain of losing a loved one all too well.

'It’s okay,’ I said. I had spent some time with him when Steve broke up with me. Steve doesn’t know, but my grandfather knew of our relationship. I turned the little ring around my pinky finger. The last gift my grandfather gave me before passing away.

I realized I must be getting emotional because my throat felt constricted all of a sudden.

I hurriedly placed the frame back in its original position. 'So you said something about the Middle East?’ I asked, anxious to change the topic.

'Yeah, we are trying to take down small criminals who are dealing with Chitauri tech. Somehow the main source in New York has stopped supplying but there are other criminals who are also dealing with that stuff in the Middle East. We have managed to get enough intel to make a move.’ He said.

My heart drooped like a wilted flower. He was going away now, for real. Of course, I knew he would not be around when we broke up but I always assumed he’d be somewhere nearby…like in Europe or something. Now he is gonna go to a place really far.

'When are you leaving then?’ I asked, trying to mask the hurt in my voice.

'Tomorrow.’ he replied. Maybe I saw a glimpse of guilt in his eyes.

Tension loomed again. God, what is it with all this angst today?

'What’s going on with you lately?’ he asked, and I mentally thanked him for changing the subject.

'I’ve been reading a lot. But the work is super hectic so I don’t get much chance.’ I shrugged.

'Are you seeing anyone?’ he asked.

I blinked in surprise. Whoa, where did that come from? He tried to act nonchalant but I could see right through him. I felt annoyed and angry for some reason.

'You didn’t just ask me that.’ I scoffed.

'Why what’s the proble –’

'What’s the problem? You come here after seven months and the first thing you ask about me is if I have a boyfriend?’ My voice rose several octaves.

He paused. 'Why are you getting pissed? It’s just a question. And what did you mean about the seven months thing? I have to move around a lot. It’s not like I had a choice. ’

'I’m not angry about that. It’s just…oh, forget it.’ I sighed.

'It’s just what, Y/N?’

'It’s- it’s you. You pack your bags one day, just leave, and don’t even call me –’

'That’s how break-ups work.’

'I know! It’s just…you out of all people shouldn’t ask me this, okay?’

'You’re hiding something,’ he gazed at me intensely. 'What are you thinking, Y/N? I won’t ask you again.’

I swallowed. 'It took me so long to get over you. You just went away, with your friends fighting bad guys everywhere, and I was just stuck here in this godforsaken place. I really didn’t want you to go, but you still did. And now, you come back, just as suddenly as you left and you have the gall to ask me if I am dating someone?’ I felt my voice quiver in the end. I wasn’t crying, but I was on the edge of it. I cannot afford to cry. I am done being the weak one in this relationship.

'I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again,’ he looked at me incredulously. 'Do you think I wanted to leave you? Do you think I wasn’t even a bit hurt and guilty for leaving you behind?’ he sighed exasperatedly. 'I don’t want you to get hurt-’

'You don’t get to decide if I can get hurt or not!’ I shouted.

'Yes, I do!’ he slammed his glass on the table. 'You may not care if you get hurt, but I do. How do you think I’ll feel if something happened to you? Who do you think will take all the blame? How do you think I’ll live with that?’ he said angrily.

'Ever thought about me, Steve? Ever thought what’d I do if you died? Every morning I would wake up thinking it could be your last day. How did you think I dealt with that when we were together? The answer is: it was scary and agonizing. But I still dated you, didn’t I? I thought in a relationship both the people made sacrifices. I did mine, why won’t you do yours?’ I shouted.

'I just won’t, okay? Call me an asshole, I don’t care. But I am not going to lose another person because of me. And that’s final.’ he snapped.

I couldn’t control the tears any more. Tears rushed down my cheeks and I hated myself for crying in front of him. I shook my head, trying to somehow stop them from falling. I hated everything, this unfair situation, this horrible luck, and my heart for falling for him.

I held my face in my palms, trying to muffle the sobs as best I could. 'This just shows how much you care.’ I said.

He was silent.

'Forget it, I’m going to sleep.’ I got up, wiping a fresh tear with the back of my hand.

'I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I didn’t look back and walked towards the bedroom. I grabbed an extra blanket that I kept under the bed and came back to the living room, wiping away any other excess tears along the way.

'Here, take this,’ I handed him a blanket. 'I wouldn’t want you to get cold.’

'Oh, thanks.’ He said. My eyes drifted to the couch. It was wet. And bloody. No condition to sleep in. I pondered over a moment whether I should ask him to sleep with me or not.

'You shoudn’t sleep here. The couch is wet and dirty.’ I said, my voice a bit hoarse. He stopped unfolding the blanket.

'I don’t think I should sleep in your bed, I-’

'Honestly, it’s okay. Besides, you’re injured. Sleeping in that little space could hurt you.’

'I can handle a little hurt.’ He said. I noticed the gleam in his eyes fade.

'Alright, your choice. If you still want to come, you can. I won’t mind.’ I sighed, and trudged back to my room.

I switched off the lights and slipped into my duvet. The pouring rain outside perfectly reflected my sombre mood. I sniffled and cried a bit more before slipping into a deep slumber.

The screeching of my alarm woke me up. I switched it off. My eyes burned with the lack of sleep. It should be a crime to make me sleep for only five hours. My shift started at 8, and it was 6:15 am at the moment. My body felt hot for some reason. I looked down and gasped as I saw a warm hand wrapped around my waist. Steve. He must have come back sometime in the night. I clutched my pillow tight as my heartbeat accelerated. I wondered if he intended to touch me, or it just happened. I foolishly wished for the former.

I turned to look at him. His face was calm and serene. Boys always seem to look younger when they are peacefully asleep. His hair was tousled and his lips were parted just a little. I missed the mornings when I would run my hands through his beard and snuggle close to his chest.

Flashbacks of last night flooded my mind. I thought about his obstinacy, and how much I hated the fact that he took my decisions. But he was somehow right in his judgement. He had lost everyone he knew when he went into the ice - Bucky, his friends, and so many people even after coming out of the ice. If I were him, I wouldn’t want more people to die for me. I sighed. So where does that leave us? Is our relationship over now, officially?

I turned a bit more to his side, careful not to wake him. But his eyes twitched a little and I knew he was waking up.

I stayed still as his blue eyes fluttered open and focused on me. Silence loomed over us, as we faced each other. The only sound we could hear was of our own breathing. 'Morning,’ he said, his voice husky and thick.

'Morning,’ I replied.

We resumed staring into each other’s eyes. I thought of the mornings when he’d caress my hair, kiss me deeply and make passionate love that left me pining for more. I looked into his lustrous blue eyes and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

'How are you feeling?’ I murmured groggily.

His hand travelled to his stitched up wound. 'It doesn’t hurt much now,’ he said.

'Of course it doesn’t,’ I smirked. 'I’m an excellent doctor.’

He chuckled lightly and I noticed his hand was still wrapped around my waist. 'Don’t you mean intern?’

'No, you can call me a doctor now. I deserve it.’ I said. I placed my palm on his neck. His breath hitched at the contact. I noticed his eyes turn darker.

'You’re warm though,’ I stated and withdrew my hand. 'Do you have a fever?’

'I am usually this warm. You forgot?’ he whispered.

Of course I didn’t. My hopeless heart was searching for reasons to make him stay a bit longer.

I simply smiled in response.

'You feel a bit cold,’ he said. 'Did you not sleep with a blanket?’

'I sleep with one but I always kick it away at night when it gets toasty. You forgot?’ I turned the question on him.

'Guess I did.’ He shrugged.

Well that was rude. I mean, I couldn’t blame him for not remembering my little quirks. Unlike me, he had important things to focus on instead of thinking about me. But still, a small voice said from the back of my head. Does he not think about me much?

'I’m sorry about yesterday,’ he said after a pause. 'I shouldn’t have shouted.’

'I shouldn’t have shouted either,’ I confessed. 'I’m sorry too.’

'So I guess this is it, then?’ he sighed.

'Yeah,’ I responded quitely, and hoped he didn’t hear my heart shatter into a million pieces. A look of understanding passed between us. We were never going to see each other again. Then I attempted something very risky.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself closer to him, closing the small proximity between our bodies. I nestled my head in his chest, and my fingers tentatively grasped his biceps. I didn’t meet his eyes. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I heard the soft thumps of his heart against my ears become erratic with every growing second. It would be an embarrassment of a lifetime if he didn’t reciprocate my actions. But then his hold on my waist grew tight. He dragged his fingers up my spine and planted them on my neck, an act which sent shivers through my entire body. I felt his hot breath on my scalp before he planted a soft kiss on my temple. His lips lingered over there. My insides squirmed with desire, and my breathing turned ragged. I moved my fingers across his chiseled chest, taking in his scent and feeling his heartbeat which had not slowed down yet.

My subconscious curled up in this sweet moment of comfort and love, but then I remembered I had to go to work. Unwantingly, I pushed myself away from him and sat up on the bed. I gazed down at him, his eyebrows were furrowed and his blue eyes dark with desire. 'My shift is starting at 8. I’ll be out making breakfast,’ I sighed, and clambered out of the bed. Before walking out the room, I turned around and said, 'You can rest till I make breakfast. I’ll call you when it’s done.’

I used the last remaining eggs I had in the house to make pancakes. I was placing hot pancakes on the plate when I noticed Steve hadn’t come out yet. I set them down on the dining table near my window along with two hot cups of coffee. I looked at the sky. It was blue and cloudy, any trace of rain gone.

I went back in the bedroom to call Steve out, when I noticed he was sleeping again. I climbed in beside him and shook his shoulders. 'Steve wake up,’ I said. He groaned in response.

'C'mon, breakfast is ready.’ His eyes opened tentatively. He rose, balancing his body on his shoulders. I felt guilty for waking him up when he should have been sleeping for much longer. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still drifting in and and out of consciousness. I feared he must have thought it was all a crazy dream, what we did before. I didn’t blame him for falling asleep though, he was tired and injured.

'Alright, come on now, get up.’ I grasped his arm and pulled him up. I would have let him sleep more but I had to go to work and so did he.

He joined me in the living room a few minutes later. His walk was back to normal again, and one could say he had never even been shot.

'I miss these,’ he said, smiling nostalgically at the pancakes as he sat down opposite to me. 'Now I can eat, right?’ he mockingly asked for my permission.

'You may.’ I smiled and dig into my pancakes.

We scarfed down our breakfast silently, talking only to ask for more maple syrup or sugar. Steve went into the kitchen to bring more coffee, ignoring my orders about him not getting up.

He placed my mug on the table, and ambled up to the window, where he gazed at the sunrise. I swooned a little at the sight of him, his white shirt perfectly hugging his muscles, and his tall frame towering over me that reminded me of his habit of pinning me against the wall when we made out.

I squirmed in my seat, rubbing my legs together to release the tension that had formed between my thighs. I was begging my brain to stop thinking about him like that.

I realized I hadn’t asked him what time was he leaving. Or more specifically, how was he leaving.

'Steve?’ he looked back. 'When are you going to be leaving?’ I asked.

'At 10 am. A quinjet is waiting for me at the airport,’ he said. 'I called it in as a favour from King T'Challa.’ He added, when he saw a look of confusion on my face.

'Oh’ was my only reply. The final goodbye crept nearer.

'Yeah. Which reminds me I have to go to back to my apartment to gather my stuff.’ He said. 'When does your shift start?’ he asked.

'In an hour,’ I looked at him. He nodded coolly. He seemed pretty nonchalant about leaving, I noticed. Maybe he has gotten over me,or maybe he found someone, like a secret agent or someone, I thought enviously. Of course, he should have dated someone who could take care of themselves if there was danger. I couldn’t protect myself if someone attacked me, but someone experienced like Natasha or Maria could protect themselves. He should have dated someone like them, not me.

'Well, in that case I shouldn’t stall you any more,’ he muttered.

I got up, and my brain scavenged for more reasons to make him stay. He gathered the plates and mugs and carried them to the kitchen. I swallowed thickly, pushing down the incoming wave of dread that will overcome me when he will walk out the door. I was aware of my attachment towards him. If I didn’t have to go to work now, would we have slept with each other this morning? It would have been the best morning since months. But I knew I still wouldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have borne the thought of him leaving again, especially after we did something so intimate as sex. Getting over him was the most exruciating thing I had done in my life. I am still going to be pining for him tomorrow, but at least it would hurt less.

Pain will always be lesser if you detach yourself from him, grandfather’s words flashed from my last ever visit. I absent-mindedly turned the ring on my pinky finger. I won’t be around forever to pester you with my wisdom, my dear child, he said when he handed my the ring. So let this ring be a reminder to make wise choices.

The wise choice is to get over him, but I just can’t, because everything reminds me of him and the circle starts all over again.

'Do you have money to pay for the cab?’ I asked, wishing he didn’t, so I’d spend more time than necessary to find change for him.

But he responded, 'Yeah I do,’ and pulled out some euros from his pocket.

My face fell, but I didn’t let him see it. We silently walked to the door. He suddenly stopped and turned towards me.

'Last night you said I didn’t care about you,’ he said, his eyes heavy with grief. 'You were wrong, Y/N. I do care about you. So much, that it scares me. I really wish there was another way. I spent so many days trying to think of ways I could save this relationship. But I came up with nothing,’ he swallowed. 'Every possibility led to your life being in danger.’

I paused, and mulled over his confession. I was struck by his words. He still cares about me. Then why didn’t he act like it?

'The way you acted, one would think otherwise.’ I whispered. Perhaps he was lying to make me feel better.

'You still don’t get it, do you?’ He shook his head. 'Do you know why I came here? Because out of all the people that I know in this world, I feel the safest with you. Not Natasha, nor Bucky nor Sam, whom I’ve known longer, but you. Everyone I know is either hiding something from me, or is trying to hurt me. But you…god, I can never really relax unless I’m alone with you,’ his hands cupped my cheek. 'That’s why I fell in love with you, Y/N. I have never stopped loving you. And I tried so hard last night to not fall for you again. I cannot even imagin-’ Steve could speak no further because I was kissing him with the greatest passion.

He responded immediately, and his fingers clutched around the back of my neck. Our lips moved in perfect synchronization, the air around us charged with passion. I placed a hand on his stubble, and worked my way up to his brown locks. I tugged at them, and I felt his kiss deepen even further. His hands left my neck, but they roamed all over my body, making me feel hotter inside with every new place he touched. His fingers trailed down to my waist, and I gasped as he suddenly pushed me against the door. He took the opportunity to move his tongue into my mouth. A moan emerged from the back of my throat. Heat pooled between my legs and my muscles clenched deliciously as I hungrily devoured his mouth. My hand crept inside his shirt, and I took my time feeling every muscle on his chest. It must have affected him quite a bit, because he was pinning me harder, and coming more closer, which seemed impossible because our bodies were already pressed so tightly. I pulled out of the kiss to regain my breath. I was panting, and he was too. I swallowed. 'I love you too, Steve,’ I whispered. 'I never stopped loving you either.’

Steve pressed his lips on mine once again, but this time it was sweet and sensual. He interlocked his hand with mine, and gently pinned it on the door. The kiss deepened once again. My other free hand travelled to his neck, and I immediately found his sweet spot. I caressed it with my thumb, and he broke away from the kiss just to say 'Fuck, Y/N’. His hot breath fanned my cheeks. I was still panting, and I gasped when I felt his mouth on my neck. He pressed hot wet kisses down my neck. I moaned loudly as his lips found my sweet spot. 'Steve,’ I breathed. He bit my ear lobe, and I clutched his shirt tighter. The heat between my legs became irresistable. I wished to tear his shirt apart, and close the little proximity we had between us, to feel his skin against mine.

His kisses turned south, and he left a trail of hot kisses on my collarbone.

I momentarily opened my eyes, when I noticed the family frame lying near the couch. My pinky finger seemed sensitive of the ring around it.

The words ’pain would be lesser’ ’detach yourself from him’ and 'make wise choices’ flashed in front of my mind. This jolted me out of my reverie. No, I cannot. I cannot do this, I cannot sleep with him, I can’t. It’d be harder to get over him. But the pleasure would be worth it, I thought. No, I scolded myself. Getting over him was the hardest thing I had to do. I cannot let this happen to me again. I am not ready to get hurt again. 'Steve, wait’ I panted. His kisses didn’t stop, but they faltered. He must be wondering if I had actually said that. 'Steve,’ I clutched his shoulders, and he broke away from the kiss. I looked at him.

'I’m sorry, I-I can’t to do this,’ I said with great difficulty because my body was screaming for his touch. 'I can’t go any further than this. I’m so sorry, so sorry’ I mumbled against his lips, my hand slowly dropping down from his biceps.

'I understand,’ he whispered. He dropped my hand from his, and he stepped back. My body suddenly felt cold. It begged for his touch again, his chest against mine, his fingers interlocked with mine, and his lips back on mine.

I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the tears. I looked down at my feet, trying to escape his eyes. 'I’ll go now,’ he said, and placed a last kiss on my temple. His fingers briefly touched my cheeks again, but they dropped, the touch now just an evanescence.

'Bye, Y/N,’ he said. I didn’t dare look up again. I moved aside to let him walk out the door for the last time. The door shut behind me, and the tears streamed down my face again. It was for my own good, I chanted to myself as I dropped down on the couch, my head in my hands. I sniffled.

I never really did get over him, did I? I thought to myself. I failed at getting over him seven months ago. I guess this time won’t be any different.

I detached my face from my palms and dabbed away the tears. I looked down at the couch and saw the blood from last night. I thought of him sitting there yesterday, looking so strikingly beautiful even in his simple clothes.

Then I abruptly realized he was wearing the white shirt when he went away. The white shirt, the only thing I had of him with me, now gone forever. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt my heart crush. It felt like someone had stolen a part of me.

Pain will always be lesser if you detach yourself from him, my dear child. If you want to forget someone, throw away everything that reminds you of them, the words buzzed in my ears. I ignored my grandfather’s advice seven months ago and still kept that white shirt with me.

Now it was gone. He took away the shirt with him, the last remaining possession that reminded me of him and our memories. It always comforted me in a way, but was always a reminder of my loss and pain.

Atleast getting over him will be easier now, I thought miserably, feeling cold and dismal. I curled up on the couch alone, and a fresh batch of tears rolled down my cheeks.

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