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enjennie · 3 years

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In The Limelight [chenle x reader]

Summary: Tutoring the CEO’s son, when you’re barely interested in business. And falling for him, when you knew nothing about love.

Genre: Fluff. Rich kid!Chenle Tutor!Reader

Warnings: None

a/n: not proofread! I’ve been in a slump lately ☹ my works haven’t been satisfying me but I hope you enjoy this! btw omg this is a reupload bc the first time... somehow, the paragraphs were jumbled up?

“Y/N, there are flowers on your desk,” your classmate gestures behind them to the classroom you were headed to before quickly passing by. You could only nod, a little taken aback by the sudden information you received. Flowers? As far as you know, Valentine’s had passed, so has white day and it’s definitely not your birthday.

But as you enter your classroom, the bundle of flowers catching your eyes, you knew one thing for sure was from who it was. As you approach your desk, you lift the thoughtful gift and inspect the small card attached to the string that tied it beautifully together. ZCH, it read in cursive.

“How was your day?” Chenle’s voice can be heard from the other line, the smile on his face almost something you can hear along with it.

“It was great! Thank you for the flowers, by the way. They’re delightful,” you beamed, eyes landing at the arrangement that now sat on your vanity. Chenle chuckles, his laughter sending serotonin to run through your body.

“Not a problem, I’m glad you like them,”

“Though I’d appreciate if you gave them to me yourself,” you cheekily continued. Chenle could only smile, his face softening at your request. It was a simple request. Yet, he couldn’t do it.

When you notice the silence that follow, you immediately regret what you said. You desperately try to backtrack, sputtering out words. “Well- I mean-, It’s fine- Thank you, still! I love them,”

Chenle hums, “I know. Don’t worry. You’ll wait though… right? It won’t be long,”

You plant your feet to your carpeted floor and nod, even if he can’t see you. “Of course, Lele,”

Zhong Chenle is the son of the most respected CEO of one of the biggest corporations in Shanghai the entire world. Chenle was the next in line to the company. After his brother had expressed how the business world didn’t interest him, the responsibility immediately fell into Chenle’s hands. And even if music was his love and calling, he had to let it go as to not disappoint his father.

Chenle had accepted it some time ago, going to school only for the degree so he could be eligible to own the business. He accepted the fact that he was going to be living the life his father made for him, not one he made for himself and it was the hardest pill to swallow. But things changed when he met you. There was more purpose to the things he does, it wasn’t just for nothing. Life had gone from monochromatic to colorful.

“Miss, Y/N. Mr. Zhong just moved and he has to take this class to pass the semester. I trust you can fill him in with our module? Mr. Zhong, this is Miss. Y/N, she scored the highest during midterms,” your world economics professor had marched towards you after class, a tall boy following behind her. He looked just as oblivious as she did, to the sudden weight and pressure being put on you.

You merely nod and say a simple hello, not being able to say anything else. It wasn’t a question, this was a demand. Jeez if I was gonna teach your student I should get a portion of your pay. You thought bitterly. At the time, you were struggling to juggle a part-time job at a café while also maintaining your grades to keep your scholarship.

When your professor left you two, the boy kept his hands buried in his pockets. His clothes were semi-casual and his hair was styled nicely. Who the hell moves halfway through the year?

“So, Mr. Zhong-“ you take your books into your arms and lazily sling your bag over your shoulder, heading towards the door with him trailing behind you.

“Chenle-, You can call me Chenle,” he finally spoke, startling you a little with how cool and soft his voice is as opposed to his striking visual that intimidated you at first.

“Nice to meet you, Chenle,” you give him a smile.

You were gonna be around this guy for who knows how long, might as well try to be his friend. Maybe it’ll make the teaching less of a chore.

“Wrong,” you huffed, marking his essay and adding in annotations. “Chenle, remember there is a specific way to start these essays and that’s by defining the terms you’re using,”

The boy sat opposite of you, arms crossed and back against the couch comfortably. You were in a café. The café you worked in, to be precise. Your schedule today overlapped with Chenle’s and as much as you didn’t want him to see you slaving around, you also couldn’t miss this paycheck at the café. You gave him an essay to write just to check on his phrasing and structure and left to buss some tables and serve orders. But when you came back, Chenle barely wrote anything and could care less about it.

“Can we not study today?” he whined.

You and Chenle have been meeting each other for a month now, and you’d soon learned about the type of boy he is, the life he led. In ways you didn’t expect to.

The first time you found out about Chenle’s reputation was through the newspaper. No, not the school newspaper. Not even the local newspaper. But on the Wallstreet Journal, when you had to grab material from any recent article for a class. Chenle’s name floated along with the words ‘Young entrepreneur’ and their company’s name. You gasped so loud you had to excuse yourself from the library and leave in a hurry. That afternoon you smacked him on the shoulder with your thick world econ textbook.

“You’re from a family of business corporates and you’re learning world economics from someone who crammed the exam?” you exclaimed. He stared at you blankly, book in hand and pen in the other.

“And you don’t pay me!” you added. The fact that you’ve been tutoring someone as rich as Chenle just didn’t make sense to you. Why not go to a professional? Instead, he was here with a sleep deprived college student who sometimes mixes up business terms just because she couldn’t care any less. World Economics was a mandatory for you. You studied to pass, sadly.

“I could start paying you, name the price,” he said easily. But you shook your head.

“I didn’t mean it that way, sorry. I actually don’t care about the money,” You led him to the picnic bench with the table outside school grounds and propped your book on it along with your bag before taking out your bento box. “Just blows my mind how you won’t just pay for the classes. I don’t teach that well-” you continue.

“I like you, though,” Chenle calmly interjects. You look up at the boy, movements being halted by his bold statement.

“Pardon?” you felt the need to have him clarify what he said. The boy leaned across the table, over your textbooks and notes. “I like you,” Chenle repeated himself, but the impact it had on you was just as powerful and hit you hard. Your heart was doing somersaults.

Chenle’s eyes grew thin as he smiled, backing away from you and sitting back down.

“So, chapter 12,” he starts flipping his book nonchalantly, leaving you out of breath with a heart hammering in your chest.

“What do you mean not study today? You have an upcoming quiz with Mr. Byun this Friday and mind you, that man searches for wrongs, not rights,” you raised a finger at him, shaking it matter-of-factly.

“No, let me help you. Do you usually run the café on your own?” he closes the book and takes his essay from your hand. You’re left slack jawed.

“No. I- Johnny couldn’t come in today,” you explained. Suddenly, you were stammering as if explaining to your boss. At first, you were doubting if it was the same Chenle you were reading about in the articles. The boy you were tutoring didn’t come off as someone who would be running corporates and buying stocks or whatever. He was more laid back and relaxed. Aside from the way he dressed, nothing gave it away that he was indeed the CEO’s son. But there were times where you got a dominant feel from him. Times when he stood with much authority and didn’t accept no for an answer. In those moments, you realize how Chenle’s presence alone demanded respect.

Soon enough, you found yourself behind the counter with Chenle beside you tying the apron to himself. He looked cute, somehow. The way he smiled at customers and tried giving them their recommendations set butterflies run free in your stomach, you almost swooned. He didn’t get much studying done that day, but you surely did. You learned the fact that you falling slowly but surely with Zhong Chenle.

There were two chapters you’re left to cover. In the short month and a half, you managed to teach Chenle six month’s worth of topics. Seeing him every other day made Chenle a familiar face to see around. Of course, you never actually got to see him around campus when you weren’t tutoring him. It left you wondering if you were actually teaching a ghost. But all doubts went away when the girls in your class started whispering about the cute boy waiting outside class. You quickly found out it was Chenle who they were talking about, and he was there for you. It was safe to say he wasn’t a ghost and is in fact real.

Carrying his book bag, he was stood against the wall with reading material under his arm.

“Chenle, we don’t have a schedule today,” you walk up to him, trying to avoid the dozen pairs of eyes that watched you. Chenle nodded, “Sorry, I won’t be here tomorrow. My father is bringing me on a business trip,” he states.

It wasn’t new for you to hear this coming from Chenle. Just the other week, his father brought him along to Japan for a company deal and Chenle came back with a little keychain souvenir for you. The same keychain dangled from your bag now as you both walked to the exit of the building. “Are you free?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t bring my book with me tod-“ you begin searching in your bag, even if you knew it wasn’t there. You were just trying to ignore the way his question made your heart jump.

“I mean… for dinner. Are you free for dinner?” he places a gentle hand on yours, stopping you from looking further in your bag. Chenle’s bold movements sometimes took him by surprise as well. He quickly retracts his hand, shoving it in his pockets. You let go of your bag, placing your hands on either side of you.

“Why?” you squinted at him suspiciously.

Chenle’s smile is small, but doesn’t go unnoticed by you as he turns his head towards his car then back down at you. “Listen, you don’t have to overanalyze this. I just want to treat you,”

Chenle had thought about it a hundred times or more, before finally making a decision. Although you’ve been seeing each other in cafes and libraries for some time now, he didn’t want to consider those as dates. Sure, it gave him time to admire you up close and get to know you but he wanted you to know his true intentions. The only problem was boy, was he a wuss. And were you oh so dense!

Despite the subtle and not so subtle hints he’s given you, you remained clueless about his feelings. Unsure, confused and just downright oblivious. From the way he looked at you to how he vocally told you he liked you. You shoved everything under the rug, afraid that this boy was just toying around with you and having a laugh. He found it cute.

It didn’t matter that you were in your school clothes, carrying about three thick books in your shoulder bag. He thought you looked stunning. You ate at a pizzeria just in town and he expressed how it tasted just like pizza from Italy. You said you wouldn’t know the difference since you’ve never been, and had a laugh about it.

The walk from his car to your apartment wasn’t that far, it’s just that he had to park a little further since there was no more space left in front. As you walked together, you noticed how the vibe and atmosphere between you two that developed as the night deepened, was different. More lax, comfortable. Like friends? You were both silent, until Chenle piped up.

“I lied, I didn’t just want to treat you,” he muttered, looking into the distance of your quiet street.

You turn your face towards him and you catch a glimpse of his face in the moonlight before looking away. He’d taken your bag from you and had it around his shoulder now. Him in his white polo shirt and brown suit jacket. He was always dressed like he was attending some kind of formal event. That’s Chenle for you. Mr. CEO’s son.

“Then?” you prompted him to continue.

Chenle averts his attention towards you as you finally reached the front of your apartment. You both stop walking, facing each other with the moon as your spotlight. You look at him from the light of the moon, it illuminated Chenle’s features perfectly. You would be able to inspect him when he studied, but each look at him made you breathless every time you had to look away. Much like right now.

“I wanted to take you out. Like, on a date,” Chenle confesses.

You could never wrap your head around how bold Chenle could be. Always leaving you flustered after saying such things, this boy was your weakness. But you didn’t give in. At least, you tried not to.

“Oh,” was your only response as you put your hands together, looking up at the tall boy. You hoped it wasn’t obvious that heat was rushing to your cheeks and ears by now. You could practically feel your blood flowing through your body, making you feel warm all over. “It was fun, I enjoyed it,” you shyly admit.

Chenle takes a step forward, raising his hand to palm your cheek gently. It’s the first time he’s ever gotten this close. “But I’m not sure you’re ready for my world yet,” his voice is lower, cool. Like wind.

You part your lips slightly, willing yourself to breathe. Your breath is unstable, shaky. This time, you take a step forward. “Are you underestimating me?” You don’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but you were thankful for it. The look of surprise is quickly melted into amusement as this was definitely the first time you ever made the second move to the dozens of times he’d left you flustered.

Chenle dips his head down close to your face. Eyes trained on each other, you tried to get yourself to breathe. He looked alluring, and you watch his eyes drop to your lips. Your head had become blank, nothing in mind. Just him. Chenle, and nothing else. His calm eyes, button nose and plump lips that you so very badly wanted to press against yours. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

You close the space between you and Chenle, lining your lips with his and connecting them together. The sensation almost sending you on your knees, you grab onto his shoulder for support and he holds you up by the waist, swiftly wrapping his strong arms around you. It felt like such a big relief, you almost sighed.

When you pulled away, Chenle’s smile comes into view as you fluttered your eyes open. He places his hand at the back of his head and scratches, suddenly becoming shy. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“You’re something else,” you giggle, smacking his arm before snatching your bag from his shoulder and turning on your heel to leave. You feel his hand against yours, forcing you to stop. “I’ll see you after my trip?” he asks.

“Same time… for class,” you reply, looking back at him with a cheeky smile. Chenle lets your hand go, a smitten smile on his face and a warm feeling in his chest. Zhong Chenle wished things were simpler. He wanted to give you the world.

“It’s just a black tie party and my dad’s forcing me to come with a date,” he fixes himself in the mirror. He looked handsome, as always. In an all-black suit that fit him perfectly. Dressed like he had someplace to be, people to meet.

You sat on your bed behind him, arms folded and face scrunched up into a frown. A date. Probably someone from a rich family, better than you, his future spouse. They’d have perfect little babies together. All these bitter thoughts were flooding in your brain. When he notices your unusual quietness, Chenle turns to face you and gives you a goofy smile.

“What’s on your mind?” he approaches the bed, placing either hands on the side of you and leaning in close. Chenle could tell when you lied and knew exactly how to make you crack. You pull your knees to yourself and don’t bother hiding the scowl forming on your face. You couldn’t do anything about it. After several talks with Chenle, he explained how much pressure he gets from the media and his family. How dating even became a hassle because of how the pressure would then be shared with his partner.

For years, it wasn’t a problem. He didn’t find anyone that sparked his interest, and only had meaningless one night stands. He was fine with it, really. But all of that changed when he met you. For once, he wanted to go after something he loved. Not let it go, unlike what he did with his own passion for the sake of his father’s dream and business.

You shook your head, ridding the thoughts in your head and throwing them out. “Nothing. I know it’s just business. Message me when you get home?” you didn’t need to ask, but you still do. Chenle always kept you updated, whether if it was how the party he’s in has a chocolate fountain or if the bathrooms have automatic toilets. It was always bizarre hearing about his stories and taking a peek of what his world is like. The world of corporates. You weren’t ready for it, and Chenle knew.

The secrecy of your relationship didn’t last very long, soon enough it’s got media questioning who Chenle was seeing and your status. After a few run-ins with the paparazzi, you both decided it would be best if your meetups were more discreet. Luckily, the cameras hadn’t captured your face yet, but it was only a matter of time until they did.

To top it all off, the news had spread across campus. Girls left and right claiming they were the one dating Chenle, it didn’t bother you too much. You had a scholarship to keep and a job to go to. Sometimes, you’d find a single rose and a letter waiting for you in class, or at the café. Of course, you and Chenle had wrapped up the tutorial classes and he was able to pass the exam. He was one step closer to his degree, but happy wasn’t the word to describe him.

He yearned to be with you, have you in his arms and spend hours together just like you used to before things got complicated. Chenle grew lonely without your presence as months passed. Nonetheless, you hung onto the string of hope that maybe one day people wouldn’t care so much. That you could take all the criticism, the heat.

It was around 2am when your phone rang, disturbing your slumber. It was a Friday night and you took it upon yourself to catch up on some sleep after the horrendous exam week you just faced. Chenle had said goodnight hours ago. You wondered who could be calling at such an ungodly hour.

You pick up without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Chenle’s voice filled your ear. Your eyes snap open and you shot up from your bed, pulling the phone away from your ear. Sure enough, it was him. Lele, with a little heart beside the name.

“Hey, are you alright?” You ask worriedly. His voice sounded slow and there was rustling behind him.

Chenle lets out a groan, and your heartbeat picks up its pace. You knew better than to think Chenle would cheat, but it was definitely worrying hearing this without any idea what was going on. “I miss you,” he breathed, voice raspy and low. You couldn’t keep the smile from appearing on your face. In the darkness of your room, your heart swelled with joy. “I miss you too, Chenle,” you whispered back.

Distinct voices come through the line, and you make it out to be Jeno and Jaemin. They’re bickering and you hear a guitar in the mix. “We’ll leave you here, Chenle,” Jaemin calls to his friend before you hear a door close.

“Why did you call?” you ask but you were happy that he did.

“Because I can’t be there with you. Even if it’s all I want right now,” he confessed. Your smile faltered and a hint of sadness falls upon your face as he continues. He was obviously drunk, but Chenle has always been really honest because he couldn’t lie. These days however, you haven’t had the time to talk much and you knew there was a lot on his mind. It hurt to know that it’s been this, and you couldn’t do much about it. “I just want to tell everyone about us. Screw what they think, YN. You’re perfect to me,”

Hearing his words gave you a glimmer of hope. You wished he was right, you wished you could believe it.

“Chenle-“ you sighed. “I want that too,”

There was a moment of silence before his voice came through again and you thought he’d passed out drunk already. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve sacrificed so much for my father, but you’re not going to be one of them,”

His words brought the smile back to your face, tears welling up in your eyes from how happy you were to hear them. It seemed at this moment that you could battle anything, because you were with Chenle. Everything would be alright. He was here and you are too, it’s the two of you against the world.

“Tomorrow, let’s make it official,” Chenle proposed.

You bring your hand up to your lips and bite on your nails, now fully awake more than ever. “Okay,” you agreed. Chenle grins, getting up from his bed. “I’m coming over,” you can hear him walking around now, keys jangling and shoes on his wooden floor.

“You can’t drive-“ you hurriedly try to stop him, keeping in mind his state.

“I don’t drive a Tesla for nothing,” he chuckles. “I’ll be there soon,” The outgoing beeping of the call followed afterwards as he ended the call. The realization hit you a moment later.

The next day, you and Chenle arrived in school together. He stayed the night, carrying a change of clothes in his bag. For someone who was smack drunk, he sure did pack well.

From the moment you stepped out of his car, many students were around to watch. Exchanging whispers and staring, your cheeks set aflame when Chenle pulls you by the arm, your hands connecting between you and threading together naturally. It drew the attention of many onlookers and you chewed on your bottom lip, not used to the attention.

“They’re staring,” you whisper close to him.

“Let them,” He responds. Chenle tilts your head up to meet his gaze before planting a lingering kiss on your lips, confirming people’s already forming suspicions. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

#zhong chenle #chenle #chenle fluff #nct chenle #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct fluff #chenle au #nct dream au

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sorenskyhigh · 4 years

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Pets They Would Have pt. 2

Karasuno

Hisashi Kinoshita

Hisashi is a Train Company Employee. This means he works a lot of hours and just does not have the time to take care of, love and train any other pets

Fish are a really easy to take care of

All you have to do is remember to feed them and have a water filter to constantly clean their aquarium

Some fish, if handled when young, can get big and will let and love for you to pet them

But, they also are just very nice to have

Just to watch them swim around all of the plants with the light on at night

As I said, they don't need alot either

Hisashi could just let them be

They wouldn't beg or need constant love and attention like a mammal (dog, cat, rat, bird)

They also don't need constant vigilance for health issues or specialized diets like amphibian and reptilian pets

Hisashi is going to be tired when he gets home from work, so he needs a pet that is more ornamental than a chore

I feel if Hisashi were to have fish, he'd get the weirdest ones in the pet store

Hisashi seems to have a very strong inner child

So he would want either the flashiest fish, or the ones that cause a double take everytime their passed by in the store

He may get only one or two or get a whole tank full

I honestly feel like it could go one of two ways:

A- He has an aquarium for a wall in his house filled with his wild choice in fish or

B- He has a small, round, spherical bowl with two fish in it

It'd be funny if he had just the two fish to start with then they had babies even though the worker said they were both female

Obviously they weren't

They laid eggs and he had to transfer the female and daughters to one large tank and the father and sons to another so they wouldn't keep having babies

After this he has like 14 fish in total

Then he keeps finding himself at the pet store looking at the "ugly" fish no one wants

He buys these fish and ends up having two tanks that cover a whole wall

One's for his male fish the others for the females

But he screws up and learns the hard way that clownfush can change genders to help make babies

I'm being terrible to this poor guy let me stop

He so would be that fish owner to get real plants and "not those toxic plastic ones, how do they not hurt the fish???"

I honestly love the thought of Kinoshita just spacing out in front of his fish as he just watches them swim and do their own thing

Or if he were to only have a couple fish and he lets them get really big and pets them

Kazuhito Narita

Now, I know what you're thinking

Aren't Ferrets incredibly high maintenance?

Not really

Kazu ends up working at a Realty Firm

Generally their work hours are supposed to be around 40 hrs a week

But they often have to stay longer considering most clients can only meet up on weekday afternoons

So this means Kazu has to work a lot

Ferrets may be mischievous and a little destructive, but that's easy to fix

If a ferret is to be left at home alone for hours at a time, just get it a really big cage and tons of toys to play with

Plenty of food and water too, of course

But ferrets are honestly pretty chill

All they need is for you to clean out their cage around once a week, some light grooming here and there, and some time to run around

Apartment or house doesn't matter with ferrets

They love to just mess around and only need a couple hours of free time a day

They sleep most of the day, 17 to 20 hours usually

They also aren't very vocal

They have a specific noise they make when excited thats barely heard by most human ears

Fun fact about ferrets is they actually have pretty poor eyesight, but their sense of smell and hearing more than make up for it

The only real problems Kazu would have to worry about are hairballs getting lodged and dental issues, no different than a cat

I didn't pick a cat though bc, Kazu seems like the kind of person to have something that doesn't get riled up on a whim like a cat

Cats often have unpredictable moods, ferrets on the other hand can be energetic but won't get into a bad mood at the drop of a pin

They're generally very fun loving

Though, it is always recommended to get a pair

Ferrets are highly social animals, so they would need a buddy for when your not able to be there for them

Kazu would probably get one almost all white ferret and one almost all dark brown ferret for the symbolism

I love the thought of Kazu wrestling with one ferret, it wrapped around his hand, and then the other one if climbing on his back and sliding down the back of his shirt in playful retaliation

Tobio Kageyama

I really really wanted to give Tobio a turtle, but with him being a volleyball player in his adult life, that just won't work

Turtles need very specific temperatures and surroundings so they can live happily and healthily

I honestly feel in terms of personality, nothing but a cute little Eastern Box Turtle would fit him perfectly

I honestly struggled to find something that, to me, fit Kageyama Tobio but also would be manageable for him as a pro athlete

He's a very complex character and something with fur or feather just did not seem to suit him to me

The only problem is.......reptiles and amphibians are generally really demanding pets

From the food they eat, the the temperature their home has to be set at, its a lot of constant care

Some of them may not like constant physical touch, but they still need to be cleaned and have a constant watchful eye to check for any skin abnormalities

I decided on the African Fire Skink after much much MUCH consideration

These lizards don't get large, onky around 14-15 inches

And, unlike many reptilian nd amphibian pets, they don't require any specific heating or lighting

As long as your house isn't like consistently hot or cold or constantly changing between the two, their fine

They do need a substantial amount of dirt to dig and hide in

They mostly eat insects and one very rare occasion would appreciate a pinky mouse

These lizards are also shy and like to be admired from a distance

They don't like to be touched too much

They also have few and far between health problems uike other lizards

The only real problem is you can't find them at local pet stores but, they generally sell for around 25-70 USD

They also live for around 15-20 years

I feel like Tobio would have gotten his lizard as a middle schooler bc he didn't have very many friends, but he also didn't want a really needy pet since he doesn't know how to socialize well

Since this lizard like to be left alone, he could admire it from afar and this lizard could help him learn how to social better

Sorta.....

Imagine Tobio at a table in his room, doing some homework and the little Skink is just lazing about in a sunspot next to him 😍

Shoyo Hinata

YES YOU ARE SEEING CORRECTLY

At first for Shoyo I thought, okay maybe a hamster or a Guinea Pig or something like that

Ya know, something small but mighty and also, incredibly cute!

But I took a look at a list of pets that travel well and one of pets that can be left at howm for days with a proper care taker

I nearly shot myself bc I totally forgot that Hermit Crabs can be pets!!!!!

And they suit Shoyo so well!!!

They are small and sturdy

They fight back and pinch when threatened but can be very nice little pets to have

Hermit Crabs also love, sadly, for only around 10 years and can grow up to 6 inches long

Also, three to five shells per crab should be available

I am living for the idea that Hinata bought a bunch of shells for his crabs and painted them with little volleyballs and crows and ornage and black 🥺

These are good bc as long as you have someone reliable to feed them when they need to be while you're gone

Usually, if they're small, they're tiny wittle claws can't grab onto pellet food, so heir is a specific kind of almost dust like food for Hermit Crabs

Also, dark leafy greens like kale and broccoli or fruits like apples, bananas, and grapes are good too

Just choo them up really really tiny

They also need 2-3 inches of soil, silica play sand, and (optional) coconut fibers for them to burrow in when they molt

They also need a place for water to keep their little shells moist

They also need specific temps and maybe even mist their terrarium with water now and again

Something that us important and why Shoyi would need someone to come in and check on them is bc they are every vulnerable when molting

When a Hermit Crab molts they need to be separated from others so they don't get hurt

Like with many smaller pets you also have to thoroughly wash your hands before and after you touch them

Shoyo would fight Tobio when Tobio said his Crabs are boring and go into a long detailed argument about how each Crab has his/her own personality and how interesting they are

Kei Tsukishima

Did you expect this Dino loving nerd to have anything else other than a reptile?

I tried to find one, as you can imagine, that would fit his adult life schedule but also his personality

I really wanted to give him an Iguana or Chameleon butbthey were really demanding with care

Now.....I know

Anole are native to the Southern US and Southern Hispanic countries such as Mexico, Clolombua, and Venezuela

They are around 20cm long and only live a very short 3-5 years

Also if you own many most should be female and only one should be male if you choose to have any males at all

The males get very territorial and will fight one another

Also the males flair our their dewlaps (skin flap under their chin) in defense and when they feel threatened

The dewlaps are usually pink, red, or on the rare occasion blue

Females have these as well but don't flair them out as much

Anoles are very high energy but don't care to be touched too much

These lizards also can't be picked up by their tales as they have evolved to lose their tales and grow them back

Kei would like these as they are so odd

They're not only descendants of Dinosaurs but they can lose their tales and grow them back at will???

I feel like Kei would constant have new ones

His massive tank (you need big ones for these guys, they are very active and will resort to cannibalism if their space is too small) is never empty, always at least three

He has analbum on his phone of all of the Anoles he's owned and maybe even has a picture book with their names on it

Yamaguchi to this day is the o ky one that has had the privilege to see said book

Yamaguchi is also the only person Kei trusts to take care of his precious Anoles

And when one dies he has really small but none the less grand ceremony for a descendant of the mighty race of Dinosaurs

Yamaguchi always helps him set these up

I fell like he would give them really weird names as well

Like twig, stick, sock, glove, kneecap or some weird shit idk

I'll have Yamaguchi, Yachi, Yui, Natsu, and Saeko in the next one

My requests are open and I hope you enjoyed

@popcorntime-doodles @multifandombrainrot @kneecapstealingalien @jiheonity @weareallhumans123 @smallmangi @canadian-crow @just-jellyfish @immiamarais @i-need-coffee-now-pls @shadowsbutdead @ghostexhibit @goshikisimp @anothershadeofpink @mestayanon @all-around-fandoms31 @thatfunnysprout @itsallgonnabokayihope @g00s3 @boreateo @backalley-astrologer @vaniatslover @lil-mellow-bunbun @strawberrymakki @beelziee @taiyahhh @sakusasgerm @cr4z3d-cl0wn @brendanfkelley @mainnews32 @beelshumanworldburger @mehreenackerman @detective-bakugou

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#kinoshita hisashi #narita kazuhito #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #tsukishima kei

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ningdungi · 4 years

Text

fairy prince!yeonjun

this has been in my draft for so long since CYSM i decided to just post it...lengthy and messy because originally it was just a prompt :D also inspired by she-ra and the princesses of power lol i love that show

pairing: yeonjun x reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, a little angsty

summary: you got captured by yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom in the magic forest

choi yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom deep in the magic forest

the fairy kingdom has been one of the greatest protectors of the forest for thousands of years, along with other kingdoms in the magic island

the island being covered almost 1/3 by the forest, the fairy kingdom remains one of the biggest and strongest kingdom to ever exist

however, it is also not the friendliest kingdom as it is hidden deep in the forest to protect the ancient magic and stones

the foreign organization exploits the hell out of the island but never get to touch the forest as it is protected by magic and ancient spirit of the ecosystems

the leader of the evil interstellar organization wasn’t so dumb either, they waited for years preparing the best strategy to get what they want: the ancient magic and (said to be) stolen stones to combine with their crazy technology so they can conquer the universe

mistaken for a new kingdom, the evil organization is known for their evil sinister king. When rlly he’s just a capitalist asshole that only cares abt money and power... and his precious daughter—or what the locals call—the evil princess, you

he also has a younger son, prince taehyun, your half-brother, who happens to be a genius and good with technologies. But his father wanted him to be a warrior, not some nerd. So he’s never really fond of him :(

one day you grew tired of being seen as a delicate doll that needs protection, you’re a trained warrior that’s always at least on the top 3 in class. Plus you’re older than taehyun so you need to prove yourself to your father if you want to be force captain and to take the throne one day (yes i’ve been watching a lot of she-ra) but your father just couldn’t risk it

one day, the your kingdom poisoned the forest and unlike any previous failed attempt, this time it finally worked

the day the invasion occurred, you sneaked out of the evil kingdom to join the force that your half-brother co-lead... i mean, you have lots of knowledge about the history and ecosystem of the magic forest, thanks to the help of your best friend, healer elf prince!soobin, whose kingdom had been corrupted by your father (but he still hangs around bc they did no harm to the elf kingdom, just taking over the whole region)

i mean, what could possibly go wrong?

well thee answer is: everything

you got captured IMMEDIATELY by the fairies

even better, you’re captured by the fairy prince!yeonjun himself. you were sneaking in the trees under the moon light, in the dark dark forest. and thats how you ended up being strangled by the prince himself and tied up with vines and thorns

you were in an awe the entire time bc you had no idea that the fairy prince would be this beautiful and ethereal. he just looks so... delicate and magical and soft, despite the fact that he almost choked you to death

you’ve just never seen any creature as beautiful as him, all glowing and sparkling softly under the moonlight

the glimmering luxurious pastel dress that he wore fits him perfectly, and the flower crown on his blonde locks made little butterflies fly upon him. His eyes cold but shines brightly, and everywhere he goes, he leaves trails of fairy dust and sparkles

but to your surprise, he’s kinda mean and short tempered. A frown never leaves his soft peachy lips

one look at you and he goes "... and what could the infamous little princess of the evil kingdom be doing in MY land? doing MEAN and EVIL stuff? hm??”

you’ve heard about the fairies not being the most friendly creature but you thhought they were just vicious, not sarcastic and seems angry all the time

and strangely enough, unlike other fairies, he didn’t have wings. And the flower crown on his blonde hair looked more like horns growing out of his head

he grew impatient from your lack of response but he couldn’t kill you yet, he needed you to get back at the evil kingdom

so he brought you to his kingdom—the kingdom’s prison, to be exact. But it’s just a beautiful chamber filled with wild plants and flowers and glowing fireflies underneath the moonlight, you were kinda confused when he said it’s a prison since the concept of prison that you grew up with is practically just a cold dark chamber of torture

“THIS is your PRISON? you sure you’re not taking me on a fairy date just now? to meet your pretty little fairy friends?” you said with a smug on your face, knowing that he wouldnt dare to intentionally hurt you, as he is a creature of natural protector despite his short temper

so you use this opportunity to annoy the hell out of him

“pretty flower crowns you got there” “btw where are your wings? aren’t all fairies supposed to have sparkly translucent wings?” “honestly i thought prisons are supposed to be a little more dark and intimidating you know, not like this pretty fairy garden”

you’d give him headache and the urge to use some forbidden magic curse on you but he didn’t because your corpse wouldn’t do any good

“these are HORNS! and not every fairy have the same physical features, stop stereotyping us! it’s disrespectful” he snapped

you were just complimenting him why is he always so cranky

i mean his horns look so beautiful they could easily be mistaken as a crown...

after gathering some information, you broke out of the prison with the help of the dying forest and weakening magic force

but you didn’t want to return just yet. you needed to gather more information as the forest started to heal

also you’re kinda lost your way back home lol

your father was FURIOUS, he blamed everyone for your abduction. even your little brother got enough beating for that

as days gone by, you feel like you’re getting closer to the secrets of the island, and also the fairy prince

and every encounter with him it’s just consist of a lot of bickering and sword fighting and being angry at each other

one time your faces were far too close to each other it made you let your guards down, but you snapped out of it quickly and proceed to strangle him

for some reason he never try to actually kill you and you never seem to get the right chance to kill him. it’s weird coming from you bc that’s literally what’s you’re trained for, to kill the prince. you still gotta prove yourself, remember?

but you’re getting used to each other’s presence so much that it became amusing for him

“wow (y/n) this is actually a fun date idea. I’m giving it a 4/10. could’ve been a solid 10 if you didn’t try to stab me in the ribs tho :/“ he said in the middle of a sword fight

one day you’re battling in some strange part in the forest, you were spying on him but got caught

but little did you know, it was one of the forest’s sacred sites. It’s filled with the strongest magic and ancient technology and guarded by forces you don’t know yet

you got struck by some ancient magic, resulting in some strange event to happen. which led you to be captured by the fairy prince yeonjun himself, again

you were kinda weak from the struck so most of the time he’s the one guarding you in the prison, keeping an eye on you and limiting your suspicious moves

so all you can do in the meantime is to either insult his annoyingly beautiful prison or annoy the prince himself

he always seems pissed and suspicious for no reason so it’s kinda fun to you

“are you in pain or something? did you get struck by some strange magic too? why are you always so mean and angry?? are you hurting somewhere ??"

“excuse YOU? am i supposed NOT TO ?? maybe i wouldn’t be so mean and angry all the time if the evil kingdom DON’T try to exploit the forest ALL THE TIME, every think of that? does that ring a bell? here's a hint: i’m talking about YOU, princess (y/n)” he’d roll his eyes, angrily walking in circles. kinda mad at his dad for making him guard you

i mean... there should be enough guards in this castle, right?

little did you know, the magic is actually weakening... leaving the royal bloods’ magic the only force that can protect the forest, for now

“for the hundreth time, i am NOT a princess! i’m a fucking warrior, so stop calling me that!” sometimes you get pissed for his sarcastic remarks and his attitudes in general too. also this time you’re not really feeling well after the struck

“whatever you say, my princess” he’d blow flower petals on your face before giving you a smirk, dancing away gracefully as he picks flowers and tuck them into his flower crown... dozens of flowers immediately grows back for every single flower he picks from the ground, what a sight

you’d blush and try to look away. he never used his magic and charms for this type of things, usually it’s just for some silly pranks or weak attempts temporary torture in the battlefield (bc using magic drains his energy quickly)... so why now? was he really using magic or was is it just you?

after so many encounters and chances of being alone together, you sure know how to get on each other’s nerves... and each other’s head

you were there for a couple days, it’s kinda weird that you didn’t try to escape

turned out you were kinda sick, the strange magic struck weakened your senses and abilities. but you didnt want to admit it nor let him know that you’re literally vulnerable right now

you were smart enough to use this opportunity to get close to him, telling lies about how pitiful your life’s been as a princess and how you just want to prove yourself to your father, you don’t even care about conquering the universe

he didn’t buy that at first, not until you told him about how the evil kingdom sees the forest. you’d say your father thinks the fairies are the bad guys bc they stole the stones from the ancestors of your father’s planet thousands of years ago and that they’re just trying to get it back to heal their dying planet

you didn’t lie at that part, it was true... at least for the invaders. that’s how he kinda get surprised he had to tell the fairies’ version of the story

turned out that it’s all just a misunderstanding between the two parties, but unlike yeonjun being the democratic soon-to-be leader that he is, you still want approval

which you can only get by killing the fairy crown prince yeonjun before his coronation

but jokes on you, you kinda have feelings for him too. you didnt even try to kill him when he fell asleep holding you in his arms... you’d always say to yourself that ‘it wasn’t the right time’ to kill him just yet

of course it wasn’t. there never was, and never will be. you love him, dumbass. even the moon shining upon you the two of you could easily tell

he’d start to tell you secrets... secrets of the forest, his ancestors and families, the kingdom, the magic island, everything

you knew the forest is dying, but what you didn’t know is that he never wanted to be king,, he doesn’t feel like he’s qualified to be one. hell, he doesn’t even have wings, and he’s got horns growing out of his head. no fairy king or queen written in history of the magic island to not have wings, ever

“but it’s not required, right? literally nobody said you’ve got to be born with wings in order to be a fairy king. it’s already in your blood, yeonjun.” you would reassure him as you lift his chin so you can clearly see his eyes... all shaky and scared

he’d kiss you and you swore you almost forgot about your personal mission of luring and getting him into your trap

he told you about when he was just a fairy child... other young fairies and forest creatures bullied him for having horns and no wings,, i mean... he’s a fairy after all. it’s actually really natural, it’s just unusual among the immature creatures

one day he ran away way too far out of the forest... to the giant thorned vine bushes that looked like a cavern... it was dark and scary, he’s never seen this part of the island before

he didn’t know that it’s an entrance to the darker side of the island, where your father landed the ship and invaded a whole region of natural resources and innocent creatures, including the elf kingdom

and then he met a little girl, holding a basket full of flowers and wild berries, with a messy flower crown made of wild flowers on her head. she approached him and asked him softly if he’s lost and why is he crying

he was scared at first because she’s dressed like human, but after a while he learned that she’s harmless. he told her he’s scared that one day he’s gonna turn into a monster bc of his growing horns

“horns? i thought these were a crown... a very peculiar one, i must admit. but didn’t you say you’re a prince? a prince is supposed to wear a crown, right?” the little girl said brightly

“here, let me tuck these flowers in between your hairs and horns... now it’s a flower crown! it’s always been a crown, but now you have flowers!” she would jump around happily, which made the little prince smiled a little too

the story kinda shocked you... could it be that...?

no, snap out of it! it’s not even important nor relevant to your current circumstances

but you never thought that the crown that he proudly wore all the time has been... a growing pain for him

speaking of pain, the part of your back that’s got struck by the strange magic the other day keeps hurting you, and that night it started to get worse, two vertical scars started to form, followed by black liquid running down from each one

“you’re hurt! why didn’t you tell me?” he snapped, his voice filled with worries and anger. maybe it’s because of the fact that black blood could only mean one thing... dark magic

he took care of you and looked after you all the time

and yet you’d still tell him lies... and giving him false hopes

“let’s run away, together... to somewhere far, somewhere safe, we can build our own forever...”

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lideria · 4 years

Text

Second Nature. | Doyoung

Request: Ahah, this was not a request I just really like to make myself suffer sometimes. This is about a childhood best friend who returns after a long time.

Author’s Note: I have kind of had this storyline already and whenever I looked at Doyoung I thought he would fit into it so well. This is a scenario rather than an imagine, so it might not be fully relatable. Plus, I’m sorry if this hurts you.

Warnings: THIS IS SAD, not proofread bc I suck at it, very downbeat pov, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, mentions of divorce, mentions of injury, lots of emphasis on loneliness, plus there is a dog in this story so if you’re scared of doggies/you’re a cat person, I apologize. English is my second language so there might be errors! Let me know if there is more please!

Word Count: 11664 too many words for my own good really

Genre: ANGST, fluff, childhoodfriends!au, bestfriends!au, friendstolovers!au (???), two surprise AUs that I cannot say for the sake of the story.

I hope you all enjoy! If that’s even possible! Because I felt emotionally drained just by writing it!

“Catch me if you can!”

You let out a loud laugh as you start sprinting at full speed. Your friend and neighbor Doyoung lets out a shriek before picking up his pace, both of you running through and inevitably, over the green grass of your shared garden that is scattered with white and yellow flowers all around. Parents look at your way as they take a sip of their coffee, smiling under the mug. “Don’t sweat too much, it gets chilly in the evening!” His mother shouts when the two of you run close by them. One of you answers okay, but you both cannot make out who it is because the caution only falls on deaf ears.

He catches you when you are running close to the fence, catching you by your shoulders and accidentally pulling your hair. “Ow!” He hisses along with you as you turn back. You are very clearly pissed of, which only alarms him a little further. “Doyoung! I told you to be careful with my hair— it’s longer than yours.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally! I’m sorry. You can pinch my arm so we’re even.” He sticks his arm out, his blue and grey bracelet hanging off loosely from his wrist. “No, but I want a cookie.”

He audibly gasps. “I only have 3 left!”

When you shrug, he sighs and heads inside their vacation home. It takes him a few minutes to go to the front of the house where their kitchen is and come back and by the time he’s back, he finds you sitting at the bottom of the fence. Your face brightens up when you see him and his mother’s cookies, inarguably the best dessert to come after your mother’s. He sits next to you and hands the treasure. You still notice the frown on his face. And you hate seeing him upset.

So, you break the cookie in half— an imperfect half. You get the smaller piece to yourself and hold out the bigger half for Doyoung to take. He smiles the Doyoung smile and takes it before stuffing it in his mouth.

It was a bright, sunny day. You had been at the beach ever since the morning, now late in the afternoon, with Doyoung and his family and yours. Having a sandwich for breakfast and a picnic for lunch and snacks, swimming every other second in between. Both Doyoung and you loved swimming in the aqua blue waters that would occasionally change colors to a deeper blue. More specifically jumping from the pier in what you claimed to be “athletic poses” that were, in reality, sad yet funny excuses for superhero jumps.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, honey, but I think Doyoung had that one.” Your father says when both of you climb up to the pier after your 7th jump, for the votes of your parents on who jumped better. “Yeah, I can’t jump quite as high. It’s because he plays volleyball,” Doyoung snickers beside you with good intentions, but you still feel a little defeated. “It’s okay, you dive better than me.”

“That’s true, you suck at diving.” The realization of having said a bad word hits you both sooner than ever, and you both cover your mouths in surprise. He is smiling under his hand. You can tell because his eyes are squinting. His parents start laughing and Doyoung too lets go of the laughter he has been holding in. But of course, your parents do not look all that amused. “That’s another month before you get a pet.”

You switch to protest mode in an instant. “But it slipped from my mouth, I didn’t mean it!”

“Just because it slipped doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Your mother claims calmly, and you jump a little with frustration. “But—“

“Whining won’t get you closer to getting one.” Your father sternly adds. You stop immediately, rightfully kind of really upset. Everyone is silent until Doyoung pulls a little on your arm. You know what he means, so you let him drag you back towards the pier. Frustration stings at your eyes and Doyoung can sense it, so he nudges you a little. “Come on, don’t be sad. I’m sure a month will fly by.”

He does not receive any response, even though you argued there’s still at least a year internally. He kind of knew he would not be getting a response, because that is what you act like when you are upset. Seeing as you were, he crossed off the possibility of jumping off the pier with you for the time being. Instead he sat down at the end, dangling his legs, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. You follow his actions.

“Doyoung?” Your voice sounds like you were frowning. “Hm?” He does not look at you, because he does not like seeing people upset. “How is middle school? Is it fun?”

You were just going to be starting middle school, whereas he was going to begin his second year. As always he wanted to tell you the truth. Considering your mood, though, that might have not been the best idea. So he did not. “It is! Plenty of good friends,” Which was not necessarily a lie, but it definitely was not how it went for a lot of people. He feared you would be one of them, as you had a tendency to make friends with everyone and that was not how socializing went in middle school. But for all he knew, everything could be different and you could have an amazing middle school experience. “After school activities are really fun as well.” That definitely was not a lie. Doyoung loved volleyball. “I can’t wait to go back.”

“I’ll swim. That makes me happy.” And it must for real, because he hears the excitement in your voice.

He grins. “Then go for it.”

With that, Doyoung pushes you off the edge. Although surprised, you suspected he would do that subconsciously as he had a habit of pushing people into the water when they have just dried off to entertain himself— a rather evil habit that everyone hates. For payback you splash him with water. He splashes you back as if it would do anything, and you splash him again while calling him another bad word that your parents luckily would not be able to hear and soon enough, it turns into a splash fight.

It was the first day of Doyoung and his family’s arrival that year. You woke up feeling excited, because your best friend was finally here after a whole 5 days of waiting after your own arrival to the summer house. So you ran out to the garden right after breakfast, more than ready to see your friend.

Instead, you were not ready to see him all that much. At least not with his arm in a cast.

You go up to hug him as usual, and he mutters a low, disappointed “Hi.” In return, you give him a much brighter greeting in hopes of bringing his mood up. It does not work.

The day goes on. Both your families and you have a shared lunch, catching up on the previous 9 months they had not seen each other. Their moods are much higher than Doyoung’s and yours. His mood had made you inevitably moody as well. He was not up to play, he was not up to go to the beach, he was not up to go to the grove… It felt like he did not want to do anything. But it was summer. Not the time to be sulking around, even if his arm was in a cast.

Then came an idea.

There was a patch of young olive trees planted near your houses. They were only around the same height as you were, though it varied from tree to tree. You loved how the trees looked when they were passing through the road in between the patches a few days ago. So you only suspected Doyoung would like seeing them as well.

You run up to the parents and ask them if you could take him there. They agree without much hesitation, only warning you to make sure to stay off the road and to wear proper shoes to protect from the bugs and thorns.

Taking Doyoung there was a struggle. Making him agree to go was harder, but he also kept complaining how hot the weather was (as if it had never been that hot before) and how he was too tired (which he should not have been, because you knew he tended to sleep on car rides, and it was an overnight drive for them to get here).

But the second you arrive at the patch, something changes.

He smiles in awe at seeing just how small the trees are and how they shine under the sunlight. You both sit under one of the trees, both of your heads touching some leaves, and it leaves a funny feeling on your heads. You both giggle for quite some time until it just starts feeling nice.

“What happened to your arm?” The question was impossible to hold back, and you thought talking about it would make him feel better. The tone in his voice makes you not so confident about that. “I was dipping to hit the ball, and the arm I wasn’t using— I wasn’t paying attention to it. It twisted and snapped when I landed on it, and now I don’t know if I can play volleyball anymore.” Doyoung lets a sigh out then and it is full of feelings you cannot make out the heavinesses of, because you lacked the experience.

You hiss with attempted empathy. “What are you gonna do instead?”

He sighs again but you can make the feeling behind it out this time, it is annoyance. “My music teacher wrote my name down for a conservatoire, and both mom and dad really wants me to go. Even my brother wants me to go. Weird.”

“Singing sounds nice.” But Doyoung does not look too keen on the idea. In spite of it you smile, hopeful. “If he’s saying you should go, then you have to sing for me sometime.”

He chuckles at that and looks at you as if you suggested something out-of-worldly crazy. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t depend on it.” Then he looks down and whines upon seeing his arm and the sun hitting it— the black cover on his cast. “Ugh, it’s so hot and itchy. I can’t even swim this summer and it’s only the start,” His mouth twitches and wobbles a bit the moment he is done complaining, and you frown, even though the fact that he only realized his arm was making him feel uncomfortable when he looked at it still makes you want to laugh a little. “I’m sorry.”

Doyoung throws you the crazy look again. “I was the idiot, why would you be sorry?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice before he chuckles breathily, in what might be disbelief. You pull on his blue and grey bracelet. The beads looked okay, but the strings were a bit worn off. “We’re best friends?” You suggest, to ring a bell more than anything.

He nods just once, agreeing, examining his bracelet when he notices your gaze on it. “We should really change the strings. Yours look terrible too.”

You look down at your bracelet, green and red like a watermelon as 8-year-old Doyoung had said, and mumble. “Yeah, we really should.”

The idea comes that very second. You just seemed to beam with ideas today. “We can put the beads in your pocket and tie the strings onto the branch. A friendship tree, yes?”

He looks up and smiles. “Okay. I guess to keep in peace as well.”

You had to help him every step of the way because he lacked an arm and through the experience you come to learn that an arm is a very serious lack of a thing. Through the summer he could not do much functioning until they had to leave to get his cast off around a month and a half later, and in turn you chose not to swim when he was at the beach reading books while accompanying his parents and yours. Instead you chatted with him and put handfuls of sand in his t-shirt (being careful not to get any in his cast, of course, partly for your own safety as well) every time he told you to just go and swim, until he was too pissed off at you.

And you stayed with him and offered a piece of your mother’s tiramisu as he cried for the first time ever since the first year you met, after he got the news that his arm was in too fragile of a condition to play volleyball again. Because that was all you could do.

A chilly night, sitting on top of one of the low branches of a random tree close to your shared backyard. It would be scary if you couldn’t see the lights coming off from your houses. Or if birds were not still chirping through the calm silence. But as you sat there, blueberry muffins in your hands, it was almost comfortable. If not for the bumpy bark you had been sitting on, of course.

It was the last days of summer. More and more people were leaving, closing off their summer houses for the duration of off-season. Doyoung and his family would be leaving tomorrow, whereas you and your family would stay for just a few days longer simply because everybody loved this place with its variety of trees and its beach.

“Are you excited you’ll get to compete this year?” Doyoung asks suddenly. You nod immediately and with eager. “I’m gonna win gold.” The sheer ambition in your claim makes Doyoung chuckle, which annoys you a little. He had started doing that a lot this summer, laughing at the stuff you would claim. You look at him as if to ask why he laughed even though you know he was going through the weird phase and lucky for him, he gets the signal. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know. Winning seems important for everyone and it’s silly. Just enjoy what you’re do—“

His voice cracks. “—ing.”

You try your best not to laugh, honestly. But he breaks first, so it is only fair that you start laughing too. His voice had been doing that for almost half of this summer, which was apparently a sign of growing up.

Puberty, being a preteen and all that. You had your fair share of experiences. It was funnier when it was not happening to you.

You mock his voice when you give him an answer. “I’ll just enjoy what I’m doing!” His eyes widen a little at that and he turns a little further towards you in surprise. “Hey, that sounds like how I sound in my head!”

Both of you lose it at the silliness of the sentence, it hurts your stomach after a while. It also takes a lot of effort to not slip from the branch and fall down onto the ground. What cuts through your laugh sooner than expected was his mother calling him back, shouting quite loudly that they would be leaving before sunrise and that he needed his sleep so he should better come back before she locks the door and goes to sleep.

The way down is faster and easier than the way up had been. Doyoung stuffs the remainder of his blueberry muffin in his mouth before clapping his hands together a couple of times to clean them of crumbs. He turns to tell you that the two of you better hurry up, but the way your face looks stops him. “I’m gonna miss you,” These exact words would always leave your mouths when it was someone’s time to leave this place and the reality of not being able to see each other for another 9 months set in.

Doyoung visibly relaxes, knowing nothing was wrong. “I’m gonna miss you too. But it’s okay, it’s just 9 months— we always wait that much. Plus,” He smiles widely. “You’ll finally have a pet next summer.”

“And you’ll sing.” He shakes his head immediately. “Please?” You press your chances because it was annoying what he was doing to you. He had never played volleyball with you when he used to play (even though it was rightfully so, as you were terrible at it) and now that he was actually really good at singing (proof being that he had taken part in several shows his conservatoire organized) he would deny you the chance to hear. You were best friends. That basically gives you the right to hear his singing.

Something changes in him, as his eyes widen slightly. “You know what? If you actually manage to get a pet, I will. Deal?” You know he thinks you cannot manage to do it. But you can. So you take it.

“Deal.”

Doyoung and his family do not come next summer.

Or, rather, for several next summers.

You ask your mother the first summer he is not there, your arms on the counter and your head resting on top as you watched her cook. “Mom, Doyoung’s not coming?”

She was washing off some produce from your garden to make a salad before they went bad when you hit her with the question. You do not get an answer, and she does not slow down, so you ask again after a few seconds when she takes out a knife and the chopping board. “Oh, his father has a different work schedule now,” She answers, slicing the cucumber. “They can only use the house on spring breaks.”

Heartbroken, you turn back around to go back into the living room to play with your puppy along with your father.

On the third summer, you hear various tumbling sounds coming from outside and the faint voices of your parents through the glass. The sun is barely up, the sky a pretty pink. You hear voices of a couple of old people. Maybe more, but you cannot make it out, as sleep was fighting with you to rest just a bit longer.

There is darkness for a while. Second time you wake up the sky looks more peachy with hues of yellow. The tumbling sounds have left their place to the sound of slamming metal doors and old engines that you think can only belong to trucks, but the noise is okay, because within less than five minutes the vehicles leave.

You ask about it at breakfast. Your father takes your hand in his as he drops his cutlery, and tells you he is sorry, before revealing that Doyoung and his parents had sold the summer house. Betrayal (lighthearted betrayal which only has place in your heart during your teenage years) slowly washes over you and you stand up abruptly before mumbling something about finishing your breakfast in your room. With unshed tears in your eyes, you gather your plate and leave.

Both of your parents’ sighs are audible when you are climbing up the stairs.

By the fourth year, their house already starts to get the old, rustic, sultry look any abandoned house would get.

You grow every year, that much is sure. Your puppy does so at a much faster rate as well. Your parents get deeper wrinkles on their face. Spots on their hands. The trees get taller, thicker and older. The summer house starts smelling of nostalgia rather than just of sea salt and rarely used furniture. The beach gets even emptier than how it used to be. The grove gets lonelier and scarier. The produce of your garden loses its taste at some point. You slowly start to abandon the idea of going out to the backyard, except for the times you went out with your dog. Jumping off the pier gradually gets less fun than it once was. Your swimming partner has four legs instead of just two.

When you get your first phone, excitement washes over you with hope as company. You ask your mother if you can get Doyoung’s phone number if he has one, but she says that they have lost touch with his parents and that they do not speak to each other anymore.

Excitement leaves your body, and your smile falls.

Some couples of other years pass as time has no intention of stopping, and on one of them your father moves out. With one less person in your summer house, the emptiness grows bigger. With one less person in your summer house, the environment loses its golden glow. The leaves, even under the bright sunlight, only look a sad variety of greens. Rooms feel so much bigger. Memories start off as sweet remembrances, but they surely turn into hauntings when every single thing reminds you of one.

After your father leaves, the only person you have left in your summer house is your mother. The only things you have left is cooking and baking with her, walking around aimlessly, and sitting in the quiet at the pier with your only four-legged companion.

You slowly realize that childhood is gone. Never to come back. Growing up turns out to be loss of great people and great things, and it slowly starts to make sense why your parents kept telling you growing up and being a grown person is not as exciting as you were making them out to be when you were younger.

Summer loses its magic and grows weary. Yet, despite it all, the summer house remains as your safe space.

Because there is only the struggle of loneliness, unlike what the longer part of the years throw at you.

Yet loneliness does not prove to be much easier.

Growing up and going to college, moving out of the house took a toll on your relationship with your mother. It was not noticeable until the first time you came back for the summer break, when it started to seem like you ran out of things to talk about easily. Movie nights grew more frequent. Cooking and baking still were the fun things to do, at least.

It was not that you could not get along with her, or you had too many fights. Being around her was still comfortable. It was just that your mother could never be your friend, let alone your best friend. There were a fair amount of things you would not talk about with her. Even though she must know this, she would try to fill the gap Doyoung had left.

It was not possible. You suspected it never would be. Because he felt like second nature to you and he was gone. How could anyone replace second nature?

Her trying to fill the gap your father had left was one thing. The other was not all the same.

Summers got quiet and lonely after Doyoung left, yes. More so after your father left. But as you kept growing up and sharing less with your mother, the dimension of your loneliness shifted. It started feeling more like isolation.

And it was then, that you felt like true happiness started shifting away from you.

Your favorite time to hang out at the pier is around sunset hours.

The beach was the emptiest around that time and the night, because the general population was old and dinner preparation would keep them from going out from late afternoon and onwards. After sunset— the usual dinner time for most of the neighbors— porch lights would get turned on immediately. And when dark blue paints over the sky while the moon slowly comes out, the sounds of old neighbors visiting each other and chatting, sometimes playing games on their porch and laughing along would travel to the wooden pier where you would be laying down, listening to the wavering sea. It had quickly grown to be one of your fondest things about the summer.

That afternoon is no different. It is almost the golden hour on a hot day, and your dog is absolutely spent after a long walk so you both deserve to get a breather, really.

You move towards the end of the pier and sit down, alerting your dog gently to do the same. Her tail thumps repeatedly against the boards as she sits down looking at your hand. You cannot help but smile at her cuteness. Opening up the water bottle you had brought along, you place your palm under it curled like a bowl. Letting the water flow down carefully, you let her drink the water from your palm.

She ends up drinking most of the water in the bottle but still sweats afterwards. Happy and content despite sweating, she looks around and at the water, watching the few fishes that were swimming towards the seaweed bunched around the pier’s legs, wagging her tail in curiosity. You look at the water as well, but your mind is elsewhere. Wondering about your father.

He had promised you to come and visit before summer ended and here you were. Halfway through the summer— almost more than halfway.

Something in you started wondering if he would keep his promise a while ago. The hope that held onto the promise started dimming as the days went on.

You let a huff out in an effort to lighten the tightness in your chest. It works ever so slightly, and your companion turns her head to you. She has always had a talent in understanding when you were upset— maybe an instinct, and this time was no exception. She lies down next to you and nags at your hand. Giving in was too easy when it was her. You start petting her and letting her lick your hand and arm.

Perhaps it is magic, because her efforts of cheering you up works without any exceptions. Not giggling is impossible.

Her and you lay down, playing around for a while as her attempts of licking your face gets more frequent and although you adore her, you do not want to be licked on your face. It turns into a wrestle rather quickly. Her paws press on your stomach sometimes which is far from a pleasing experience and it is when she really just makes you nauseous that you force her down to a hug. It takes too much time huffing and puffing and annoyed-sneezing for her to calm down and stop wagging her tail but she stops eventually.

Literally seconds later there is the slightest creak on the boards and she picks her head up. The tail starts wagging and thumping again. You ignore it, wanting to cherish the moment.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for a certain someone, can you help?”

The familiarity of the upbeat voice pulls a weak string at your heart automatically. The string sends waves of electric all throughout your body and it surprises you how much it can burn still, after years of no contact, and it is only a familiarity.

Breathing deeply, you answer. “Unless you’re looking for your grandparents, I don’t think so.” The creaks get louder, nearer. Then they stop. The wagging tail is way too excited for its own good as the thumps get faster and harsher, and she starts getting excited again, trying to look at and smell whoever it is that stands near you.

A face hovers far above yours with a smile. “I don’t think I’m looking for my grandparents.”

Your breath hitches and you let your companion loose without meaning to. She wastes no time in jumping up and become acquainted with the intruder.

Except he is not. He is not an intruder. He is a familiar face. Hell, he is more than a familiar face. He is second nature.

And just one glance at his not changed but grown face takes all the betrayal, the disappointment, the feeling of having fallen out of place away. And it takes everything in you to not start crying on the spot. Instead you smile big, spring up onto your feet and throw your arms around his middle to hold him close, so close that he does not have the opportunity to leave, not now. His shoulder welcomes your face to nuzzle itself in and you take the advantage fully— shocked, even though it was an obvious fact, that he had grown so much. His arms find their places around your back comfortably. Hugging felt natural and safe but still weird to some extent, because it was not like how it was 8 years ago.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” Your voice still shakes even though you keep the tears inside. He places his chin on top of your head as you nuzzle closer and lets out a breath himself. “I think I do.”

After many minutes of hugging and letting the emotions out in the form of squeezes and nuzzles, both of you sit down where you were stationed before Doyoung appeared. One of his hands keep petting your four-legged best friend while he keeps his mouth occupied, talking to you to catch up in any way.

You could not stop looking at him. Taking it all in. Just how taller he had gotten— though not a giant like he had sometimes hoped he would turn out as, but you do not tell him that— and how sharper his facial features had gotten. Yet it comforted you how he had not changed. You could go back in time and look at him, and compare the two looks you had seen, and you could easily tell that this person in front of you was Doyoung.

His jet black hair, even, had not changed much at all. It was still in his face in some way. It was as if he had just physically grown up, and nothing had changed other than him growing taller and his features setting in place.

That comforted you, although you were not sure why.

Curiosity took over you as you kept chatting in the comfortable silence. There was so much to learn about him. It almost felt like you were meeting with a new person. Almost.

“Where are you even staying?” The question feels kind of uncomfortably intimate for you to ask after so much time, but you do not want to lose anything that you had with him. So it would only make sense for you to act as if it is still there. He does not seem to mind the question too much as the answer comes sooner than you would expect, without the awaited stare. “I’m crashing at a friend’s couch. He lives near here.”

“Who lives here all year?” You mumble in disbelief. But you trust him in telling the truth. He smiles back, looking around as if to check the environment. “Everything looks the same. This place aged well,” His gaze shifts back to you, warm and gentle. “I can’t say the same about you, though.”

There is nothing harsh about his words, but you cannot help but feel taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, not even bothered about your dog sweating over his leg as he keeps petting her. “A lot of things feel different about you. You look different too.”

“Is that to say I haven’t aged well?” You joke, making light of the situation. It would be a lie if you did not admit that his words did not hurt you in the slightest. Even though you knew that they held some truth value. He huffs, letting his head fall to the side, annoyed. Like the olden days. It makes you too happy to see it. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. There is just, something off about you, it hits you in the face.” He stops for a second to look at you properly again. You do not look offended, so he continues. “But I don’t think everyone would be able to notice it enough to make a deal about it, you know?”

It is your turn to shrug with one shoulder, and click your tongue a little, shaking your head as if this whole thing did not bother you. “Mm, I grew up,” He throws a look as if to say I know, but you keep on talking. “And I changed. Nothing too crazy.”

“You’re sweeping it under the rug, but I’m gonna let that go this once.” He says as your dog’s attention span on him expires, and she goes to lay down at the corner of the pier, a spot where she can have her own space and a rather okay view of the fish living down there. “This once?” You ask, unable to stop the hope from surfacing.

“Well,” Doyoung turns his body to face yours. He sits criss cross. “I’ll be around until the end of summer. I just assumed we can keep seeing each other?”

A laugh breaks through years of quiet summers as your heart flutters. “Of course, yeah.” Doyoung smiles back his smile, his one of a kind smile, and you have to pinch yourself to know this is not a dream.

It is not, and night had never come faster in years.

Getting to know your best friend for the second time was a weird experience. You had to ask him what he was studying since he was going to begin his senior year of university, to which he answers musical theatre. Upon that you smile a witty smile, pointing at your companion who picks her head up after she realizes she was being pointed at, and tell him that you had gotten a pet so he would have to sing to keep his promise.

He laughs and answers okay. But not now.

Within minutes, he updates you on almost everything. He tells you stories of this band he was part of where he formed his friend group, and how he had been picked up as the male lead for Tick, Tick… Boom! at the end of his sophomore year so he actually had to learn how to dance. Doyoung claims to not having been the greatest in it, so you ask with all the curiosity in your heart if he managed to get a date out of the musical. You get an answer of an overly confident of course, which tells you more than you need. Despite not having heard his singing, or having seen him dance, you tell him that he must have been amazing at it. When the argument comes you simply shut him up with the fact that he was picked as the lead.

Doyoung mentions not seeing his family for that summer because of the fact that school had ended only fairly recently, and because he could not not see this place anymore. He adds that he never even mentioned coming here to his family to eliminate any chances of them insisting he would go see them, and that he would really appreciate if you kept his presence here a secret from your parents as well. You agree to it, partly because he is still someone you could do anything for, and partly because the selfish feeling of wanting him to yourself only for a while.

The mood kind of goes down when he asks “So, uh, what was life like after I left?”

The question makes the smile fall off your face involuntarily for just a second before you push through and fight it off, smiling once again. “High school was hard, first of all.”

One of his eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh yeah? What was it like?”

Without even stopping to think, you answer truthfully. “Like you ate shit, and tried to throw up the shit you ate, but it took you 4 years to do so.” There is a wince of disgust before he answers. “Ew. That sounds miserable.”

“Was in fact miserable.” You admit. The shits-and-giggles attitude breaks faster than you intend to. “My parents got divorced in junior year, and my father had to move out, so that was a big contribution.”

Doyoung does not look surprised, but upset. He looks down at his hands before looking back up at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Again, a shrug, as your lips waver. “It’s whatever.”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence maybe for the first time ever since you met him.

So you break it. “You know what? This is a reunion, and I really don’t wanna talk about how a break up that’s not my own affected me. There are lots of happier things to talk about,”

The two of you keep talking with each other for hours and hours on end. You are sure he misses the dinner at some point unlike you who were used to having early dinners. Naturally you have to take a break every once in a while to help your dog do her business, but you hold your own business inside to have all the time you can with him. It still felt as if he would leave again and never come back.

But at some point he has to leave, so you let him go. Not without a “Let’s exchange numbers?” though.

However, the answer you get is not all that satisfactory. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve a foreign number since I study abroad and— yeah. I didn’t activate my local one this time. And you know how internet connection is here.”

“Basically nonexistent,” You agree. “But how do we meet up if we can’t—“

He smiles. “I can just come here every night after dinner.”

Your breath hitches again. Happiness beats in your heart. You could certainly do with that. “Sure. If it’s alright with you, I mean.”

“It’s why I’m here.”

In all honesty, the fact that Doyoung is back does not hit you until around the end of the first week.

The week in itself is fairly uneventful if you overlook the excitement his presence gives you. You mostly just speak to each other, to catch up on all that lost time. One thing you notice is how affectionate and all over each other both of you seemed to get, and on your part, it was still about making sure he was truly there. Hugs quickly grew to be the default state you would hang out together. If his arm was not around your shoulders, your arm would be stationed at the small of his back as you sat at the beach or the pier, and if neither was happening your legs would be sprawled across and over his lap.

Nothing about the affection you two seemed to gain felt awkward. It came so naturally.

The only weird thing about Doyoung was how he managed to be so punctual. You would show up at the pier as soon as it got dark, basically— and often he would already be there waiting. If not, he would only be late for around a few minutes. You could not tell if it was intuition the both of you shared, or a silent agreement. Whatever it was, it was a great thing, and you were thankful for it, because it gave you the time you so badly needed with your best friend.

Keeping Doyoung a secret from your mother proved to be harder than you initially thought. The fact that you were almost a fully grown adult about to start junior year of college seemed to be an irrelevant fact as soon as you started staying outside for too long in the night, and you had to swear to your mother several times that everything was okay. You excused yourself saying it was too hot when sun was out, and the beach was breezy and enjoyable in the night, so you would rather hang out with your dog then.

Which was not all a lie. She seemed to enjoy herself a lot more then, as well, and sweat a lot less. Not to mention her liking of Doyoung.

Randomly on one night you notice the bracelet still on Doyoung’s wrist. It makes you smile silly. “You still have it on.” Your finger goes and pulls on it, reminding Doyoung of the fact. He smiles fondly. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you?”

You pull your leg out of the water and show him. “I do, just not on my wrist.” The green and red beads shine on your ankle with the moonlight, and your leg goes chilly when the breeze hits. Doyoung’s reaction looks questionable at best so it only prompts you to further explain yourself. “Motivates me to hold my ground. It’s easier to remember who I am this way.” The words awaken something you would rather not feel ever again. Your chest hurts with the rush of the stinging feeling, but you hold yourself to endure it.

He stops as another wave hits both of your legs and furrows his brows. “What does that mean?” You turn back around to face him better— he looks hurt, somehow. As if he can feel what you are feeling inside. You take a breath. “I was very lonely, you know,” The tone of your voice reflects the hurt you kept dearly inside, and you have to physically squeeze your hands within themselves to not let the cracks reach the bottom of your feet where they would break you in half. It is the first time you ever admit it and the words sound harsher in your ear than how they used to sound inside your thoughts. “I still am, in a way. And it’s hard to not want to run away from everything when the world basically gives you all the reasons to. So I had to stand my ground.”

When his mouth opens to say whatever he had on his mind you turn your back to him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Your dog passes by you two, running along the shore and playing in the water, blind to the atmosphere.

Doyoung respects what you say.

Although thankful for his silence, it eats away at you for days. Some part of you keeps saying that you are not letting Doyoung get as close to you as he has been letting and is letting. Because he lets you know how his biggest dream is to really debut in a Broadway show, and how singing means so much to him now. You know he studies in one of the best schools for musical theatre. You know about how he is lifelong companions with his brother now, instead of enemies like how they had been when you were children. You know he is still very afraid of anything remotely creepy. You know his biggest insecurity is his dancing and his biggest fear is being involved in anything violent and getting hurt. You just know so many things about him. And he keeps telling you even more with excitement beaming off of his eyes.

And it makes you feel bad. Because you cannot bring yourself to talk about everything like he does.

For one night, you let the attitude fall, though.

You decide he can get to know something if he wants to, because that night you had promised each other to meet at a later hour than you normally would have. You had promised your mother a proper dinner and chat, inarguably a nice way to spend your evening, and there were a bit too many glasses of drinks in your system. Luckily you were still highly functional— treading on the fine line between tipsy and fully drunk. It was more or less an open invitation to an interrogation with how talkative you were.

Doyoung notices the slight sway in your steps before a second even passes. He chuckles a bit, giggling as you throw yourself into his open arms. His giggling prompts a sluggish laugh from you because it is just so cute. And he helps you to your station of just a bit over two weeks. He helps you sit down without slipping, and helps your dog to calm down a little by petting her head.

He is still a very good friend.

You do not bother to open your mouth, because the sky is dark, the pier is dimly lit, the breeze is soft and chilly, the smell of sea salt is intoxicating, your old love bug of a dog is wagging her tail looking at you, and Doyoung is sitting right beside you. Your head is on his shoulder.

It feels so perfect. Why would you want to talk?

But he has other plans.

“Do you want to talk about last week? The night when we were walking along the shore, I mean?” His voice is gentle as ever. Even though the question is highly expected, you huff. Yet your head acts on autopilot as it nods. “Sure.”

He clears his throat. “Why do you feel lonely?” The question is blurted out and not cautiously asked, as if had he tried to ask it with caution he would not have been able to.

Still, it feels like he has to ask the hardest questions. But, you jump into an answer without any preparation. “First, you left. Every single summer I waited for you to come back. Along those summers I kind of,” The act of jumping into an answer does not seem to be all that easier than working through the painful thoughts, so you trail off a bit before you pick your words back up again. “I guess I kind of felt betrayed and, um, lost trust? I never tried to be friends with anyone and the amount of people that take the first step towards someone who clearly won’t try is fairly low, you know?” You look up at him, and he is already looking down at you. Gently but without a smile.

“So I didn’t have friends, really. Not like you. Then, like I told you— dad left. Was the icing on the cake. I was too used to his presence, like yours. Both of you were with me for more than half my life and suddenly you weren’t.” You scoot closer to him as an instinct and he welcomes you, like he always does. “I guess that hurt the most.”

“Was too big of an emptiness to handle?” It sounds so lighthearted, yet is so spot on. So you can only nod as you hold onto his arm. “Yeah, but I handled it.” Plus, it had payed off— he was here and soon, your father would be too.

Your father calls you a few days later on a sunny but breezy afternoon when you are in the backyard playing with your dog. His voice sounds tired and old— a fact you could only realize when you were not face to face with him. Tired maybe because of his work schedule. Old because you were not the only one growing up.

But his voice is not only tired and old, it also sounds genuinely apologetic. “Hey, honey, I don’t think I’ll be able to visit you there this summer. I’m so sorry. Maybe we can spend time next summer, you could even get an internship here before senior year starts?”

Yet it still sounds just like a mix of made up excuses. “You can’t or you won’t visit me?” The question is bitter with every sound that leaves you, and your father certainly seems to get the point as a sigh echoes in your ear soon after. “I don’t think your mother would enjoy me being there, so how about we just see each other in winter break, hm? It’s sooner than summer break, and a few months will fly by with school. I’m sure.”

“Making truce for a week shouldn’t be so hard after that many years of marriage.” Your argument is intended to reflect the disappointment in your voice and it does, but there is also a very obvious hint of hope in there that goes unnoticed. “That’s not how relationships work, honey. I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad at your mom, okay? Tell her I said hi, and call me back when you feel better.”

And he ends the call.

It takes everything in you to not throw the phone hard to the ground. Instead you call your dog to come sit next to you on the grass, and cuddle her in hopes of getting better. By ways of magic, perhaps, she can tell your heart is broken and that you need the company. So she calms down in lightning speed and just nuzzles into you, and you stay there like that, her sweating and looking around and rarely whining and hugging you closer, until your mother calls you in for dinner.

Dinner is uneventful save for your mother asking you if you would be going out again, which you would be. She talks to you about these new recipes that she has found in this new recipe book she bought and you pretend to be interested in the matter. In all honesty you could not care less but it would not be justifiable to say that since you knew you would be devouring the sweets if they came to existence in that instant.

You finish your food in silence before grabbing your denim jacket and making your way out of the door with only a stern and noticeable “Dad says hi.”

Doyoung is luckily already at the pier that evening even though it is slightly earlier than your usual meeting time. He is sat down at the end, looking down and watching the small waves hitting the legs of the pier. He must hear your feet on the boards because he immediately turns around and lifts himself up to his feet, but his smile falters when he is able to make your face out in the dim light. “Why are you alone? Something wrong?”

It is only his question that reminds you that you had rushed to the pier with one less friend because you forgot to bring her. That had never happened before, and the fact that you had the ability to forget weighs heavy on your shoulders— to the extent that you only look down at your feet in shame and break down when the tears invade your eyes without any signal.

Nothing happens for a few seconds as you weep. He takes the first step towards you after the initial shock and slowly brings you into a hug as you mumble shaky apologies with trembling hands. You are enclosed in such a hug that you cannot even hug him back, and he keeps reassuring you that it’s fine, that you don’t need to apologize for crying, and that you’re so strong. He keeps combing through your hair with his fingers, and at some point he helps you sit down before pulling you back into a hug.

Calming down is hard because of too many things hitting you at once, and perhaps because your newly-built happiness had taken another blow to it. “Dad’s not coming.” You manage out after a while, and he listens as you ramble. “There’s only a couple of weeks until I have to go back and—“

You sob. “I just want childhood back. Everything was better back then. He was here, you were here, we were happy. I’d give everything up to be kids again if I knew we could.”

His eyes are brimmed with tears too, but he would never tell you that. Instead he pulls you in closer if it even is possible, and takes a deep breath before speaking up. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you sing?” The low mumble vibrating into his chest reaches his heart, and he cannot bring himself to say no. It takes mere seconds before he takes in another breath and jumps into a song.

You are just so young at this very moment, my dearest Life ahead has hopes and joys Promises of happy days For you, for an eternity Neither loneliness nor any lies may ever bring tears to your eyes You've wept enough when you were born, Let that be the final, the last

Doyoung’s singing is beautiful. His airy voice that carries so much emotion with it only makes you cry harder initially, which makes him panic slightly as he keeps trying to check up on you, but you just shake your head and bury your face deeper into his chest. The song touches every living cell in your body and gives you a strength you would never expect a song to give you, and it makes you feel hopeful.

Just a bit, but it is a start of something that blooms in your chest.

And you do feel better afterwards, though it takes you some time to quiet down properly. Doyoung asks if you are actually feeling better when the sniffles subside, and you nod.

Then an idea strikes you, and you smile.

You shove Doyoung with your hand. “Ow! What was that for?”

Slowly rising up to your feet, you look at him. “Catch me if you can!”

And you bolt away from him.

It takes more time than strictly necessary for him to realize what you mean. His words only reach your ears when you have already made your way to the beach. “I thought we outgrew this!” And he starts running to catch you.

Playing tag on sand is more difficult than you remember. Maybe because you really outgrew this game, or maybe because it is dark, possibly both, but you could not care. You were too busy with running away from him, who by the way, was much better at tag than you would expect. He still had the speed he once did while you were kids and playing the game in your shared backyard, and the fact that you two were playing on sand does not seem to be phasing him too much.

You have to resort to running along the shore with your feet in the water to slow him down, but he still comes dangerously close to catching you. So it is really your only resort to run back onto the pier.

Except the pier is not wide enough to fit two adults circling the width of it with that much speed. It would only grant a chance for Doyoung to catch you. But, the adult you was crazy enough to do something the child you would never have the bravery to.

You do not know how you manage to take off your denim jacket that fast, but you do, and you let out a scream of adrenaline just as he shouts at you to stop— and you jump into the water when you reach the end.

The water is definitely colder than how it had been in the morning when you were swimming, but you still laugh as you make your way to the surface. Doyoung looks at you with wide eyes and a smile. “Come on!” You manage out. “A little water shouldn’t scare you from catching me.”

He laughs at the invitation, takes a few big steps back, and runs forward to jump into the water himself.

Your mother scolds you in the morning about the fact when she asks you why you have got a minor cold all of the sudden, but it certainly is worth it.

“You want to sleep over at ours tonight?”

You ask him the question as summer’s last days quickly approach on a night (basically almost a morning) where you have stayed up for too long. There was not much reason to let him go back to his friend’s house. Especially when you did not trust him with traveling in the dead of the night.

It freaks him out a bit, you can tell, because he physically gets a bit smaller and fidgets. “You know I can’t, what if your mom—“

“She’s sleeping, I swear. She never stays up this late. You can just sleep for a few hours and leave when the sun comes out.”

He cannot protest the idea much after that, because he knows you would not let him go.

Together, you leave the pier and start walking back to your house which takes quite some time, but it is nice. Walking back towards that direction with him again flutters your heart. It makes you want to squeal in excitement. But at the same time it is not exactly like how it was when the two of you were kids. There was something different.

You could not put a finger on it.

Your dog trails behind you, trotting contently as you walk arm in arm. Walking that way had started off as a joke around two weeks ago when the both of you walked through the streets neighboring the beach. You two played a game of two elites roaming through the streets of the commonwealth as you told him what the neighbors had been up to in the years that he had not come. And then, it just stayed as a habit.

Because it was comfortable. And because you liked being close to him.

When you reached the backyard, you opened the gate and let him and your dog in. The bugs were still playing a symphony of various different screeching, and your summer house was pitch dark as you had expected it to be.

You make your way towards the back door and slide it to the side, and one friend of yours makes her way inside and onto her bed immediately. The other friend is not so quick. You turn around to tell him to hurry up before mosquitoes make their way inside, but you find him stuck in place with no intention of moving as he looks at what used to be their house.

You slide the door back and walk back to him.

“It looks so.. run down,” He sounds so genuinely sad for the first time ever since he came back. It hurts you to see it. “And old. I wish I could help it somehow.” The second half of his words only come out as a whisper as he inspects the place that holds his better part of childhood memories.

“Nobody’s bought it. Your parents could buy it back if they wanted to, but it does require a lot of work inside.” You suggest calmly, and with hope that is supposed to be ironic yet quite the opposite of it. Doyoung looks so confused at what you say. It takes him a good moment before it clicks. “Yeah, yeah, true. I don’t think they’d do it, though.” He sighs, thoroughly considering whether to stay there and look at the house, or to go back in. He chooses the better option even though it is hard. “Let’s go inside.”

It takes too much effort to coerce him into sleeping with you on your bed rather than having him sleep on the very uncomfortable couch. You tell him more than enough times that his back would be broken if he ever attempted even taking a nap on the couch— speaking from experience— and he just ends up giggling shyly when you tell him it does not have to be weird if you two sleep together.

So you two go to your room. As the furnitures never really needed to change, your bed was still a twin bed, which only prompted Doyoung to get that much shier.

You two get in the bed and under the covers, you on the side against the wall to give him the chance to leave comfortably when he has to. To make him feel better about it, you take your phone and set an alarm to the exact minute of sunrise, and he laughs when you tell him he is too much of a scaredy cat.

As your twin bed’s width commanded, you had to cuddle to have a chance at sleeping comfortably. Your head on his chest feels better than ever, his breathing hitting the top of your head slightly funny. He giggles when you giggle at the feeling. You can imagine him smiling crystal clear in your head and surely, when you look up at him, he is.

It is just a shame that you do not hear his heartbeat when you turn back to sleep, because you really wonder if it is beating as fast as yours do.

Just a few days before you have to leave.

You ask Doyoung to come in the afternoon that day because you want to have a picnic, which he agrees to. Both of you meet at the pier around an hour before sun would start to set, and share a hug before he starts to make his way to the end of the pier. But you stop him this once. “I wanna take you somewhere else.” He agrees to it without much questioning.

The trails seem to be a bit more overtaken by thorns and wild flowers, so it takes you a bit longer than it should have to get to the patch of olive trees. You look at him expectantly when you arrive and, surely enough, he has one of the most beautiful smiles on his face. The happiest, too, if you recall right.

You lead him to your tree and set the bag of snacks down, preparing the place— laying down the old table cloth to sit on, taking out the packed sandwiches and olives and the blueberry muffins. He is too entranced looking at the tree to notice, but he throws an apologetic glance when he realizes.

“Where are the strings? I can’t see them,” He claims. You point to one of the higher end of the branches, a place where they definitely were not initially placed. “I had to change their location as it grew,” You explain. “They were too tight to stay where we’d tied them when we were midgets.”

Doyoung laughs and its remainder stays on his face as he finally spots the strings on the tree. He looks at it for a minute or two in adoration, but his eyes hold something a bit sadder inside.

Maybe he misses childhood, too; you never stopped to think about it before.

Soon enough he sits down. You unwrap your sandwich and suggest he does the same, but he tells you he is not that hungry though he would make sure to eat it.

A warm chatter starts between you two. He asks you what you would be doing for junior year, which was pretty set already— you would be looking for internships left and right, and trying to survive the mountains worth of assignments. Midterms and finals would surely be getting more difficult as well, but that did not matter all that much. An internship would help you find a job, so that would be your focus.

You ask the same to him, what he would do that year before he graduates. It must be exciting to graduate, and Doyoung tells you he would have to start looking for places to live and extend his immigration status in one way or another while he auditions maybe hundreds of times before he manages to land himself in a good musical and hopefully a good position.

He can do it, you know. There is no way he cannot with that voice. You tell him that, and he gets a bit flattered before telling you his concerns do not have too much to do with singing but rather with dancing.

You tell him he still can.

That ends up being the finish line for that conversation and you finish your sandwich in silence, only looking at your phone sometimes to see if you have any texts or calls from your mother, since she is the one that has to take care of your dog.

He watches the leaves wave in the constant breeze this summer offered this place, and picks up an olive from the cup you had brought. He holds it up and lines it with the branches that are decorated with unripe olives, and squints his eyes before asking. “Did these come from here?”

You nod your head enthusiastically. “Mhm,” Your hand lands itself on the trunk behind your back. “From this tree itself. My dad collected them when he came here in October last year.”

Doyoung smiles and pops the olive into his mouth. He looks genuinely delighted to be eating it, which makes you happy.

The two of you continue chatting and bickering and relaxing until sun starts setting, which signals that you have to get going. The summer house still had to get cleaned and tidied up to get ready for being locked up for the off-season, and the amount of work you and your mother had to do was a bigger deal than it needed to be. Not to mention the fact that you had to carry so many stuff to and from this place every year, so there was even some packing to do, which you hated. University experience really brought too much of it.

And then there is the fact that somehow, you would have to say goodbye. Having to say goodbye to Doyoung gave you a nostalgic feeling, but mostly it made you feel sad and scared. The day you would have to tell him goodbye for who knows how long was approaching without any mercy, which did not make it any easier to plan what to do next or how to say it before going to sleep at night.

So maybe it is only fair to say what is going through your mind. Which is that you do not want him to leave again. “Doyoung,” You start off. He looks into your eyes with full attention. “Don’t leave again. Not for long.”

The request prompts the start of silence. But it is only for a short while before he gulps, and answers with determination. “I won’t.” He shakes his head. “Not again.”

The untold promise makes you so happy you can cry, and what he happens next is really not something that had a thought behind it.

You place your hands on his jaw and bring him closer, so much closer to you until your lips meet, and his hand springs to hold yours on his face with shock. What you seem to be doing shocks you as well, but you cannot exactly stop yourself. You did not want to. And you certainly are sure you would not stop unless he wants to.

Yet, he also does not seem to want to stop. Because after the initial shock that lasts for what must be only a second, he holds your hand tight and places his other hand on the small of your back. His lips are so soft and airy, and the way he kisses you is so endearing. It feels like he is repeating his promise without words, telling you he is here now, and he would be here when you come back. You stop and pull away from him just for a second, looking into his eyes that shimmer before leaning back in and pecking his lips again and again— kissing him thank you, thank you, thank you. He holds you in place and kisses you for what you know is going to be the last time, and he kisses you so forcefully it screams I love you; I don’t know how it happened but I love you and I want to keep loving you.

You push back against his lips in an attempt to say I love you yourself, but you have to pull away and hug him tight to make any sense.

It takes a moment for him to start speaking, and when he does, he sounds absolutely horrified. “We need to talk.”

You pull away from him again and look at his stressed figure. It makes your heart drop. “About this?”

He shakes his head at first but then nods. “I need to tell you something. We really need to talk.”

The happiness in you dares to falter, but you will not let it. Not this once. Not when you are this happy. So you lift yourself up onto your feet and shake your head, because you will not let him bulldoze something he had built himself. “You know what? No. Let me live with this just for a night.” Doyoung tries to protest, opening his mouth, but you cut him off before he can even start. “Just one night, Doyoung. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

He only nods slightly, and you mutter an “I’ll leave now, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before packing everything back up and handing him his sandwich, and rushing back to your house.

It takes you only a short while to get there because of how fast you were walking, and you do your best to get into the backyard and into the house without making much noise, because your mother was not expecting you. She might have been sleeping.

And granted, the house is silent and calm when you first walk in. But then you spot the figure of your mother hunched over the island counter in the kitchen, on the phone. You are about to go ahead and hug her from the back as a surprise when her barely audible sob stops you. It is impossible to go unnoticed just how hard she is crying, because she cannot even let it out fully. It makes you wonder why, what was wrong, but then she speaks—

“I’m serious. Our child was speaking into pure emptiness and it’s.. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.”

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct doyoung #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct 127 #nct u #my fingers hurt #my brain is mush #i hope this is a good one #lol i can only hope

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neerasrealm · 4 years

Note

just imagine this: slender and jack are going out and bc all the responsible pastas are out they hire a babysitter (y/n) to look after slendra. she’s rlly shy at first but eventually she and y/n become best friends (and they steal slender’s gramophone to play some music while they make cookies and maybe wreck the kitchen in the process depending on y/n and slendra’s combined skills)

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS REQUEST AND I HAD A BLAST WRITING IT sorry it took so long school murdered me plus I was jumping from draft to draft and just. A lot happened ok. I didn’t get all the prompts in because I couldn’t work em in but I feel like I did good. I loved writing y/n just subtly noticing that this house Is Not Human and it- it was a fun dynamic to do gshdjdshj Also new hc this is the origin story for y/n in the poly slenjack fics

You're starting to have regrets about taking this babysitting job. Maybe it was that you'd seen too many slasher movies, or maybe you were just paranoid. Or maybe it was the fact that you were dragging your bike through the woods in order to get to the address you'd been given. The sane part of your brain is saying that this is dangerous and you should turn back, but the broke millennial part of your brain is saying that the $500 paycheck is too good to pass up. I mean- $500? For babysitting for one night? That's insane! It’s gotta be a joke right? Maybe it is. Maybe you are going to be murdered horribly tonight in the middle of the woods.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by the sight of- a house. Presumably the house you’re supposed to be babysitting in. It’s gigantic- more of a mansion than a house. The outside looks refined and welcoming. There’s even flowers planted around the place. Cute pink pansies and blossoming bushes of roses. You look around hesitantly, then wheel your bike along up to the front door. You very carefully lean it against the wall and look around some more. How come you never heard about this place? I mean- a giant house in the woods? Why has that never come up? You’d think someone would talk about it, right?

As you’re looking around this odd place you realise something. It’s sprawling with cats. At first you only noticed a couple, and assumed they were pets, but now your counting has hit the double digits. Why do cats hang around here? Are they all pets? Is the owner of this mysterious house a cat person? Or do they just- kidnap cats? What if you’re babysitting a cat…

Okay no that’s dumb. You turn around again and knock on the front door. It’s silent for a moment, and out of awkwardness you look down at your feet. You’re standing on a fancy doormat that reads ‘welcome’ in elegant cursive. The door opens and your head shoots up to attention.

Standing in the doorway is a tall man. Far taller than you. His skin is deathly pale, almost white, and his hair is neat and blonde. He’s wearing a suit, and as he looks down at you you realise his eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen.

‘’M-mister Schlankwald?’’ you ask, stepping back and away from this strange man. He nods and smiles.

‘’That’s me.’’ he holds out a hand to you. ‘’You must be y/n, yes? The babysitter?’’ he smiles gently, and you realise he actually- looks kind of nervous. That’s a tad reassuring. You take his hand and shake it. You nod.

‘’Yeah, that’s me.’’ you say. He steps aside and you cross the threshold. As you take your coat off you look around. Past the small entryway is a large living room. There're three whole couches, and a few more armchairs scattered around. There’s a large TV surrounded by cabinets full of DVDs and videogames- it looks like a very luxurious place. And also there’s more cats just- hanging around in various places, but you’re not really paying attention to them. Your attention is grabbed by the person standing in the living room. He’s- insanely tall, with long black hair, striped socks and sleeves, feathers on his shoulders for some reason and- bandages. Just wrapped around his torso. He’s also wearing a grey crop top, and what you assume to be white face paint. His nose is striped too, and cone shaped. Everything he’s wearing is either black or white. You stare at him in surprise and just- disbelief. He raises a hand in greeting.

‘’Ey.’’ his voice is deep and rough. ‘’Ye’re th’ si’er?’’

You blink for a moment, not sure what he- even just said. ‘’Y-yes?’’ you say, hoping that’s the right answer. Apparently it was, because he smiles at you.

‘’Ah!’’ he steps towards you and leans down, holding out his hand. ‘’Me name’s Jack. pleased ta mee’ ya!’’

You shake his hand and nod. ‘’I’m y/n.’’ you murmur. Jack stands back up and you look over your shoulder at Mr Schlankwald. He gestures to the other male.

‘’This is Jack, my husband,’’ he explains. ‘’Do excuse the makeup. He’s a performer, you see.’’

‘’Ah.’’ you relax a bit. A performer...that makes sense. I guess. You look around a bit. ‘’So uh- where’s the kid?’’ In all this strangeness you almost forgot why you hiked into the deep dark woods.

‘’Righ’ ‘ere.’’ You turn to look at Jack again and watch him step aside to reveal a small girl who’d apparently been hiding behind him before. Her eyes widen as she comes into view and she stares at you. Her skin is a dark, almost reddish-brown colour. Her face is peppered with freckles and her hair hangs around her shoulders. It’s bright blonde, like Mr Schlankwald’s, but a bit more yellow. She quickly skitters back to Jack’s leg and hides behind him again. You frown. Jack looks at you. ‘’She’s a bi’ shy.’’ he murmurs. He crouches down to the girl. ‘’Ey, luv, i’s okay. Th’ si’er isn’ gonna ‘urt ya.’’

‘’Wh-wha’ if I scare ‘em or say somefink?’’ she mumbles. She has the slightest hint of her father’s accent, but more- refined almost. And a lot easier to understand.

‘’Ye’re no’ gonna, ye’re a smart girlie, ain’t ya?’’

Mr Schlankwald taps your shoulder and you look over at him. ‘’We- haven’t gotten a sitter before, so she’s a little nervous about the whole thing.’’

You nod. ‘’That’s alright, I’ve had shy kids before.’’ you smile at him. He seemingly brightens up.

‘’Righ’,’’ Jack’s voice interrupts you two. You look at him as he stands up. The girl shyly steps out from behind him and Jack lightly pats her head, ruffling her hair. ‘’We’d be’er ge’ goin’, luv.’’

‘’Of course.’’ Mr Schlankwald says. He shakes your hand once more and then looks at the girl. He holds out his arms and she quickly runs over, hugging him tight. ‘’Be good now, won’t you my dear?’’

‘’I will.’’ she mumbles. Her parents step away, with Jack heading for the door. Mr Schlankwald looks at you again.

‘’Her bedtime is at nine thirty, snacks are in the kitchen,’’ he nods towards a door behind you. ‘’Feel free to help yourself.’’

‘’Got it!’’ you chirp back as they leave. Once the door has closed it’s just you and the girl. She turns slowly and looks at you. You smile at her and lean down to her. ‘’Hiya.’’ you greet. ‘’I’m y/n. What’s your name?’’

She gulps and steps towards you. The tiny child looks you dead in the eyes and holds out her hand to you. ‘’I’m Slendra. Slendra Jackson.’’ she says with all the authority of a business CEO. you almost, ALMOST, crack up laughing but force yourself to take her seriously. You shake her hand.

‘’Well nice to meet you.’’ she retracts her hand. ‘’How old are you, Slendra?’’

‘’Fo-’’ she stops. ‘’Eigh'. I’m eigh'.’’ she folds her hands behind her back, just like her father did. You smile at her. She takes after her father, you suppose. It’s cute.

‘’So what do you like? Got any hobbies?’’

‘’Uhh…’’ she toys with the sleeve of her striped shirt. ‘’I like...music...and bakin'...I like readin' too and uh-’’ she shrugs. ‘’That’s abou' it, I guess.’’

You nod. ‘’I see.’’ you smile at her. ‘’So what do you wanna do? We got…’’ you glance down at your watch. ‘’Three and a half hours to kill.’’ She shifts on her feet and shrugs again. You tilt your head at her. ‘’We could watch TV...maybe draw something? Are you hungry?’’

She seems to perk up a little bit. ‘’I have drawin’ stuff in my room,’’ she says. ‘’We could do tha'.’’ there’s a glint of excitement in her eyes. ‘’I-if you want to.’’

‘’Of course I do,’’ you stand up and smile at her. ‘’Lead the way.’’

Slendra smiles a little in excitement and turns, heading quickly up the stairs. You follow after her, looking around curiously. This place is massive. Upstairs is a hallway with doors running all along the right. Each one is decorated differently. One is striped, with ‘laughing jack’ written on it, another is pink with a castle-shaped sign on it that reads ‘Sally’ and under it ‘& Dina’ is written in what looks like sharpie. The one right across from the stairs that Slendra climbs up has a metal sign on it, decorated with a skull and crossbones, that reads ‘Kate’s room, keep out!’

You follow Slendra up the staircase and arrive on the third floor. Slendra leads you to her room. Her door is also decorated, with flowers and butterflies and bowties. Her walls are purple, and the room kind of reminds you of...and office. She has a large desk covered in boxes and papers. Shelves are piled high with toys and trinkets, and she has a massive bookcase stuffed to the brim with- well, books. Fairy lights hang over her bed, which is large and round and covered in pillows and plushies. Glow in the dark stickers decorate her ceiling and walls.

Slendra grabs a large plastic tub from under her desk and drops some paper sheets onto it. She picks up the tub and smiles at you. You frown. ‘’Isn’t that heavy?’’

‘’Huh?’’ she looks at the box. ‘’I guess- I’m kind’ve strong though.’’

You smile a bit. ‘’I bet you are.’’ you step towards the door and open it. ‘’C’mon. If you need help with that I’ll take it.’’

Slendra shakes her head and walks past you. ‘’I got it.’’ she says, holding her head up proudly to show off how big and independent she is. You smirk a bit and follow after her. You walk past the hallway of odd doors and through the living room into the kitchen. Slendra places her box on the dining table and smiles over her shoulder at you. You glance around the kitchen. it’s- well, a normal kitchen. The fridge is covered in children’s drawings and magnets, but oddly no photos. Thinking about it now, you haven’t seen a single photo up on the walls. Odd.

‘’So you like drawing, huh?’’ you say to Slendra. She pulls out a chair, which has a big ginger cat sleeping on it. She pets it and nods.

‘’My brother Helen is an ar'ist. He lets me join 'im sometimes, and he teaches me a lo'.’’ she smiles over at you.

‘’Your brother’s name is Helen?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ she tilts her head. ‘’It’s a unisex name innit?’’

You- don’t really have the heart to say no, so you just nod. ‘’How many siblings do you have?’’ you ask, watching the ginger cat roll over. Slendra scratches its stomach.

‘’Ten.’’ she replies without batting an eye. You freeze for a second. You blink. Huh- so- Mr Schlankwald, the strange gay man who lives in a mansion in the woods, apparently has eleven children. You slowly tilt your head.

‘’How many people live here…?’’

‘’Fourteen, though my uncle Ivan sometimes comes to visi', so maybe fifte- oh!’’ she’s interrupted by the ginger cat suddenly jumping down off the chair and wandering off somewhere. She climbs up onto the now empty chair and looks over the table at you. "Dad left snacks for us," she points over at the counter by the fridge. "Do you wanna grab some?"

"Oh uh- sure." You walk over to the counter Slendra pointed to. There's some plates and a bowl covered in tin foil, probably to keep the cats from eating whatever's been left for you. You grab one of the plates and peel away the tin foil. You're greeted by a plate that's sectioned into thirds. Each third contains...snacks? Of some sort. One section is miscellaneous coloured potato chips, one is full of little black squares that look like...seaweed? Maybe? And the third section looks like- thin slices of various vegetables. Dried out to a crisp. You slowly glance over at Slendra.

"What're uh- what're these?"

"Oh! Dad's healthy snacks. They're real good." She smiles. "Try one!"

You hesitate, then reach to grab one of the potato chips. They're all different colours. Orange, red, yellow- even a couple purple ones. You grab a yellow one and very carefully bite into it. Your eyes widen as you chew. It's...good. really good. A nice balance of cheese, onion- are those chives? Yeah! Chives. Fancy. You pick up a second, orange one and toss it into your mouth. It's a bit sweeter, but still just as good.

Pulling aside the foil on the bowl you're greeted by popcorn, nuts, and various shaped potato chips that also appear to be homemade. You grab one and toss it into your mouth, and get hit with soy sauce and spices. Surprising, but still really good. It reminds you of asian takeout. You take the foil off the last plate and- "Oh! Cookies!"

"Yep! Dad made 'em especially for you." Slendra says as she opens the box she brought down and pulls out a few things. "He always tries to make sure we have food for guests. Every time we ge’ a visitor he tries to feed 'em."

"Huh…" you grab the plates very carefully and carry them over to the table, setting them down between you and Slendra, who's already begun her drawing. "What is your dad like anyway? How'd he afford a giant place like this?" You ask as you wander back over to grab the bowl you left.

"Oh uh- well-" she suddenly seems nervous. "He said tha’…" she pauses for a moment, like she's thinking. "He invested in stocks b'fore the economy wen’ bad." She finishes, speaking like she's reciting a line. You smile a bit.

"I see." You put down the bowl of various snacks and grab another potato chip. Slendra reaches over and grabs one of the black squares of seaweed, biting into it and crunching on it happily. "Weird that I never heard about this place, huh? Giant mansion in the woods…’’ Slendra stares at you, eyes wide. ‘’...That’s full of cats for some reason…’’

She nods and smiles sheepishly. ‘’Heheh, yeah…’’ she puts down her pencil and grabs a thin, dried out tomato slice, crunching on it quietly. ‘’Dad feeds 'em. He loves cats.’’

‘’Huh.’’ you grab a cookie from the plate and bite into it. It’s soft and crumbles in your mouth. Like shortbread, but with deliciously sweet chocolate chips. Without thinking you reach for a second one before you’ve even finished your first. ‘’So what’re you drawing?’’ you tilt your head at her.

‘’Fairies.’’

‘’Oh yeah?’’ you lean over to get a look. You were expecting to see friendly, childish drawings of little people with wings, but instead...you’re greeted by creatures with odd proportions, eyes in odd places, sharp teeth and mean expressions. ‘’...oh.’’ you regain your composure quickly. Kids sometimes draw scary things, it’s normal- probably. ‘’You’re really good at drawing.’’

‘’Ehh…’’ she shrugs. ‘’I guess. I’m still learnin'. Helen says I’m gettin’ better though!’’

You smile a bit. ‘’Keep practicing. By the time you’re ten I bet you’ll be amazing.’’

Slendra laughs a bit. ‘’I only really draw when Helen asks me if I want to.’’ she murmurs. ‘’I mostly like to sing.’’

‘’Oh yeah?’’

"Uh-huh. Dad taugh’ me to play piano, and pops taugh’ me the accordion." She grabs a handful of popcorn, chips and nuts from the bowl and calmly grabs a single nut, putting it in her mouth and crunching on it softly. "I'm learnin' ukulele right now."

"Wow," you tilt your head at her. "Guess your parents can afford a lot of tutors for you, huh?"

"Nah, we're all homeschooled."

"Oh." You blink in surprise. "Does your dad do all of that?"

"Uh-huh. He's real smart." Slendra puts down her pencil and neatly puts her page aside. She delicately grabs a couple more snacks. She has awfully good table manners. A thing that comes from her father, you guess. ‘’He makes learnin’ fun too. My brothers say school is real borin’.’’

‘’Huh…’’

You spend a couple hours sitting there with her, watching her draw odd creatures and talk about her even more odd family. The cookies have been eaten, and most of the other snacks are gone completely. Including the seaweed squares, which weren't actually all that bad when you tried them. And now you're lounging back in your chair, petting a chubby chausie cat that's apparently named Brian.

"So...he covered up...the hole in the wall...by making more holes."

"Yep."

"...No offense but this Jeff guy sounds pretty dumb." You say. Slendra laughs a bit as she puts away her coloured pencils, dropping them back into the large box of supplies she brought down.

"Jeffery is a good boy, he means well." She murmurs. She grabs the last of the dried out tomato slices and crunches it down. "Wha’ now?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Whatever you want." you smile at her. She frowns in thought, then suddenly perks up.

"Oh! I could practice my music," she looks suddenly excited. "Dad has a lo’ of records in ‘is office. Could we listen to those? And I can play along with my ukulele."

You shrug and smile at her. ‘’Sure, I don’t see why not,’’ you tilt your head. ‘’Where’s his office?’’

‘’Downstairs.’’ Slendra hops off her chair and grabs the box. ‘’I’ll grab my things! You go wait.’’ she adds before quickly leaving the room. You laugh a bit and grab the last couple potato chips, then the half-empty bowl, just in case. After nudging Brian off your lap you walk down to the basement and look around. There’s a few rooms, but the thing that catches your attention the most though is the lounge area that’s full of comfy looking chairs and cabinets stuffed with videogames. And also the cats, there’s even more down here, but you’re kind of used to them by now.

You glance around at the doors down here. There’s three doors on the left, and none of them are really decorated. There’s a couple other doors, and one of them has a large padlock on it for some reason. The one next to it, surprisingly, is decorated. Fish and deep sea creatures are painted onto it. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. You look towards them and see Slendra running down them with a ukulele in hand. She grins at you as she walks up to you. You notice she has a small concertina accordion hanging off her waist from a shoulder strap. ‘’Dad has the door locked,’’ she says as she walks past you towards the last door on the left. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out...a cat claw…? You frown. ‘’I can ge’ it open though.’’

You watch her attempt to pick the lock with the claw. ‘’uh...I don’t think that’s gonna-’’

‘’Click!’’ the door opens as if to spite you. Slendra grins over at you.

‘’Told you!’’ she chirps. She walks into the office and you follow her in, bemused. Inside the office is...odd. Grey walls and carpet, lots of bookshelves, a cat tree in the corner, and comfy looking wicker chairs in front of the desk. On the walls are photos of Slendra and other kids who you assume to be her siblings. There’s an...odd painting hanging on the wall across from the door. It contains two faceless white beings, a similar being with black eyes and no mouth and a strange creature with similar black eyes and a wide smile. You frown at it. Abstract art, you suppose. The creatures remind you of Slendra’s drawings.

‘’Here we go!’’ Slendra catches your attention again. She’s knelt on the ground, looking through a drawer stuffed with records. You glance over at a table in the corner of the room. To your surprise, it isn’t a record player, it’s a gramophone. An old looking one at that. Must be an antique. It honestly wouldn’t surprise you if Mr Schlankwald was a collector or something like that. Slendra gets up and very carefully places a record on the player and drops the needle. It’s silent for a couple moments and then a delicate piano starts playing. Slendra strums her ukulele and begins to sing.

‘’I know...you belo-o-ong to so-omebody ne-ew…’’ her voice is almost...mesmerising. You relax despite yourself as she sings along. ‘’But tonight, you belo-ong to me.’’ Maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you can hear multiple voices coming from her. Or maybe it’s just the vocals from the record. You’re not really paying attention. Instead you sit down in one of the wicker chairs and watch her. ‘’Although…’’ she smiles a bit. ‘’You’re a apa-a-art, of my he-e-a-art,’’ her eyes catch yours. They seem to glint a moment and something- odd, passes over you. You suddenly feel extremely relaxed, all tenseness leaving your body. You lean back in your chair. ‘’And tonight, you belo-ong, to me.’’

-------

You don’t remember much else from the evening after that. Just that Slendra continued singing along to the greatest hits from the fifties and sixties. Things start to become a bit less fuzzy around nine thirty. Her bedtime. You read her a bedtime story, told her goodnight with a wide smile, and took a seat on the couch downstairs. Which is where you are now, watching a movie in the dim lighting. You feel...good. Really happy for some unknown reason. Not that you’re complaining.

The front door opens and you glance over as Mr Schlankwald steps inside. He closes the umbrella he's holding while Jack shakes himself off, kind of like a dog. Mr Schlankwald looks over at you and smiles.

"Ah, hello." He steps towards you, with Jack following after. He strides past the blonde and collapses himself in one of the armchairs. Somehow his makeup is still flawless despite the rain outside. "How were things?" He asks, tilting his head. He seems nervous, slightly. Jack opens one eye and looks over at you.

"Good," you sit up. "No trouble at all. She behaved excellently, we just sorta...chilled." you smile a bit. "She's the most well behaved kid I've ever looked after honestly. She didn't even complain when it came to her bedtime."

"Oh!" Mr Schlankwald smiles a bit. "I'm glad to hear that- we were worried, eheh." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He frowns. "Hm...Jack have you got three hu-"

"Righ' 'ere luv." Jack reaches into his striped sleeve and pulls out a small wad of notes. Mr Schlankwald smiles and takes them, folding them up neatly before holding them out to you.

"Five hundred, as agreed." He says as you quickly count the money. You knew you'd be getting that amount but still, actually holding the money now you can hardly believe it. You stand up quickly.

"Thank you." You barely manage to get the words out. "I had a great time babysitting her- I uh- I've babysat some real demons before so uh- heheh-" you're just rambling now because of the sheer elation of actually being given five hundred fucking dollars. Mr Schlankwald smiles, as polite as ever.

"Well, if we ever need another sitter we'll call you." He says, walking over to the door. He grabs your coat from the coat rack and holds it out. Quickly, you walk over to him and take it. He opens the door while you put it on. "Do get home safe," he murmurs. "Does your bike have a light? Do you need an umbrella?" He frowns at you, apparently worried.

"No, no. I'll be fine." You give him an anxious smile while you pull your hood up and step outside. You grab your bike, flicking on the light on the front of it. Mr Schlankwald smiles at you, pleased to see that you won't be in the dark going home. You walk off towards the forest path you followed earlier and wave over at him.

"Get home safe!" He calls as he waves back.

"I will!" You turn away from him and smile wide.

That's the best babysitting gig you've ever had.

You really, really hope they call you back for another night...

#ask #request #frozensriracha #writing request #creepypasta #creepypasta oc #slendra jackson #slenderman #laughing jack #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #writing #slenjack #y/n

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ladybugsfanfics · 4 years

Text

(red flags look like normal flags when you’re wearing) rose-tinted glasses

pairing: Tom Hiddleston x platonic!reader

style: one shot

WC: 2.7k

summary: requested by anonymous on tumblr: “Reader is small and have an Danish Dog, thats actually an giant drool dog. While she's taking the dog to the park he start running with Bob while on the tab and he keeps pulling her until Tom saves her. Then Bobby start growling at her, and they think that is bcs he's jealous...”

warnings: angst, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, ABUSE, PHYSICAL ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, ANIMAL ABUSE, please note the abuse, this fic contains it

A/N: this was really hard to write and i want it to be clear that ive never been in an abusive relationship so ive done my best to portray it and how hard it is to break out of it, but i dont have firsthand information. please let me know if something seems unrealistic or weird. i want you all to know that there are explicit abuse, but that it's not very violent but it still has an emotional impact. please don't read if you know it won't be good for you, and there is a happy ending even tho ive made the relationship between reader and tom platonic (that's more for realistic purposes).

The tall man startles as the bark sounds through the park. You widen your eyes at the sight of the little brown the male walks with.

No, no, no , you think.

Your dog, or actually your boyfriend’s dog, is rather big. The giant of a dog also barks whenever he sees brown dogs (as if the dog can be racist, honestly you have no idea how it works, but there are many things that can be the reason), and the dog that man walks with―

You don’t want to think about it.

Nor do you get the chance as your tight grip on the leash seems to be your downfall. The dog has almost leapt into the air as the barks rip through the quiet silence of the park.

“Yoshi! Stop!” you yell, but to no avail. He keeps running, stronger than you even as you put your heels down on the ground and try to brake.

The tall male has turned around. You send him a pleading look as your dog, almost literally, attacks his little one. In the sudden change of speed, where Yoshi goes from running and barking to hopping around and barking, you trip over your own feet and find yourself on your way to face planting with the ground below.

A pair of strong arms around your hips keep you from falling and you’re put back up on your feet with your back pressed to a muscular chest. As you regain your balance, the arms fall away. They don’t go far, only to grip the leash of your dog in an attempt to help your arm not dislocate.

“Thank you,” you say as you crouch down to keep Yoshi under control. He’s stopped barking, and with your soft strokes along his neck, he stops hopping, too.

“You’re welcome,” replies your saviour.

Standing up, you find a handsome male looking at you. Curly ginger hair, the most reassuring smile you have ever seen, and gentle blue-green eyes that makes you feel at ease. The way his eyes trace over you make you drag down the sleeve of your jacket slightly, and then you return his smile to the best of your abilities.

“He can be a little unruly at times, I’m so sorry.” You press your lips together in a tight lipped smile, shaking your head to let your hair come back to the front and cover your neck where your scarf fails. “I think something might’ve happened when he was a puppy because he only reacts to brown dogs.”

The stranger’s smile crinkles his eyes and he lets out a slight chuckle. Your heart beats faster at the sound. You will it to shut up. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.” You swallow the lump in your throat. Throat dry and heart steadily beating faster, the pounding like a drum inside your head. “I’m sorry, again. For the whole… thing. But I should get going now.”

With a little tug of Yoshi’s leash you turn to continue down the path you were headed. A wait from Tom has you turn back around. He steps closer to you, tugging with him his own dog that so far seems rather docile and that you find super cute.

“Could I possibly get your number?” he asks.

If your heart hadn’t already lodged itself in your throat from talking to him, it definitely shot there now. With a steady breath (as steady as you can) you nod. “Yeah, sure.” And you take the phone Tom hands you.

It takes no time typing in your number, but you nearly drop the phone when Tom’s dog starts barking at you. Big dog eyes that look at you, nose high in the air and the barking growing steadily louder as he continues.

Tom frowns at his dog as he accepts his phone. He shakes his head and tugs at the leash, telling ‘Bobby’ to quiet and that there’s nothing to bark about. “I’m sorry,” he says. “He’s probably a little jealous.”

You try for a smile and a soft laugh but it comes out more strained. “Yes, jealous. Makes sense, I guess.” With a deep sigh, you turn to look at Tom again. “Again, so sorry. I guess I’ll hear from you. Bye.”

And now you leave with Yoshi in tow before Tom can stop you.

You wonder what he’ll do if he finds out you won’t answer his messages. Wonder if he’ll do the same as your boyfriend does whenever you forget to answer or don’t do something as he wants.

After all, fear was the only reason you did give Tom your phone number. That reassuring smile fools no one, and those gentle eyes are the same gentle ones he uses in front of others.

Sorry, Tom, but I won’t exchange him for someone worse . Even if I might deserve it .

---

The door is unlocked when you get home. The shoe rack kicked over and the few sets of jackets that hung in the closet have found their way to the floor. Your heart stops beating as fear settles in your gut.

This is never good, but neither is cleaning it up before he allows you to, so you kick off your own shoes and let your jacket fall to the floor instead of hanging it up. You unclasp Yoshi’s leash and let him pad into the living room and greet his owner.

Clenching your eyes shut, you regret letting the dog go in before you. The whimper has tears forming in your eyes. You will them back. You can’t cry. Crying just leads to a worse… you don’t know exactly what to call it.

“Babe?” you call as you take the steps in after the dog.

Your boyfriend’s rage filled face meets you. He’s locked the dog in its too small cage, and he hits Yoshi on the snout rather hard as the dog lets out another whimper.

“Babe, huh?” The retort has your gut churn, nervousness courses through your veins. “What the fuck took you so long?!”

There goes the level voice. You keep from closing your eyes, embracing for impact. He likes it more when you face him head on, as if it’s some kind of challenge. Pressing your lips closed, you let your eyes wander over his face.

You note the down-tug of his lips, the anger boiling like a hot fire in his eyes, and the flare of his nose as his form towers over you. “Bitch, I asked you a fucking question! What the fuck took you so long?!”

“Yo-Yoshi saw a… a dog. I-I couldn’t hold him back and we-we went on a detour.” God, you sound weak. I am weak , you think, too weak .

“Couldn’t hold him back, my ass.” He takes a step closer to you. Your body moves on its own when it takes a step back. It continues until your back collides with the wall and he locks you in. “Give me your phone!”

You fish your phone out of your pocket and pray to God Tom hasn’t texted you. You haven’t gotten the chance to block his number yet and if he has texted you, well, life for the next three days will be even worse than usual. You’d deserve it, too, probably.

Fear the only thing holding your body up, you hold your breath as he checks. First when he throws it away with a silent grunt and it lands on the couch, and he doesn’t yell, do you let yourself breathe again.

“Fucking good for you there was nothing there.” His voice is a rough whisper, hoarse and with an underlying tone of want. He doesn’t say more before he presses his lips to yours, pinning your arms to the wall and pressing your head against it.

When one of his hands falls to your hip, pressing you close to him, pressing you close to the growing bulge in his pants, you know it’ll bruise. Just like you know the grip on your wrist will bruise and that you won’t be able to walk in the next twenty four to thirty six hours.

You know because that’s how it always is.

How it always has been.

---

[07.47] Unknown number Hi, this is Tom. I didn’t have time to send a text yesterday, but I still wanted to tell you that I would like to meet you again. Hope that’s possible. - Tom

[08.29] Unknown number I know you haven’t replied yet, and it’s probably because you have yet to wake up, but when you do, would you be up for a cup of coffee? Either lunch or breakfast, whatever sounds best for you? - Tom

[11.32] you Hi, Tom. This is Y/N. Very sorry, but I can’t meet with you. I have plans all week and the next months. Work is taking my time, so is having a boyfriend and friends. Very sorry about my dog, again, but thank you for saving me from the ground. Have a lovely life.

🛇 Blocked

To move this conversation out of Archived and get messages again, unblock xxxxx-xxxxx

Unblock

---

You’re unsure what it is that has you think the thought. It pops up from nowhere, really, but it still sounds… reasonable.

With aching moves, you pack your things. A suitcase is more than enough for everything you own (your boyfriend keeping your hobbies to a fair minimum), and everything for Yoshi.

As you pack the bare essentials, your body shakes. Every few pieces of clothing thrown into the suitcase lands outside on the floor and your heart hammers in your chest. In the bathroom, finding your toothbrush, you hear a noise from the hallway and your heart shoots into your chest. Rushing out and to the living room, you only find Yoshi with one of his toys.

Tears prick at the back of your eyes. Fear an ever lurking presence. Putting the leash on Yoshi, you hope he isn’t close. You fumble with the clasp and use far longer than you would have liked to put it on, but thankfully, the dog’s big eyes and somewhat smile and the wagging of his tail, helps put you at ease.

His work day still has three more hours, meaning he won’t be here for another four. That should be enough time, right? More than enough time…

You leave the door unlocked, having left the key to the apartment on the kitchen counter. If anyone robs it… you fear the repercussions, but by the time he comes home, he shouldn’t be able to find you.

Even as you walk with Yoshi and the suitcase down the street, finding a taxi and asking him to take you to the police station, you don’t know what has settled in you. You don’t know where this is coming from. This… courage.

You’re unsure whether it was the show you saw last night where the relationship between the two romantic leads, even when they were alone, never had any hitting or bruising or anger in the same way he shows. Or if it was Tom, and the way his face still sits at the back of your mind. How you’d compared his gentle eyes and reassuring smile to his fake mask in front of others.

Has it really taken you so long to see the difference? To see that Tom’s, despite how instilled with fear you were, actually showed genuine compassion and care, and his is always with an extra layer that it takes a lot of study to see (but what else do you use your time on when you can’t look at others when you’re out?).

You pay the cab driver as he drops you off and you find your way into the police station. It takes a long half hour before you walk out again and sit down on the curb. It takes another three hours to stop crying and shaking. In those three hours, Yoshi lies his head in your lap and lets the weight of him being close reassure you. A man who tries to help and ask what’s wrong is quickly barked away by the dog guarding you.

It warms your heart.

A police officer on her way home asks you what’s wrong, and, as you don’t tell, she tells you to contact someone. She also leads you into the waiting room and tells you to sit there until you find help, even if help doesn’t come from the police. In the hour you sit there, you delete the find my phone app and you block him and everyone associated with him on everything you can remember you share. You wish you’d done it sooner.

In your phone, you’re left with few options.

The unblock button is easy to press. The text is everything but easy to send. Your fingers shake as you type, and there are countless spelling mistakes. Finding them all takes a few minutes, and even after telling yourself you’ll send it, your finger hovers over the send button.

Exactly seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds later (you counted), your finger falls down and you press the send button. Watching it turn blue has your heart beat faster and faster, and you press back the tears pricking at your eyes. Swallowing hurts as your throat is unbearably dry.

The reply comes a lot faster than you would expect, and it helps ease some of the fear lodged in your body. The tears that fall now are a mixture of relief and fear, and Yoshi lying his head down in your lap again helps you regain your composure.

Tom picks you and Yoshi up at the police station half an hour later. He offers up his guest bedroom, but you refuse, saying you’ll stay at a hotel until you can find something. You don’t refuse his offer of going somewhere to talk over a cup of coffee.

He helps you find a hotel that allows dogs, helps you check in (unlisted) and joins you for a walk with Yoshi before you find a quiet cafe to sit down at. You sit outside, Yoshi quiet by your feet, but regarding everyone who passes by with a steady look. Being a big dog, you see more than one person a little frightened. It warms your heart.

And the coffee in front of you warms your hands.

“Thank you, Tom,” you say, after the silence becomes too much. “I haven’t told you anything about why but you’re still willing to help. Thank you.”

Tom smiles. One of his hands leaves his cup and when it comes close to yours, you instinctively flinch―though you don’t move it (that has never gone over well in the past). Tom’s hand hovers over yours and his eyes study you as his brows crease into a frown. Your heart pounds in your chest. “I won’t ask, but I hope I can help. However you need.”

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lower lip and look down at your hands. Both now clench around your coffee cup. The steam rises in the cool air and the smell stirs something in your gut, something that has tears prick at the back of your eyes. You let your hearts incessant pounding die down before you look up Tom.

“I could use a friend,” you say, eventually. The smile you try to show is crooked and unsure, and you know the fright is visible through it.

Tom still smiles. His eyes are gentle and reassuring, and it warms you that there actually does exist someone who doesn’t raise his voice at weakness and vulnerability. Someone who wants to help, and who doesn’t demand answers.

You could use a friend. A friend who lets you find your own way and lets you take your time.

“Anything you need, Y/N,” replies Tom. “Time, space, money, a hug, a friend . Anything.”

This time, when you smile, it crinkles by your eyes. It’s still crooked and unsure, but most of the fright is gone.

You’ve finally taken off the rose-tinted glasses.

A/N: you’ve reached the end so please let me know that you’re alright, i care!

permanent tags: @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @heartislubbingdubbing @wiczer @chillcan @geeksareunique @fandom-imagines1 @murdermornings

tom tags: @inlovewith3 @bookgirlunicorn @mindlesschicca @justawriterinprogress @wolfsmom1 @loser-alert @satanskatze @timetravelingsociopathicwalker

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inumaqi · 5 years

Photo

top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him. shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself.

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

#jujutsu kaisen #given #kimetsu no yaiba #boku no hero academia #enen no shouboutai #tokyo ghoul #shimanami tasogare #devils' line #golden kamuy #moomins #mine*edit

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ziracona · 4 years

Text

This idea has been kicking around in my head for a long time, and I am finally writing it. Here’s the first chunk. (It’s fun but the second is more fun. Bc Joey :-) ) An offering to @platinumbered and my buddy Tyler, for (intentionally and unintentionally respectively) setting me on this path I cannot escape, and @speckeltail for enabling/encouraging me to keep going. It’s named after a Joy Division song for Quentin reasons. Hope you enjoy (whenever you get the chance to read, that is. ^u^ ).

New Dawn Fades (part 1)

“There’s been a lot recently, hasn’t there?” asked Quentin.

“Of new killers?” checked Dwight, turning and glancing back at him for a second. Quentin looked distracted. He was eyeing the terrain with curiosity, but he turned to Dwight at the sound of his voice and nodded.

“It…seems like it used to be longer…Didn’t it?” checked Quentin, speeding up for a second to be at his side again, “Like. I don’t know. I mean, I know I can’t really tell time here at all, but it used to feel like a year—or—I don’t know, maybe not a year, but half a year? A few months? It felt like longer, back when I was new.”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s just you getting adjusted,” agreed Dwight, holding a branch back for Quentin as they passed through a dense chunk of the woods, “I think you’re right. The Entity’s been…escalating. Which, unfortunately probably means it’s been-“

“-Getting stronger,” finished Quentin with him, looking as not thrilled about that as he felt.

“Yeah,” said Dwight. There wasn’t much else to say to that.

“So…what’s the end goal with it, do you think?” asked Quentin, pushing through a tangled copse of saplings in their way and having some trouble.

We should really just go around, but at this point, I’m too tired to do that too… Dwight forged after, fighting with the underbrush with as little tact as Quentin was. At least there was no one to see them getting their asses handed to them by shrubbery. God I’m tired, thought Dwight. They’d been walking around casing the area for hours now. It was a nice thing to do—useful, trying to monitor the changes in the woods ever since they’d figured out the areas shifted all the time, but it took forever recently. Now that they had, like Quentin had mention, so much more shit. More killers, more area, more ground to cover. More change. He was also pretty damn sure at this point that the Entity was also making the forest denser than it used to be, and a part of Dwight wondered if that was being done explicitly to deter them from doing exactly what they were doing now—to—to encourage them to stay close to home, to the campfire. Keep inside the safety of their cage. Well, now I just want to explore more, so I guess thanks for the motivation, you shitty spider god, thought Dwight, glancing up at the dark sky overhead. Weird that as long as he’d been living in the dim twilight of the realm, he thought of this kind of time as day. His idea of night and day really had nothing to do with the state of the sky at all anymore.

“I mean,” continued Quentin up ahead, finally breaking through into a more open section of the woods again and waiting for him, turning back and trying to help him through the last patch of tangled under brush, “Do you…think that if—like, does it want to kidnap everyone? The whole world? I don’t think it’s got the room to fit us all. A-and I know that like—what are there, like almost fifty of us now? However many, that that’s not even close to the population of a town, let alone a city or a country or the whole world or something, so I-I know it’s going wild with the assumptions to say something like that, but—”

“No, I get you,” agreed Dwight, brushing leaf and twig fragments off himself, “I don’t know either, but it is worrying. I definitely don’t think it could hold a couple billion people in here though, so world domination can’t be on the table, but that said, I don’t know what it does want. Other than to feed on us.”

Quentin nodded thoughtfully, and idly fiddled with his necklace for a second. “Maybe it’s just stockpiling,” he offered, “It’s probably had lean times before. I guess it’d make sense for any kind of creature that feeds to pile up food when it can, to be ready for a time it can’t.”

That made sense, and honestly, that would be like, a best-case scenario for them. “I hope you’re right,” said Dwight, giving him a tired smile, “That’s way less intimidating than the stuff I’ve been considering.”

“Yeah?” asked Quentin, moving to keep pace as they started off again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s greedy,” said Dwight, glancing over at him, “Or. Gluttonous. Both. Not sure which applies here, if we’re food. Whichever. I think probably it’s just gotten more powerful slowly, and now that it’s got more strength, it just wants more and more to snack on, so it’s been taking more and more people. Getting bolder. And it’ll keep doing that as much as it can.”

“Maybe it’ll do something stupid, then,” said Quentin hopefully, “Push itself too far. Even as powerful as this thing obvious is, there has to be a limit to what it can contain.”

“Yeah,” said Dwight, starting to grin a little conspiratorially, “I’ve kind of been hoping that too.”

“Oh!” Quentin hissed the warning in a whisper and shot out a hand, stopping him. Dwight paused and looked the direction he was looking and could just barely make out a change in light up ahead. Deathslinger.

“You see it?” mouthed Quentin.

Dwight nodded and took out the little notebook they’d been keeping track of nearby realms in and marked it on his poor attempt at map. Deathslinger was new. They’d only had him in the realms for maybe a month now—no, probably not even quite that. And he was especially dangerous, because like the Huntress, he could hit you from a distance.

“What now?” mouthed Quentin after a second, looking from him to the book questioningly.

“Let’s circle it carefully,” whispered Dwight, “If we go all the way back into the woods, we might miss the next area.”

Quentin nodded, and much slower than before and keeping low now too, the two of them kept going, edging along the border to the Deathslinger’s land. The border was clear, so it was easy to see where the line of danger was drawn. The area was lower than the forest, with a small embankment dropping down to his territory and marking where forest ended and prairie started, the yellowed grass springing up at the base of it a clear and stark contrast to the cold, dim green woods around them. It was so hard not to be fascinated though, as they went, by the town laid out before them. A frozen snapshot of the old American west. A ghost town, in maybe the truest sense of the phrase Dwight had ever seen: an old saloon, a stagecoach, rickety wood buildings along the sides of a dusty old street, leading to a grim gallows at the end of it, nooses still up and swinging idly in the wind, and nothing but rotting corpses and the knowledge that somewhere, out of sight but not out of mind, would be the single living inhabitant of that ghost town, if you could call him living. Dangerous and deadly no matter what the truth of that questions was. But as fascinating as the ghost town was, or even the Deathslinger himself, that wasn’t why it was hard not to stare at it. It was because the Deathslinger, for some unknown reason Dwight would never understand but couldn’t have been more thankful for, had been gifted the sun.

It didn’t even matter that the ball of fire in the sky wasn’t real. God, it had been so, so long since he’d seen even a mockery of it. The sight of it again had almost killed him with heartbreak and nostalgia and desperation. The first time Dwight had had a trial with the Deathslinger, back the day he’d appeared, he’d been taken completely unawares and would have been shot through the back in the first twenty seconds of that trial if Claudette hadn’t been there to knock him over, because he’d just been staring at the sky. Lost in the wonder of seeing even the Entity’s too large, false reproduction of the burning orb he hadn’t seen for real in years. It was always sunset in the Deathslinger’s land, but that was still sun, and God. He had missed it. He had missed the light of day so much he didn’t even have words for it. For the feeling of seeing it again, even if it was just a cheap Hollywood painting set up against the backboards, a fake sunset, not a real sun at all. Still. Still, thought Dwight, emotion choking him up in his throat at the sight of it. He loved and hated ending up here in trials, because it always threw him off. And yet. And yet…

The sun…God. How can I miss you so much, thought Dwight painfully, creeping towards the far end of the Deathslinger’s area, maybe two thirds of the way to its edge now, You’re just a star. But I would cut off my right hand to be able to see you again for real and just…just actually feel true, real, honest to god sunlight on my skin again. How could a thing like that matter so much?

Forcing himself to refocus on the reality past the ache in his chest, Dwight kept moving, sliding along the edge of the Deathslinger’s place. They were up high, on the edge of the little maybe six foot slope leading down to the lowered area the Deathslinger was in. Which was weird, now that he’d moved on from the sun and was thinking about it—usually the borders were even, and you just had to depend on the change in plant like to know where the border was. But then, what wasn’t weird about the Deathslinger’s home turf? There was no sign of the man, though, and that was good. Honestly, they couldn’t be in too much danger, because the killers couldn’t get out—they probably could have stood up here and yelled at the guy and gotten nothing worse than some extra aggression next trial—but hey, it paid to be careful and it cost nothing. And the dude had a ranged weapon. No one had ever like, taken a pot-shot from a Huntress hatchet while chilling out in the woods, so they had no reason to think that could happen, but uh. At the same time they had no definite proof that they couldn’t, and uh, better sorry than really fucking dead, you know?

“I wonder if the birds are edible,” mumbled Quentin under his breath.

Dwight snapped out of his own convoluted line of thought and turned to give him a disbelieving look. “Quentin,” he hissed back, “You don’t want to eat a buzzard. I’m not kidding. Even if those were real birds, you know what they eat, and there’s only one type of carrion here, and I’ll give you a hint: it’s a large bipedal mammal.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed Quentin sheepishly, “I’m just curious.”

Dwight exhaled what was almost a laugh and turned back to the path ahead of him, and the dirt ledge beneath his foot gave out.

He screamed—only for a maybe a half a second before he’d choked it back as he realized how fucking bad an idea screaming was, and he heard something between a gasp and a cry from Quentin and saw his hand reach out for him as he went plummeting backwards, and then his head hit the ground, and he rolled, fast and hard against unforgiving, dry ground as solid as a rock, and then as quickly as it had started, he slammed into a box by the old stagecoach and everything stopped as he came to rest with his heart pounding and body aching, a big cloud of dust settling around him. And the second he had any motor control back, Dwight froze and went absolutely silent, breath held, just listening, straining for any hint of noise.

On the little ridge above him, he could see Quentin watching him, eyes enormous, panicked, looking out over the silent town and then back at him—trying to figure out if he should come down and help, Dwight was sure, from the only half-checked urge to rush in very evident in the lines of his frame, and Dwight dragged himself up to an elbow as quietly as he could and held up a hand towards Quentin. Don’t do it, he tried frantically to convey in silence, mouthing the words and locking eyes with his friend, It’s okay. There’s no sound. Just stay put. He kept a hand up towards his friend, praying it would deter him, and made it slowly to his knees, breathing shakily. Glancing back up the ridge, he shook his head at Quentin, then pointed to himself, made a motion with two fingers like walking, and pointed up to the ridge. Quentin nodded, still pale and on edge, but a little less desperate as the seconds ticked on and there was no motion from the ghost town to indicate the monster there had heard them.

Okay, thought Dwight, trying really, really hard to stay calm, Okay. No sound, no movement. He peeked out from behind the boxes for a second, scanning the town. Nothing. No sign of the man with the gun. He ducked down, took another long, steady breath, and checked again, but everything was completely still. Empty. Dwight felt his frantic heartbeat slow back down just a little. Okay. No Deathslinger. Oh my god I thought I was dead. Thank god—wow, is this actually happening to me? I got lucky for once?

Go figure. He probably owed Ace a drink or something for this much good fortune, especially when historically, uh, luck had it out for him with a hell hath no fury level on par with a woman scorned. Trying to believe things actually hadn’t turned out shitty for him for once, Dwight shakily pulled himself to his feet, still crouched in cover, and readied to spring up and run, picking out the easiest path back up the embankment. Quentin saw what he was doing and hurriedly closed a few feet between himself and a small tree, wrapped an arm around its trunk to make himself an anchor, and then held the leaned out over the embankment and held his other hand out. Ready to bring him back to safety with a sprint up the bank and jump to the waiting hand. Dwight smiled. I’m so glad it was Quentin. He’s reliable and he won’t give me crap about this and tell everyone once we get back to the fire. There were a lot of reasons he liked him so much, but the level of dependable and loyal was for sure one of them. Feeling a lot better, Dwight counted to three in his head, muscles tensing, and then rushed for the bank.

The second he was out of cover, Dwight heard the shot, and on impulse, he ducked. The old instinct to a gunshot still to ingrained in his DNA saved him, and as he went flat against the dirt, he heard metal whir and then snap above his head as the harpoon went where he had been, hit the end of its chain, and fell short. Seeing the world in bullet time, Dwight rolled onto his back, barely even thinking yet, just following instinct, and he saw him then. The Gunslinger had made the shot through an open window in the saloon, hidden, waiting for a clear shot at his prey under the guise of safety, but he wasn’t hiding anymore. He was up on his feet and he was coming. Dwight knew from trial experience that he had maybe three seconds before the man could reload and take a shot again and he heard Quentin shouting for him to run, and he did, rolling over and scrambling to his knees, and with everything he had he bolted for Quentin, tearing up the ledge, leaping the last foot, and his hand caught skin and he felt Quentin’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and closed his own around his friends, and then as he being pulled up to the border of safety that was just inches away, and he heard the shot. There was no way to hide this time. Nowhere to run, or to dodge. He just had time to realize what was going to happen, and then the metal barb was through his torso and out the other side, and the hooks opened and plunged into his stomach like a grapple gun, and he was being dragged back with force, and he screamed, and for a second everything was just pain and confusion, and then he was looking up into Quentin’s face and watching his friend trying desperately not to lose his hold on him, horrified, and calling his name, and Dwight realized looking up into his face that if he didn’t let go, they were both dead, and that no matter what happened, it was already too late for him, and so he let go.

Quentin tried to keep him. Shouted, “No! Please—Don’t!” almost crying, and struggling with all his might not to let go too and to bear enormous weight and force with the strength of one hand alone, and Dwight was afraid he would be desperate enough that he would lose his hold on the tree before he lost his grip on him, so he wrenched his wrist free, still looking up into the frantic, betrayed horror and fear on his best friend’s face, and then he fell, jerked hard backwards onto the unforgivingly stiff ground again, and felt the chain connected to the metal rod through him dragging him back and he couldn’t see Quentin anymore. This had hurt before—hurt in trials, but it was worse—he didn’t know if that was real, of if it was the fear of the potential finality of death this time, but it was more pain than he could even process right, and as he was pulled backwards, Dwight caught onto the wheel of the old stagecoach as he passed it and looked back up at Quentin, terrified to die but not really feeling that, too in shock for that to be real, too out of control for his brain to look at, because it had realized that there was no escaping it now, and so it was focused on his friend, who still had a chance.

“Stay there!” he shouted desperately, the second word melting into a scream of agony as the man behind him tugged hard on the reel in the mechanized gun, chuckling low and slow to himself somewhere behind Dwight, “Please! Quentin, go back! Tell them!” and he knew he’d meant to say something better, but the pain was too much then, and he lost his grip and was choking on dust, and then he was as the Deathslinger’s feet, barely processing that through the agony in his stomach. He felt the hooks release and the barbs slide free as the tall man in the leather duster placed a foot on his head, pinning him down, and freed his weapon. It came out of his torso with an awful shlick and a ripping sensation that was unbearable, and Dwight tried to scream, but it came out choked. His whole body was shaking, and for a second he thought he was going to lose consciousness, but he didn’t, which was worse. He could feel the blood starting to seep out of his stomach and pool around him.

“Please,” begged Dwight, voice raspy from the dust he’d inhaled, looking up at what little of the man above him he could see with a boot crushing his head against the ground, “I-I know you have to hunt us in trials. Please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to come into your home. I would never—I fell.” His cheek was bleeding from being dragged, and he could taste the blood running into his mouth. God, please, please care. The Deathslinger was new. He’d never done anything to give Dwight any hope he might show mercy, but he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t either—he hadn’t been especially cruel and sadistic, and he was new, he was an unknown. Maybe…Maybe.

The man above him grinned and raised his gun butt to ram down into Dwight’s head, and Dwight started to shut his eyes and brace, choking on despair, and then he heard a scream and he recognized the voice in time to open his eyes and catch a flash of movement as Quentin rammed into the man and knocked him off Dwight and sent them both flying back together in a heap. Dwight heard a massive crash and dragged himself shakily onto an arm in a really surreal mixture of dismay and incredible relief and a fragmented processing of time to see Quentin roll free of a broken water trough and lock eyes with him and scream, “RUN!”

Over by the saloon, that was all that Quentin had time to say before he lost sight of Dwight as the Deathslinger made it up too and came at him, relentless and angry. All he could do was pray that Dwight would—that he’d even have the strength to, and then he was dodging a swipe from the gun’s bayonet, and didn’t have the ability to think about anything but the man in front of him. He dodged left and avoided a second swipe, and then thought he’d moved in time to avoid a third, but the man twisted the blade horizontally when his thrust missed, extending the reach it had at its widest point, and he caught him in the outer arm with the edge of it, and Quentin felt the blade bite deep into his left arm by the shoulder and slice as the Deathslinger drew it back, and he cried out and fell back a step, trying to think frantically fast as he barely managed to duck out of the way of a swipe that came hard for him now that he was off balance and would have run him through the head if he’d been even a half-second slower. Fuck—I can’t keep this up for too long—he’s so much faster than I thought. W-what if Dwight can’t run? He couldn’t see him anymore—he’d tried to move to get him in view again, but the Deathslinger had pressed him the other way and forced him too far back, past too many piles of debris now to see at all, and the Deathslinger was still between them, and God, he’d been hurt, bad, and—

Too focused on fear for Dwight, Quentin dodged right too slow and took a slice to his side and struggled to refocused on the Deathslinger as best he could, terrified for the friend he couldn’t see, but needing to buy him time. Fuck. He couldn’t focus like this. He. Fuck-fuck-he was hurt so bad, what will we even do if we get him back to camp? Can we— Quentin ducked beneath a swipe meant for his head, only to be caught by a boot to the gut with tremendous force from the Deathslinger who had learned to anticipate his movements way too fast, and then he wasn’t thinking anything at all as he was flung backwards into a row of crates in the road not far from the stagecoach with a cry. He hit them hard, smacking his head against them with a crack, and stumbled to his knees, barely even enough time to look up before the Deathslinger was there, bringing the bayonet down on him, and he flung himself left with the little energy he had left, too slow, and too late, and he knew it as soon as he moved, and then somehow the shot went wide and missed him, and he heard a scream in a voice he knew was Dwight’s, and there he was. Leaping onto the man’s back just in time to save him, and locking his legs around the Deathslinger’s waist, his arm wrenched around the man’s throat, trying to strangle him, and Quentin was overcome with gratitude and relief, and then fear as he saw the Deathslinger angle the gun back to run the blade into Dwight’s side, and thinking as fast as he could, he followed the first impulse his frantic brain threw his way and shot forward and threw himself like a bowling ball into the man’s knees, no time to make it back to his feet. As he went, he ripped the shard of glass he’d taken to carrying to defend himself in trials at Laurie’s advice out of his pocket and buried it blindly into the side of the Deathslinger’s right knee on contact, and all three of them went flying. Quentin heard Dwight cry out, and the huge monster of a man yell as the glass went in and then grunt in pain as Quentin took out his legs and he slammed backwards into the wooden base of the saloon, and then Quentin had rolled past him and was frantically struggling up again, spotting Dwight a few feet back where he’d rolled.

“Run!” shouted Quentin again, taking off for Dwight, and ripping a big handful of dirt from the road as he came even with the Deathslinger, who was still on his knees. Quentin pivoted, shouted, “HEY!”, flung the mass of dirt and dust into the Deathslinger’s eyes when he looked up, and then tore off towards Dwight again as he heard the killer hacking and letting out an agitated yell behind him as he tried to get the shit out of his eyes and mouth.

Dwight was up by the time Quentin reached him, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand, but running hard. Riding adrenaline past the mass of pain he had to be in. As they tore off for the border, Quentin realized that the little gulley wall ahead would be easy enough for him to jump, snag onto a tree or something, and struggle up, but Dwight was fucked, and he desperately looked for other options. Something—anything. There was a spot a little to the right of where they’d tried originally, with a small tree growing up in the gulley itself, and thinking fast, Quentin called for Dwight to follow and made a B-line for it.

Out of breath, Quentin checked over his shoulder as they neared it, and saw to his relief that the Deathslinger was only just now making it to his feet again, gun not ready yet to take another shot, and he realized that if he could just do this right, they were going to make it. Riding that hope like a drug, Quentin leapt the four-feet he had to to reach the lowest branch on the tree, braced his foot against the edge of the gulley wall, and reached out his free hand to Dwight.

“I got you! Come on!” shouted Quentin.

Dwight saw what he was going for and nodded, running hard and breathing raggedly, old white dress shirt streaked with blood. He made it the last three feet, jumped and caught Quentin’s hand, and Quentin, braced and ready, used himself as a fulcrum and swung Dwight up onto the safety of green grass and tall deciduous trees.

His friend landed painfully, on his side, but safely—about three feet from the edge. And he dragged himself up onto his arms and smiled in almost frantic relief at Quentin and started to call him to come too as Quentin shifted his weight to be able to shove off the trunk of the little tree and make it the last foot up himself, and then Dwight was gone, and Quentin’s smile froze and he felt shock overcome his system as the woods in front of his eyes changed.

No, Quentin realized, eyes wide, and feeling sick. The woods were shifting. The areas re-arranging. Now? Fuck! Of all the possible times for this to happen? How? Why-why now! The odds must have been incredibly low! This didn’t even happen every day—sometimes it wouldn’t happen for more than a week. But it had—it was. The killer areas, their own campfire. All the little microcosms that made up the world here in the Entity’s realm shuffling again to remain difficult to understand and travel, like a shell game made up of tiny worlds that the Entity played any time someone got too comfortable with understanding the layout of their little prison.

It didn’t matter, though. Fuck it! No matter what the woods became, Quentin had to make the jump and get out, or he was getting shot, and whoever the killer in the next area was, they wouldn’t know he was there immediately. He might be able to hide, to sneak through—anything was better than here. He still had decent odds of being okay, no matter where he ended up—fuck, even if the Deathslinger shouted for the person in there to come find him, he’d have time to run, and that could serve as much as a distraction for him as anything else. All he had to deal with was flesh wounds, and he’d be okay even if he couldn’t dress those for a couple hours. The only real, immediate, terrible danger was that Dwight was now injured badly out in the woods alone, and already trying to plan the fastest way to find him again, Quentin had committed to the motion to jump when the heavy fog around the area in front of him shifted as the change in locations became truly set, and he saw a building he knew, and he shot out a hand and caught a branch on the little tree and jerked himself to a frantic stop, frozen in horror. Because it was the Preschool.

It was the Preschool.

And he could never go in there. He would never. He would rather die burned at the stake or bled out for hours on a hook, or to a reverse beartrap—anything—anything death imaginable was better than setting foot in that place outside of a trial and being caught by Freddy, and…

The horror of that lightning-fast chain of thought and where it was leading hit him so hard that he stayed frozen for a full second. He didn’t make it from I can’t go there to I can’t stay here either nearly fast enough, and he realized that too late, and as he turned to locate the Deathslinger again and to try to regain movement and chase the miniscule chance he had of outrunning him and maybe making it to the far side of the area and another border and the possible freedom of whatever realm was there now, he heard a gunshot.

The barb slammed into his gut before he’d even seen where the Deathslinger had gone, and Quentin screamed in agony as he felt metal tear through his stomach and out his back, felt metal hooks open and embed there, and then the chain tugged.

He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to fight, and he lost his balance immediately and fell down the little incline and smacked his head against the hard earth, then tried desperately to make it to his knees, bloody hands clutching at the chain and trying to bear weight and lesson the agony in his gut each time it dragged him closer, struggling to break free as he went, or to fight back at least, to slow the process of being reeled in and killed. His heels dug frantically into the earth as even powered by overwhelming fear his strength wasn’t enough and he was dragged forward, each little yank sending waves of pain that almost completely destroyed his ability to think at all ripping through his entire body.

The Deathslinger was watching him with a grin and those glowing silver-white eyes, standing a little lopsided with Quentin’s chunk of glass still embedded in his knee, and in desperation, Quentin latched onto that tiny fragment of information as he was dragged closer.

You can’t die—you can’t die—Dwight needs you. Fuck—fuck. One shot, you have one shot—c-come on. Please, he prayed, and then he was there—so close he could have reached out and grabbed the man, and he felt the barbs in his back release and the bolt rip back out of him with so much intense agony it was everything he could do not to just collapse, and as the bolt came free, he saw the Deathslinger already drawing back a hit, going to plunge the bayonet into his chest, and in that half-second of free from the harpoon and not yet run through, Quentin put all his weight on his right leg and flung himself hard down and left, ramming his left foot against the piece of glass in the Deathslinger’s knee with enormous force. And somehow, it worked. He wanted to cry with relief. The undead looking man screamed, and the bayonet missed, and the Deathslinger went down, clutching his badly wounded leg, and Quentin hit the ground and rolled and came up all in one frantic motion, then tore off deeper into the ghost town, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Everything was a blur, of pain and fear and desperation.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear the Deathslinger coming after him, but Quentin didn’t know where to go. He stumbled over old rotten floorboards and through the empty shell of a building to the left of the saloon, leaving streaks of bright red in his wake and unable to stop it, even knowing he was leaving such an easy trail. Th-there was just too much blood. It was going out his back and his stomach and his arm and side and he couldn’t staunch it and run at the same time—it was all he could do to slow the bleeding in his gut as he tore off unsteadily through the ghost town. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on. Come on—you can make it. You just have to get to the far side, and you’ve got a shot. He can’t follow you over the border, and you can hide in the brush somewhere, a-and stitch yourself up, and live—come on—I know I can do it. I know it.

God. Dwight. Fuck—fuck! Was he going to be okay? Quentin wasn’t even sure how badly he’d been hurt by the end of it. He can still run, right? He can make it back.

There was so much fear and adrenaline in his system, and the thought of Dwight fighting to make it to the campfire and failing made him choke impulsively on a sob, and he stumbled, the emotion cutting off the supply of oxygen he so desperately needed and fucking up his ability to breathe right. He saved himself from going all the way down by catching the edge of an old crate, aware of the bright red handprint he’d left on it clearly marking his path as he made it back up to his feet and kept going, but nothing at all he could do about it. He had to focus, he had to, but. God—it was so hard. There were thirty things pounding against his skull for precedence, but he couldn’t listen to any of them, he had to just run.

Up ahead, he could see the border again then, the far one. Dead ahead. He’d run diagonally, not thinking straight. If he’d run right down the road, he’d have hit another border faster, but he hadn’t been thinking about speed, he’d only been thinking about visible cover. Still. He hadn’t heard a shot from the gun, and when he risked a quick look over his shoulder, he didn’t see the Deathslinger at all, and that had to be good. Okay, okay. Almost out, he told himself, focusing through the pain in his gut that kept begging his mind to just shut off his legs and give in and let him collapse.

There, across the border—Houses. Quentin could see them now, past a few trees at the edge of the new killer area up ahead he was fast approaching, and for a second he had an unbearable flash of deja vu and fear, thinking some fucking way it was Badham again, but it wasn’t—it was Haddonfield. Quentin was terrified of the Shape, but right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Anywhere except Badham Preschool was better than here, and he’d run and hide and patch himself up, and he could take his chances with the silent masked giant. And then only ten feet from the border, so close to safety, and almost the moment that he’d thought those words, Quentin saw him.

The Shape. He was standing there, just almost completely behind a tree, watching Quentin run towards him. Quentin almost hadn’t seen him in time at all, and he skidded to a stop painfully four feet from the edge of Haddonfield, breathing raggedly and wanting to cry.

No.

He could try. The left edge of the area and whatever killer realm was on that side wasn’t so far. He might make that before the Deathslinger got him. He had a chance, maybe, if he tried. But he had been so close, so close to making it, and he choked on the despair of that reality for a second, staring up at the Shape, half-considering just going in anyway. The Shape killed you quick. In here, if he tried and didn’t make the third border, especially after wounding the Deathslinger, Quentin was pretty sure that wasn’t what was going to happen to him. At least if he took three more steps forward and let the man in the white mask kill him, it would be over almost as soon as it began. That really might be the only choice he had left to make. Quentin had died that way a lot of times, and it wasn’t so bad. Kitchen knife to the heart. Four seconds maybe? He usually went numb as soon as the knife was pulled back out. Maybe he should. Maybe that was the right choice. He was in so much pain, and even if he ran as hard as he could, he didn’t know what area was on the left, and what if it was worse? What if there was a killer waiting there too, watching, like the Shape had been, and the Deathslinger must have been long before they’d ever seen him at all? If he got there and had to make this split-second decision again, but between Deathslinger and Cannibal. Deathslinger and Doctor, or Pig. Fuck, even if he got lucky, the less cruel killers almost all hurt more than the Shape did to die by. The only one that would be more merciful to him was the Nurse, and those were such low odds.

The thought process had been almost instantaneous, and as he ran through it, the Shape met his gaze, and he could just barely make the outline of eyes beneath the shadow of the mask. Eyes fixed on his own. The man tilted his head to the side slowly, still studying Quentin.

“Please,” thought Quentin, wanting to cry and feeling blood leak past the hand pressed against his stomach as he held the towering shape of a man’s gaze longer than he should have, his mind begging him to say it out loud. He wouldn’t, though. There was no point. He had seen people beg the killers for mercy in trials, had seen Dwight try it less than three minutes ago with the Deathslinger. They didn’t care. They just liked to hear it.

The things that hunted them in the dark did not show mercy.

Fuck. Quentin turned left and ran.

That had always been what he’d been going to do, because he fought, and he tried, and he didn’t give up, even when maybe it would be less painful to, but he’d wasted too long considering an easier death, and as he turned, he saw those few seconds had cost him. The Deathslinger was in sight again, following the visible trail of blood and then looking up and seeing Quentin in the instant too—no longer needing the old trail to find him.

Without another look back and with everything that he had, Quentin tore for the left border fifteen yards away. He wasn’t even holding his wound anymore, he was pumping fists at his side, every ounce of focus and energy he had left just on running. Back in his first year swimming, his coach had taken the team aside early on and told them that speed-based sports weren’t about raw skill: they were about how much pain you were able to withstand. When you swam, you’d go faster the less you took breaths, the more you tore at your muscles and made yourself keep going and going and going when every part of you ached and your chest was pounding for breath and your head throbbing from the effort, muscles screaming with strain. Had told them that was how great athletes were made. Quentin hadn’t really thought about it much after, but he was thinking about it now, praying it was true, and that the agony ripping him apart would be enough to get him across the far border if he could just take it until then. That that price would be enough.

There was something behind him, a faint clink of metal as the Deathslinger went to take a shot, and Quentin recognized it and jumped a foot to the right, into Haddonfield, praying the impulse would work, and the harpoon slammed into the invisible barrier between realms that survivors could pass over and killers couldn’t an inch from his chest and pinged off, and Quentin flinched and jerked away from it on impulse, no time to recognize mentally that the shot had missed and his idea had worked. As soon as him mind had made the connection, though, he leapt back into the Deathslinger’s land, because he had no idea where the Shape was and if he was coming after him or not, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way. Still not even risking a look over his shoulder, Quentin tore on towards the far border, only about four yards away now, and he recognized it without the ability to feel any emotion associated with the sight itself, only relief at the lack of another large person with a sharp object already visibly waiting just inside it to kill him.

It was Ormond. Snow, debris, and the ancient, rotting lodge. And Quentin dug deep and, in agony, made the last five feet faster than he’d ever run in his life, and then he was over. Feet crunching against the snow, breathing raggedly, and the second he was, he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, fighting for breath, unable to keep running now that he didn’t have to, ripples of pain running up his torso with every movement, and feeling nauseous and lightheaded and awful, but so sick with relief he wanted to laugh.

Barely thinking functionally at all, Quentin clutched an arm to the wound in his stomach, and looked over his shoulder now that he could, and saw both of the others, the Deathslinger and the Shape: the Deathslinger right at the edge of the border, as far as he could go, furious, glowing eyes burning with hatred and fixed on Quentin, the Shape a few feet back and into Haddonfield, near the end of one of the streets that went nowhere, just watching in silence.

Swallowing hard, Quentin made himself get to his feet again. The moment he did, black seeped into his vision and he almost collapsed, and he stumbled a half-foot left and caught onto a large boulder to keep himself upright. S-shit. I’m. I’m not doing so hot, he realized in a kind of disconnected way. That…that made sense. He’d lost a lot of blood. For all he knew, he could be bleeding internally too. Even if he could stop the bleeding in his gut and his back, he still might die before he could make it back to the campfire for help. But at least he—

Behind him, Quentin heard a low laugh, and he froze and then turned slowly to look, and saw the Deathslinger was grinning at him. The man glanced down at the wound seeping blood and then back up at Quentin’s face, still smiling. He must have realized it too. Quentin shot him a furious look. Fuck you. Even if I don’t make it out, you still didn’t get me. And I’m gonna be fine. I. I-I just have to—to stop the bleeding. And then I can sneak out and find whichever one of these stupid realms borders the campfire, and I can get safely back to the others.

“You better run.”

The words had been spoken low, almost a whisper, but not the kind that was worried about being overheard. Darker than that. And horror and shock washed over Quentin, and he looked up again, eyes wide, and the Deathslinger was still just standing there smiling at him, glowing eyes fixed, eternally broken jaw hanging just a little bit wrong.

The tall man met his eyes then, and held up his right hand. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the bright red staining his fingertips, and then he licked them, like he was tasting to see whose blood it had been and where they were hiding from him now. As he did, he met Quentin’s eyes again and held them, and his smile broadened just a little, and it wasn’t a good smile. It was hungry.

“We can all smell blood,” whispered the man.

No killer had ever spoken to him before—well—besides Krueger, which was different. They just—they didn’t. They never had. Never. And for an instant it petrified him, and then dread set in as the words hit home.

Fuck—fuck. He’s right. They all track us by how we bleed. And it’s worse than that—I have to move. He’ll want me to get caught even if it’s not by him—if I don’t get out of here, he’s going to start calling for the Legion and I’m fucked.

Quentin backed up, clutching at his stomach and staring at the Deathslinger in frozen horror, and then he turned, and with energy that had already been stretched far too thin, he ran.

Ran, or, tried to. He was so beyond exhausted though, it was practically a miracle he could move forward at all. He stumbled quickly through debris and snow, trying hard to go fast, and keep his footing, but after a few seconds, it was too hard to keep a pace like that going anymore. Ormond was different than the other realms too, like the Deathslinger’s ghost town. It was the only place with snow, and it was freezing here, and that wasn’t helping. Quentin was already shaking badly, and he didn’t know if it was temperature or blood loss or both, but God, he was so cold. He felt like the air itself was sucking the life out of him. H-had it—had it ever been this cold at Ormond in trials? He couldn’t remember, and he was having more and more trouble thinking right, and with no real idea anymore where he was going, Quentin plunged on through the snow in the darkness, towards the lodge, and then finally stopped, breathing hard, well out of sight of the border now and feeling a little safer for it, listening for sounds. There was nothing. No Deathslinger calling for the Legion, no shouts of the Legion noticing his presences. So. Maybe he’d made it. Maybe he was in the clear, and could hide now, and try to take care of the wounds.

…Only.

He realized it with a sinking heart, and slowly looked down at the snow behind himself, and there it was, plain as day. Footprints and a blood trail, leading back the way he’d come like a bright neon sign reading: “I’m already fucked up—Come kill me. It’ll be easy.” Even the worst killer at tracking in the world wasn’t going to miss something like that. If he’d been leaving an obvious trail before, back in the Deathslinger’s place, he was impossible to miss now. Bright red against crisp white snow. There was just. No way anyone would miss that.

“Fuck,” whispered Quentin out loud, trying hard to think, and having a harder and harder time doing it at all. He reached up with his left hand and found his necklace and held it in his fist, trying to draw some tiny modicum of comfort and reassurance from it, and he thought absently and with a twinge of pain in his chest like a muffled sob, how much his legs ached and his stomach was killing him, and how tired he was, and his legs gave out on their own at the thought like he’d asked them to, and no strength to resist that, Quentin slid down into the snow, back against some square hunk of metal he’d stopped by that must have had a mechanical purpose once that was lost on him now, out here in the ruins.

Everything was so impossible. And he was losing energy so fast that didn’t even scare him much anymore, and he knew that was bad—he knew it, but. Fuck. He still hadn’t even caught his breath after that last mad sprint, and he tried to do it now, huddled in the snow, shuddering. It was so cold.

C-come on, he tried to plead with his failing mind, You can figure this o-out. You made it. Just…just lie low, and stitch yourself up.

That had been the plan, right? Only. It wasn’t that simple now, he realized, looking up at what he could see of the dim, snow-covered terrain. There was no way he could stay awake long enough to fix himself up out here, and then just hunker down in a snowbank and wait to get his strength back. Every second, he was losing more and more of what little strength he had left, and with the blood loss and the cold both eating at that tiny reserve he still had, he’d never make it. Even if by some miracle he was wrong, and found a way to power through long enough to stitch himself shut, he’d freeze to death outside in a snowbank as weak as he was, which meant…

Quentin looked at the lodge, only about sixteen feet off now, maybe twenty. A big, empty, looming shape in the night, glowing oranges and yellows and reds leaking through cracks in boards and broken windows, promising warmth and safety inside. Promising shelter. But that was a lie, and he knew it, because that had to be where the Legion would be waiting.

Still, he considered, shuddering in the cold and keeping his arm firmly pressed to the hole in his gut. The lodge was big—two stories. It was a good place to hide, and creep around in trials, and that might still be true now. If he could make it upstairs, it would at least be warmer than outside, and the walls would protect him from the windchill. There were spots behind ancient couches and crates in some of the little rooms on the second story he might be able to get cover behind and not be discovered, even if he passed out. Plus, a blood trail would be harder to follow in there than out here in the snow. It was a shot, anyway. Better than any other option he had left.

Maybe, thought Quentin wearily, in a kind of disconnected way, feeling sick as he hooked his arm over the top of the square hunk of metal he’d slid down against and struggled to make it back to his feet, after…after all the bad luck I. …I just had back to back. Maybe Legion will be…in a trial, right now. Maybe I’ll have good luck, just once, and…

He tried to bear his weight on his legs alone and almost crumpled, and cursed under his breath, catching onto the hunk of metal with both arms shakily and dragging himself back up, then letting go more slowly. His vision felt fuzzy and off as he looked down at the spattering of red in the torn snow by his feet and the huge smear where he’d slid down along the old hunk of metal. Everything about it was wrong. It was like he was looking at the world through goggles that had fogged over. He tried blinking to refocus, but even after his third attempt he just…couldn’t focus right. He just couldn’t.

This is bad, thought Quentin, taking a step much more carefully and managing to stay upright this time, arm pressed against his abdomen again. He took another step, and then a third, focusing on breathing, trying to not think about how many more steps it was going to take just to make it inside the lodge. I’ve lost…lost too much…blood…and- He shut his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath, then opened them.

Come on. No giving up. He could do this. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he was alive, and he was thinking…okay still, anyway. Thinking coherently enough, he was pretty sure. So he could make it. He still had a shot. Come on. You can’t give up. Quentin dug the fingers on the arm pressed against his wound into his palm until it hurt, trying to focus on something beside the cold and the real pain in his stomach and the way each step was harder then the last, and he kept going, slowly, but steadier and steadier as he went, and he made it shakily into the open doorway of the waiting lodge.

It was different inside the lodge than it had been in trials. There were pieces of cloth with words and symbols on them hung up in some places like ripped flags, boxes, furniture and paraphernalia in places it wasn’t set in his memory. But at least the layout was basically the same. Staircase leading up on the far left side of the room, bar on the right. Dead ahead there was a little lowered area with cushions around a big open wood stove warming the massive room, and he wanted nothing more than to go crawl over and collapse against it in the hope it could produce warmth for him when he very shortly lost his ability to make his own anymore, but he couldn’t. That was the most conspicuous spot in the whole lodge, by far. He’d be found in seconds.

Upstairs, he told himself, forcing his legs to move again, and then two steps into the room, he stopped, feeling dizzy and sick, remembering for the first time that there was more than one way upstairs in the lodge. Right. Two…t-three staircases? Several, anyway. So. He should—should probably go back into the snow, right? Circle around the outside instead. There was a staircase outside that led up from out there too, in trials, at least one—he was sure of it. He could find it if he circled the exterior wall long enough. So…he…he had to, didn’t he? If he took the indoor one, he’d be leaving smears of blood all across the room on his way.

Quentin turned to face the snow again, beyond utter exhaustion, and his right leg buckled on him at the first step. He cursed in pain as he went down, and he tried to catch himself with his left leg, but he fell wrong, and the leg he’d been hoping to catch himself with caught against the arm pressed to his stomach as he went down, ramming it back and slamming it hard against the wound, and he fell forward and barely muffled a scream of pain as the impact sent debilitating waves of agony along his torso. He dropped against the floor and curled up, huddled there shuddering in a little ball, fighting not to make noise and to weather the pain tearing through him in agonizing waves until it subsided enough to think again. It took so long. But when the spasms finally stopped after what felt like an eternity, Quentin forced himself to open his eyes again. It was hard, but he did it, very, very slowly, and he tried to focus his vision on the wood grain of the wall opposite him. He had been tired before—he had been beyond tired, beyond exhausted, beyond a lot of things, but God. He was so fucked up, and overwhelmed, and lost, and the heaviness and exhaustion in his bones was so insurmountably stiff and painful that he felt like there was no energy left in the whole world. I’ll never make it upstairs, thought Quentin without enough strength left to feel a stronger emotion to accompany the thought than sad, I can’t.

For a moment, he stayed there, huddled in a little ball about a foot into the ancient Ormond lodge.

God, please. Please help me. I need a miracle or I’m gonna die here. I’m gonna die here, and Dwight… Just. Just please. Please. Anything. Please.

It was such a desperate and lonely thought, because it was the only hope he still had, but he tried to believe in it, even though there had been nothing but unanswered prayers and silence for years now. He found his necklace with trembling fingers and held it in his fist for a moment, eyes shut, trying to regain a little strength, and then slowly he opened them again and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

Come on. Get up. Get up. I know you can. … Fuck.

He had known it would be bad, getting run through by a spear gun like this—he’d fucking know what it’d feel like exactly, because it had happened to him a bunch of times already in trials, even though the Deathslinger had only been here a couple weeks. But he’d had no idea how serious the wound would be. In trials, you felt everything at complete reality. If you got hit in the head with a sledgehammer, it would feel like fucking getting smashed in the head with a sledgehammer. A hook ripping through your torso to hang you like a piece of meat would feel exactly as awful and unthinkable as the act did in reality. But in a trial, rules were different. You could be unhooked, and run around with a huge fucking hole in your shoulder, and that would never kill you. Never make you pass out. The shock of having a chainsaw slam into your shoulder wouldn’t make you faint, and save you from the pain. Nothing would. Quentin had definitely lost more blood than humans had in their bodies in a lot of trials, but that was just how they went. You’d feel the real sledgehammer to head pain, but not the aftereffects of that. Just the impact. It would happen, and be fucking agony, but you could keep running, head not actually bashed in beyond repair. The Entity must have put really specific rules in place to balance what could and could not cause fatality, or when someone could bleed to death—because he’d definitely fucking bled to death on the ground a lot of times too. But not every time he damn well should have. It might have been hard to explain exactly where the cutoff was, but even if Quentin had no real idea what the rules for a trial would have looked like on paper, he had a pretty good instinctive grasp on it. And the debilitating pain from being shot through your stomach was exactly like what he was feeling now, but the blood loss and weakness and nausea were new. And fuck, fuck they were taking him down fast—way faster than he’d thought. Was he dying? Am I? Fuck—how—o-oh shit. Fuck. God, he really, really hoped Dwight was okay. Shit. If this was messing him up this badly so fast, did that mean…? B-but he’d been in their forest at least, right? A few minutes from camp at most, and—and even if he hadn’t had the strength to make it back, if he had shouted for help, someone would have heard him, right? Someone would have been able to come. He wasn’t dying in the woods. He wasn’t. …God. Fuck. “Please. Please let him make it,” he prayed in a desperate whisper, trying to power through the bottoming-out fear that came with that thought, and ashamed he hadn’t thought of it faster, digging his shaky fingers into the pocked of his coat for the needle and thread he always kept there as he did.

Okay. Okay I still have it. That’s…something. Wait. I. I should…should find something to sit up against first, he thought wearily, looking around at what was near him. Usually there was a big stack of boxes and junk piled up by this entrance, between the outside and the couch up above the fireplace and lowered area in the center of the room, but that had all been moved in this version of the lodge. The couch was still up, but the boxes had been pushed closer to the walls, and set in different places. He’d walked right in the middle of this opening, and it had been a huge entryway. To craw to the wall on either side would have meant dragging himself about five feet at minimum, but he’d gotten lucky, and someone had left a couple of the big boxes from the wall that had been up here at one point, and the closest one was only about two and a half feet further into the room, and it looked pretty solid, and that, he thought, he could make. Could try to make, anyway, and he did, dragging himself painfully across the wood floor on his side, teeth gritted and breathing hard, and when he reached it he gave himself a second to breathe, and then with intense effort pulled himself up so his back was against it and let out a shaky breath.

Okay. No Legion yet. That was a mercy. Maybe he would keep getting lucky. If I can’t make it upstairs, I can at least try and stitch myself up here. Stop the bleeding, bandage it a little. I don’t have much, but I’ve got a roll of thread, a needle, and some gauze, and that’s okay for now. If I’m still too weak to go upstairs once I’m done, I’ll go crawl into one of the cabinets under the bar or something. I-I think I could make that, even like this, and I’d probably have…okay odds, of holing up there without getting found. Right? I know it’s a lot of blood, he added mentally, looking with shaky vision at the stain he’d left on the floor crawling to the box, But they won’t know to be looking for it, and they’re covered in blood all the time from killing us. Probably they have to track some in, right? Maybe that’ll…be…be enough, and…

Fingers trembling, he dug into his pocket again for the needle he already knew was there. It was okay. It would be. He could do this, he was sure of it. God, he hadn’t felt this awful in a long time though. For a moment he hesitated, and lifted the left arm he had pressed to the wound in his stomach away to try and get a look at the injury underneath. He couldn’t actually see the puncture at all though, through the fabric. Just blood. Fuck, I don’t even know how bad it is y—

“Hey!”

Quentin’s head shot up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him, and he looked across the room for the voice’s owner in horror. There was a hole in one of the walls caused by a cable car that had fallen and embedded there, and standing in the unintended entryway the old metal frame had created, stood the Legion.

Oh fuck.

Tall and menacing, elevated on the little platform, it loomed over him at a distance. The thing was one of the male ones, the one that wore all black. A hood up, thick belt slung over a shoulder, wickedly jagged and curved hunting knife in hand, white dripping skull painted on top of his cloth mask. The thing was staring at him like he couldn’t believe Quentin had had the audacity to exist in this space.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” snapped the Legion at him in a mixture of anger and disbelief, and Quentin was so shocked he just stared up at it in horror, not remembering to speak in time, or move, or do anything, and then the looming figure moved and it came for him, incensed and advancing in long strides with a violent purpose, knife ready in hand. “You think you can just sneak onto our turf?”

“Wait!” said Quentin, snapping out of the moment of frozen horror as adrenaline he hadn’t known he still had kicked in and ignited panic. He tried frantically to use the box like a brace for his arms to help drag himself back to his feet, but the strain was enormous, and he was failing. Fuck! “Wait, wait, wait!” shouted Quentin desperately as the thing kept coming, talking so fast his words ran together, “I-I didn’t sneak in!—I got chased—" and then the Legion was on top of him, and he saw the guy lunge for him with the knife, and he flinched and gave up on trying to make his feet or talk and just threw his arms up to shield his head and fell back a little against the floor, shutting his eyes and trying to brace. The knife didn’t connect with his arms like he’d anticipated, but the Legion didn’t stop either. It shoved his arms aside with a burst of anger, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him violently up. Quentin cried out in pain and opened his eyes as the rough movement sent a wave of agony along his body. He instinctively clutched his wound with his right arm, struggling to deal with the pain, and while the agony of the first motion was still too much for him to even really process what was happening through it, the Legion jerked him closer and he fell forward, so beat to shit already that it was all he could do to try to catch himself with his left arm to keep from landing on his stomach at the guy’s feet. He wouldn’t have really had the strength to keep himself propped up like that, but he didn’t have to bother; the Legion wasn’t about to let go of him. It had a firm grip on his shirt and was keeping him suspended with it, radiating fury, and while he was still off-balance, the masked killer yanked him towards its face by his collar and leaned in close, shoving its knife against his throat. Quentin blanched at the touch of metal biting into his skin and turned his head away a little, breathing raggedly and closing the eye closer to the knife on instinct while trying to watch Legion with the other, struggling to bear some little bit of his weight on his left arm to keep from being dragged forward any more. It hardly mattered. It would take such little fucking effort for the thing grabbing him to drag the knife the three inches to the side it would take to slit his throat, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had already drawn blood, and he could feel a little droplet running down his throat from where the knife had cut in.

“You fucked up coming here,” growled the Legion threateningly, adjusting its grip a little, and Quentin tried very hard to stay absolutely still, because the knife was pressed in so deep against his throat now that it would only take a fraction more effort to slit it sideways through the vein it was pressed in very, very close to.

He’s going to kill me, thought Quentin, staring into the face of the thing with its knife to his neck and feeling sick and overwhelmed, breathing too fast and too shallow now to really be able to get enough air into his lungs and feeling the pressure of the knife and the pain of it cutting in against every breath he took as he was hit mercileslly with memory after memory of having his guts ripped open by the guy above him. F-fuck. No. I- His arms were shaking. I should fight back—I could—

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” snapped the Legion jerking him and drawing a little more blood with the knife.

“It was an accident!” pleaded Quentin desperately, meeting the Legion’s eyes and hoping there might be some little bit of a person left inside this thing that hunted him and the people he loved endlessly in the fog, but all there was in the dark brown eyes looking back was anger, like he’d known there would be. Killers didn’t listen. They didn’t care. There was no hope to be found appealing to them, and there never would be. “I didn’t—” started Quentin, still trying even though he knew it would be futile, because it was all he had left, but he barely got the two words out before the Legion flung him backwards against the ground without warning and with so much force that for a second after impact he couldn’t breathe at all.

“An accident?” the Legion gave a disbelieving almost laugh, tone still violent and full of fury, but his voice sounded distorted to Quentin’s hearing now, and he barely took the words in at all. The impact had stung, and his head swam from it, throbbing pain running down his backbone and ribs as he lay on his side where he’d fallen. He needed to get back up. Needed to fight, or to run, but he didn’t have the energy to do either. Come on—fuck it! Please! Please try! You can’t give up like this! Just try! Please. Please try.

Quentin gritted his teeth, beating down his body’s urge to cry at the pain it was feeling, and dug his fingernails into the wood grain of the floor. Fighting desperately with everything he had left to focus, to find some way to move. You can’t pass out. You can’t. Please. Come on. Try. Come on!

Above him, he was aware of the Legion straightening up and moving beside him, talking as it did, but its voice still sounded muffled and off. Quentin couldn’t make it off his side, so he turned his head to look up at the killer, breaking raggedly. Struggling to make out words.

“Now you’re gonna pay,” said the Legion darkly, and he kicked him.

Quentin realized what would happen and tried to shout something, but it turned into a scream of anguish as the shoe collided with the injury in his gut. Debilitating pain shot through him on impact, and he jerked, and his vision went white, and then all that there was was intense agony and unbelievable suffering. So awful, so overwhelming, so much of it, that for a second, he thought it had killed him.

But it hadn’t. He was still awake, still aware. Somehow. Somehow the pain wasn’t enough for his body to be willing to give in, even now. And then he felt himself convulse, but it was different—it wasn’t like that motion had ever felt before. It was barely like he was in his body at all anymore, and the pain was gone then, mostly, with the convulsion, and he just felt exhausted and absent and disconnected and sick. His vision came back blurry, and he felt himself tremble and shudder violently again, and then again, more weakly, and he realized what that was, and just stared emptily at nothing on the far side of the room as he faintly felt the sensation of blood seeping out of his stomach and against his limbs as it started to puddle around him.

It did kill me, thought Quentin hollowly, feeling sick, and heartbroken, and distressed over the fact that he couldn’t feel even those things very strongly. That there was no one to say goodbye to, or to ask to tell Dwight none of it had been his fault and that he was just glad he’d made it. …If …if he’d made it…

But there was no one to say that to. And Quentin knew what it was that was happening to him, because he had seen it happen to animals when they died. Jerking like this. There was a name for it he couldn’t remember. He didn’t have the energy. Not for that, or for anything anymore.

God, it was lonely. It was so lonely. It was scary in a way he had never thought about before and couldn’t even really understand because there wasn’t time to. But he was afraid of the loneliness, he just. He wished there could have been. People. Friends. Any of them. When…

Seeking the only comfort he had left, Quentin tried to move his hand up to find his necklace, and couldn’t.

Something touched him then, and flipped him over onto his back, and he looked up with blurry, failing vision as his body shuddered again, and he watched the Legion stare down at him in an almost frozen shock. It bent quickly and tugged up the bottom of his shirt and took in the wound, and it said something he couldn’t really hear.

At least the…pain stopped…

Quentin took an agonizingly shaky breath, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to die. To. To just…give in. But it. It was hard. His eyes kept shutting on their own and he could only force them up for little fragments of time before he’d lose to the weariness that had overcome him and they would shut again. He felt another shudder run along his body, but it was different this time. His vision started to go dark with it, and it didn’t come all the way back this time when he opened his eyes again. He felt like since he knew he was dying, he should do something—say something. He wanted to—he needed to. But. He. …he didn’t…didn’t know what...to...and...he was…alone…no one left to…

Above him, the Legion said something again, but he couldn’t hear it at all this time. Could barely even make out its lips moving. It put a hand on his gut and he faintly felt a dull ache at the touch, and the black-clad figure tugged off its mask, and he couldn’t understand why it would have done that, but for just a second he was seeing a guy, maybe…maybe eighteen or something? Looking down at him, with an expression that was hard to place. And the Legion said something kind of frantically, but there was no sound Quentin could make out to accompany the blurry visual. He felt his body giving up and tried to fight against it, desperately wanting to live, but the exhaustion overcame him then and his eyes shut and wouldn’t open again this time, and his consciousness faded with it only a few seconds after, and Quentin blacked out, dying in a pool of blood in Ormond at the feet of the person who’d killed him.

[part 2]

#dbd #long post #dead by daylight #New Dawn Fades #writing #dead by daylight fic #dbd fic #New Dawn Fades (fic)#Joey Harmin #Quentin Smith #dbd Joey #The Legion #For the record I actually think Caleb would be one of the lest cruel killers. Survivors have no reason to like. Except that from him here?#and he is still new. Canonically the Entity influences his vision to make him think he's seeing people who wronged him in life & while prob #he would eventually figure that out--at least off & on if the Entity is able to mess with his memories--I don't think he's /quite/ there yet #during this fic? I think he's not stupid #so he knows something is very much up and very off but he's also still very like. disoriented. And doesn't know what /is/. fun tidbit: when #Dwight begs him not to kill him and Caleb goes to hit him with the gun butt I don't think he was planning to kill him. If he was he'd have #stabbed. Don't think he wanted to like torture either. I think he was planning to take him as a prisoner to get information out of bc he's #curious and also super disoriented and doesn't know what /is/ happening & dislikes that and being used/imprisoned. But ofc the boys had no #way to know that. He /was/ trying to kill Quentin but that's bc he was hurt/enraged and acting on impulse after getting injured and then #again after getting stabbed in the knee. He did /not/ want to let them both get away and get nothing out of the exchange so he def stepped #up the violence levels. But for the record I don't think he initially just like. Wanted to kill or draw out torture/hurt either of them.#Man wanted to capture and get answers. He actually isn't super threatening Quentin near the end either. He's doing that a little bc he's #pissed. But it's like. Both a 'okay but this ain't over you little rat' and a 'since you /did/ make it out fair warning that you better keep #running' bc Caleb has a sense of like. Fairness/honor among thieves. Which is why while he p would have killed Quentin to stop him from #escaping. Once the kid had he did not actually call Legion to give away his location or up his odds of being killed. Begrudging respect.#but also still v mad about the knee and bc he doesn't know the situation but his current understanding is that they are some kind of enemies #changed the title bc this one fits better (thanks Spek) ^u^

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