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esamastation · 11 months

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Part forty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty

"... So there's Natural Materia that grows and evolves and eventually spawns an offspring of exactly identical Materia that can then make the exact same journey - and then there's Artificial Materia that… doesn't?"

"You're really asking the wrong person - Genesis is the expert," Angeal sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "But yeah, that's basically it? Artificial Materia can still level up a bit, but it doesn't evolve or make a copy of itself."

Sephiroth nods, fascinated. "So Natural Materia basically does mitosis?"

"I… don't know what that is?" Angeal says, sounding lost.

They're walking through the forest, in between random encounters - following a wide old footpath towards the charcoal burner's house. The path has the signs of wheeled traffic where the dirt has really been compacted, but it was a while ago, and grasses have started taking real estate on the path. Still, it makes for easier walking than the wild, untamed forest.

"It's when something - a cell - splits into two identical copies," Sephiroth explains.

"Ah, then no, that's not exactly it - the offspring Materia is unleveled and undeveloped. It has to be matured anew," Angeal clarifies.

"Still. Eventually the offspring Materia becomes identical to the parent. It's asexual reproduction, at least," Sephiroth muses, fascinated by how organic it all sounds. Like Materia is actually a breed of organism doing what all living things do - eat and reproduce. And artificial versions are basically infertile! "I bet Artificial Materia still needs to be somehow seeded by the natural sort."

Angeal shrugs, helpless. "You'd really have better luck asking Genesis. Maybe you should send him a message, asking about it."

"Maybe I will," Sephiroth says, determined, and then looks up. "Heads up - bugs."

One random encounter later, they're back to walking.

"You know, you could actually just try using your Materia," Angeal comments. "Might give you some insight on how it works. Or do you not remember how?"

Sephiroth waves a hand. "You just push energy through the thing, it's not that hard."

"Then why not do it?"

Because MP is Qi, kinda, and using Materia basically burns it away. Or, well, transforms it. Part of it goes into the Materia being used, aiding its maturation, and the rest of it is transformed into whatever spell the Materia is for. It's very easy to use and very powerful and incredibly energy inefficient. And since Sephiroth still isn't sure whether he wants to take in ambient energy in the way of the locals, he isn't sure his MP actually replenishes? And sure, he could take an Ether, a potion that replenishes MP - but that's basically like drinking raw Qi, and the very idea is a bit alarming.

There's just a scary level of energy transference going on in this place, and his core is unstable enough!

Also Sephiroth would rather figure out how to consume the Materia itself, like you'd consume spirit stones - except he really doesn't need any extra Qi at this point.

"Maybe later," Sephiroth says and looks ahead for a distraction. "Oh, hey, is that the house?"

Angeal gives him a look, amused, but lets it go and looks ahead too.

The charcoal burner's house is built near to the side of a mountain wall, with three enormous charcoal kilns half carved into the stone of the mountain. The house is more of a homestead, with a large area cleared and fenced, with the house itself in the middle, a couple of storage huts, a stall, and a big shelter for wood.

It's a bit rundown, though. One of the storage houses has its rooftop caved in, and there's long grass growing everywhere. The charcoal kilns look not just cold, but like something had been nesting in one of them.

"That's strange," Angeal murmurs warily, looking around. "It… doesn't look like anyone's been living here for a good long while."

"Hmm," Sephiroth hums, crouching down to examine a footprint in the dirt. It's fresh. "Someone has been here very recently, though." Someone in modern footwear - with treaded soles. Not that he knows what kind of footwear the people of Wutai favour, but, still…

Angeal looks at the footprint and hums. "Be on your guard. There's something weird going on in here."

Cautious, they examine the place and find no signs of any monster attacks. What they do find is more footprints, all by the same set of shoes, going strong in the place and by all appearances checking out the buildings.

"Looking for something, maybe?" Angeal murmurs as they consider the footprints.

"Hmm. I don't see any signs of monsters," Sephiroth comments. "Didn't the mission files say the place was already attacked? Maybe we're in the wrong place."

"Maybe…"

While Angeal checks their mission files and coordinates to confirm they're actually in the right house, Sephiroth tries to figure out why it was abandoned in the first place. It wasn't sudden, that he can tell - whoever lived here had the time to pack up. Everything that's left was put away very neatly, too.

"Well, this is the right place," Angeal says, following him inside. "Either they got the coordinates wrong - or the intelligence."

"I guess it could be a trap," Sephiroth muses, poking around the charcoal burner's old office in search of any paperwork. "If this is really where an informant once lived, maybe that informant turned into a double agent and set a trap."

"You really think so?" Angeal asks, sounding more interested than alarmed.

"Not really," Sephiroth shrugs and picks up a crumpled piece of paper, someone's attempt at a letter that had gotten ruined by an ink smear. Gently he spreads it out on the office table to read. "Or else it's a terrible trap…"

The letter is addressed to someone's uncle, informing them of the charcoal burner's good fortune. Apparently their family had been invited by the emperor to live and work in the capital. Lucky guy.

"Maybe we should prepare for an ambush, just in case," Angeal comments thoughtfully, adjusting his gloves. "What do you think?"

"I think they would've revealed themselves already, if it was the case," Sephiroth says. "And this is a terrible place for an ambush anyway. It's far too open."

"Well, good thing it's not an ambush!" a voice calls from the outside before Angeal can answer.

"... Sounds like something an ambusher would say," Angeal mutters, clearly recognizing the voice, and Sephiroth chuckles.

Reno waits for them outside, lazily scratching at a bug bite on his arm. "Congratulations, you have been summarily recruited for a secret Turk mission," he says and motions around them. "Your station."

"Turk mission?" Angeal repeats. "It was you who sent out that mission file?"

"Yep," Reno agrees, shrugging unrepentantly.

Sephiroth watches him warily. He'd not interacted with Reno or Rude much, Angeal had kinda covered for him there. He'd not entirely sure why the Turks followed them to Wutai. Maybe this is it.

Maybe this is as far as he gets, before having to commit, one way or the other.

Sephiroth braces himself. "What's the mission?"

Reno grins and points a finger at him. "Your mission, starting right now, is to stay here," he says, "And get your shit together."

Man I've missed ff7 world so much. The whole magic system from Lifestream to Materia to summoning world ending Meteors from the sky is just 😗👌

I'm playing og ff7 while writing and none of the sequelsprequelsremakes come even close to comparing with how delicious Materia in the original game is.

#Fanfiction #Ff7 #ffvii #svsss #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #angeal hewley #reno of the turks #shen yuan

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dira333 · 10 months

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Sharing Secrets in the Dark - Reo x Reader

A/N: I think I can stop saying that Reo isn't my favorite...

“What was the hardest thing in your time at Blue Lock?” Hisako asks the team.

She’s the other Manager besides you and you’re glad she’s here and as bubbly and talkative as you are quiet. You don’t feel pressured to talk when she’s around, let your eyes wander and take in all the little things no one else seems to notice.

Like Reo leaving the room right after Hisako’s question, the look on his face new and uncomfortable.

You get up to follow him, have to remind Isagi that you still exist so that he lets you pass.

Outside, Reo’s already gone, but you have a hunch on where he went.

Unsurprisingly, you find him on the field, dribbling a ball with an almost murderous expression on his face.

“Hi,” you greet him, your own voice echoing in your ears.

He puts a smile on his face the second he hears you talk, but it doesn’t stick. It slides off his lips and reveals the scowl underneath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, “Or do you want me to start the Blue Lock Man Program so you can play? I’d offer to play Goalie myself but that wouldn’t be much fun for you.”

He hesitates for a moment before he nods. “I’ll shoot some Goals.”

It’s not surprising that he doesn’t want to talk to you. After all, you’ve only been introduced a few days ago and whatever’s bothering Reo, he doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to spill his heart to just about anybody.

You still take a seat on the side, the artificial grass tickling your bare feet as you sit.

Three Goals in, Reo stops to catch his breath and looks over.

“What do you think of Nagi?”

“He’s tall.” You offer and Reo laughs so loud it echoes.

“And what about his character?”

You pull your lower lip between your teeth to think. There’s not just the question of what you think, but also what he might want to hear. Or how he wants to hear it. Reo and Nagi seem close after all.

“I think… he takes a lot of things at face value. If he doesn’t care enough or doesn’t want to spend energy on it, he doesn’t, no matter how important it may seem to others. It could be a bit unnerving because most people tend to create energy to get what they want and go beyond their limits. I mean, I’ve seen him stop eating even though he was hungry just because he didn’t want to chew any longer.”

There’s a faraway look in Reo’s eyes. You wonder if he will tell you, confide in you what bothers him so much.

But just as he opens his mouth, he’s interrupted.

“Starting without us? How rude!” Bachira bounds onto the field, steals the ball from Reo, and passes it to Isagi.

The moment is gone, but you can still feel Reo’s eyes on you even as they play.

You turn at the sound of the door.

The rooftop is mostly covered in darkness, but the golden light of the street lamps doesn’t reach the newcomer's face. But you know that hair…

“Hi, Reo.” You speak up from where you’re sitting.

He turns toward you.

“Hey. Are you okay?” His voice is low and careful as if talking to a scared animal.

With a start, you realize that he’s not here to destress himself. He must have followed you up here.

“Yeah, sure.” You croak out and wipe the remaining tears from your cheek. “I just overreacted.”

“I would have reacted the same way.” Reo offers gently, slowly inching closer. “Can I sit with you for a bit?”

“Sure.” You nod even though he can’t possibly see it in the dark. His body is warm next to you, his warmth reaching you even though you’re not touching. He feels safe, like a living, breathing shield. Some of the tension bleeds from your muscles and you sigh, wrap your arms around your knees, and stare at the streets below you.

“Do you think I’m useless?” You ask. “You can be honest. I want to improve.”

“I think Barou is a dick.”

You snort at this decisive comment.

“He’s your teamm-”

“No, don’t make excuses for him. He’s a dick. You’ve been nothing but helpful to all of us. He’s just grouchy because Rin managed to score more goals than him. He gets pissy when someone else is better than him.”

“But Hisako-”

“Don’t tell her, but I think she could talk a little less.” He turns his face, and you think there’s a smile on his lips, but you can’t really tell in the dark.

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“I’m not nice. Just honest.” He leans over and brushes his hand against your arm.

Goosebumps rise under his touch. A warm scent fills your nose. It’s not the Blue Lock 3 in 1 body wash scent you’ve come to loathe and your breath catches in your throat.

“Just like I thought. You’re ice cold. May I warm you up?”

“How?” You ask, mouth running dry when he takes your hands into his, thumb running over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth and blows on them, his warm breath shooting through you like electricity.

Something fizzles between you, a new kind of tension you would never have expected.

You wonder if he’d kiss you, tonight, on this rooftop.

But the moment shatters with the sound of the door being thrown open, Bachira’s voice cutting through the night.

“Reo-chan? Are you out here? We’re looking for you and Manager-chan.”

Reo drops your hand and gets up, dusts himself off as he walks over to Bachira.

“I’m here. I heard a noise, but I think it was a Tanuki.”

“A Tanuki?” Bachira sounds scandalized. “On a rooftop? Are you seeing things?”

“It’s dark out here, okay?” Reo scoffs. “Also it’s way too cold out here for her to be staying outside for so long. She’s probably in her room. Has Barou gotten a grip yet?”

Bachira sighs. “Not yet. But Kunigami is working on it. We think he’d apologize if he saw her.”

“Ah well, serves him right to feel guilty a bit longer. That was uncalled for. Let’s get inside, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Not much to freeze off…” Bachira teases and the door clicks shut behind them.

“It’s getting warmer.” You remark a few weeks later.

Just outside the reach of the street lamps, Reo’s shoulder bumped into yours and stayed there. He runs warm and having him next to you is like having a personal space heater.

Ever since that first night, you’ve found yourself up here again and again.

All it needed was a shared look, one eyebrow raised or lips pulled up to one side, and you knew to come up here after dinner.

So far you’ve managed to bring up a blanket and two spare pillows to sit on. Only once you had to turn back at the door because of the weather, heavy rain pelting every available surface.

“What a shame.” Reo mumbles.

“You like the cold?” You ask, always eager to learn more about him.

No matter how many secrets you spill up here, there still seems to be more to know.

By now you know what his worst moment at Blue Lock was - Nagi turning his back on him to play with Isagi, have shared memories of your childhood and dreams of your future.

Talking has never come easy to you, but it does with Reo.

“I like warming you up.” He says and your blood rushes to your head.

“I- don’t… don’t say something like that.” Your voice sounds way too hoarse to be natural.

“What?” He asks and you wonder if you’re imagining the little quiver in his voice. “Can’t I be honest with you?”

“I… I’m just… I…”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice so low you can barely hear him about the noise in your ears. Maybe you even misheard him. He’d never ask that, right? Maybe he asked if you’d miss him. That you can answer easily.

“Yes.” You say, quietly, like a mouse.

Only a heartbeat later his lips are on yours, warm, a little chapped, but so gentle in their touch.

Your heart stops, then barges on, racing in your chest. His hands are on yours, warm fingers around cold ones. You’re holding hands as he kisses you, again and again and again, as if he’s trying to imprint their touch onto you, so that you’ll never ever forget it.

The first kiss breaks a dam and the flood takes everything with it.

Reo’s play improves so significantly that Rin and Barou are now constantly wearing a scowl on their face. He doesn’t seem to get tired when playing and when he passes, he risks moves so crazy Bachira comes running right after, hugging him with excited squealing.

You don’t think that anyone suspects anything.

The two of you keep carefully calm around each other. You hardly ever speak to him outside the rooftop, just like you hardly ever speak to anyone.

You hand over towels and waterbottles, massage Chigiri’s leg in between breaks or run from Barou when he misses a goal.

You bite your tongue when Hisako drowns Reo in affection and you keep yourself out of reach of Isagi’s arms - he has developed the annoying habit of hugging people after a good game. Your efforts are rewarded with soft kisses, the caress of his hands, the warmth of his hugs.

More then once have you fallen asleep on the rooftop, curled into each other, your nose pressed against his neck as you inhale a scent you’ll never get tired off.

“I like it when you’re a little jealous.” He tells you one night when you complain about Hisako droning on and on about Reo’s latest streak of victories. “Makes me feel a little better about being jealous myself.”

“Like you have a reason to be.” You tease and lean forward to kiss his nose.

“I just…” He huffs. “I can’t help thinking about Nagi turning away from me. Like I understand in my head that it was necessary for him to improve and that I want him to improve, but everything in me screamed ‘Mine!’ when he did that. I want to you to improve and be better and have a better life too but the thought of you turning away-” He stops in the middle of his sentence and swallows harshly. You press a kiss to his Adam’s apple, trying to soothe his unease.

“I’m not an egoist.” You remind him. “I don’t have to be. I like compromises too. If you can’t have all of two things, you could settle for half of both, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“If Ego finds us out and I have to choose between you and managing Blue Lock, I can’t have both, right? But I could keep being a manager, just for another team and I could… keep you?” You don’t really mean for it to sound like a question, but you’re also not confident enough to believe that he’d want to go through the effort of dating you when you’re not conveniently around.

Reo’s answer is a kiss that silences your doubt.

“When we get our free weekend,” he says when you’re both breathless, molten into the pillows like candle wax, “Will you come with me and meet my parents?”

Jinpaichi Ego manages to glare down at you even though he’s sitting and you’re standing.

“It was never the plan to have two managers for this team.” He begins and your heart sends shockwaves of ice through your body.

This is it. He’s kicking you out.

“So while the boys are getting ready for their game today, I have to decide which one of our dear managers I want to keep. I have only one question for you, but I’ll give you a little context.” He smiles and your heart beats so fast and loud, you wonder if he can hear it.

“Today we’re playing against a team of Star Players. I won’t mention their names but since I know you’ve been a soccer fan for quite some time, I can assure you that you’ve always dreamed of meeting them one day. It wasn’t that easy to get them to agree to a game, but I managed to lure them in. Here’s the catch. They will leave with one of our managers, who I praised highly. Now I’m going to ask you your question. Will you be egoistic and go for the best team or will you stay where you are?”

Your mind is racing. Your time with Ego has been significantly shorter than those of the boys but you’ve learned one thing… He often says one thing and means the other.

Does he really want an egoistic manager? Shouldn’t those whose job it is to care about the team be selfless in nature? Also, he didn’t specifically mention that the best team would be the opposing team. With his confidence, he surely meant that the best team would be the Blue Lock team. But what if you misunderstood?

“What’s your answer?” Ego asks and you ball your hands into fists, clench them so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your skin.

“I want to stay with Blue Lock.”

“Explain your reasoning.”

“I…” You swallow thickly. “I care about this team. And I think they have it in them to be the best team, so why would I settle for a different team?”

Ego’s eyes widen and you wonder if he’s just furrowed his brows, hidden from your eyes by his bangs. You shouldn’t have phrased it as a question.

“I believe you mean you want to stay with Reo Mikage.”

Your heart stops cold. Your mouth is so dry you can’t unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

“If you have nothing left to say, you can go.”

“I…” You cough, try to gather at least some semblance of self-control. “Thank you.” You bow deeply. “For my time here.”

Ego stays quiet, a weird look in his eyes. He doesn’t speak up, and you shuffle out of the room, doing everything you can to keep from crying.

Hisako’s sitting on her bed when you enter your shared room, playing something on her phone.

You know she’d been with Ego before you and her unaffected mood is like a kick in the gut.

Ego probably already knew he’d keep her.

You quietly start to pack.

“Oh,” Hisako’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Did Ego say something when we’re going to leave?”

You shake your head and unclench your teeth to speak. “He didn’t but I… it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Right, right. Who do you reckon we’ll get to manage? Do you think we’ll play the Japan U-20 again?” She’s twirling her hair around her finger, her eyes locked on the wall as she’s thinking. “I wouldn’t mind massaging Oliver Aiku’s legs.”

You freeze in your movement.

“Did you… Do you want to manage the other team?”

“Of course.” Hisako has mastered sounding like she’s smarter than you whenever she talks. But you might as well just be the only one hearing that. “Blue Lock is about striving to be the best. Who would I be not offering myself to manage the best?”

You don’t answer but she’s already caught on.

“Don’t tell me you said you wanted to stay where you are!”

“I…” You start and close your mouth again.

“Oh, what’s that?” Hisako’s behind you in a heartbeat. Her closeness unnerves you, but you don’t want to be rude. Your eyes race through the room, trying to pick up on something out of order.

“Is that one of Reo’s hair ties?”

You go rigid at her words, watch her pick up one of the distinct purple hair ties he had gifted you a few weeks ago.

“It’s mine.” You rip it from her hands and clutch it to your chest.

Her eyes widen for a moment before she laughs, almost toppling forward with the force of it.

“Oh, poor you.” She stretches out her hand to ruffle your hair. “It’s okay to have a Crush on your players, but you can’t steal their stuff.”

She’s still laughing as she steps away from you again to take a seat on her bed.

Overhead, the speaker cracks to life.

“Girls, we’re leaving in twenty minutes. Please pack all your belongings and meet us at the entrance.”

Hisako huffs. “Twenty minutes? Well, I suppose you can help me pack since you’re finished with your stuff already.”

You nod, glad that she seems to have forgotten about Reo.

“Oh, and make sure to give back his hair tie,” Hisako winks at you as she grabs her duffel bag, “I would hate to have to interfere.”

It’s weird to see Hisako’s back on the field, to not have her talk so much nobody’s asking you questions.

You’re constantly on the move, handing Bachira a bottle of water, getting Barou a new towel, avoiding Reo… You barely have time to take in the other team but when you do, you’re taken aback.

You heard about the match against Japan U-20. It had been the main reason for you to apply for the manager position. It must have shaken up the sport because on the other side of the field is the National Team. All of them are adult men in their prime.

And Ego is nowhere to be seen.

No wonder your team is so tense. This could very well end in a disaster.

“How are we even going to win this?” Isagi voices your terror.

“He wouldn’t let us play if Ego didn’t believe we could do this.” Bachira, always the optimist, barely manages to keep up Isagi’s spirit.

Your own worries move to the back as you take in the team. These boys might not always be the easiest to get along with but you believe in them. You believe in Reo.

“I…” The word leaves your mouth before you realize it. All eyes snap up to you and you feel your knees wobble. Oh no. You hate it when people look at you when you talk.

Somehow you manage to lock onto Reo’s kind eyes, on the vibrant shade of purple of his hair and the curl of his nose as he waits for you to continue.

“... believe in you.” You croak out, wringing your hands. Now that the words are out, it’s a little easier to continue talking.

“If I’d have to choose to manage the best team in the world or Blue Lock, I’d have to choose Blue Lock. There’s no other team as good as you.”

You’re too focused on the slow pull of Reo’s lips to see him coming.

When Ego stars clapping behind your back, you jump away in surprise.

“Well said, Manager. Now, you’ve heard her. I didn’t bring you here to be unsure of your abilities. I brought you here to show them that you’ve got what it takes. You’ve trained under me, you won’t fail. Listen up, I’ll only go over this once.”

“Reo. You’re out.” Ego’s voice is cold and careless. You’re standing next to him, muscles tensed from head to toe. You have to fight everything in you not to jump to Reo’s side.

He’d been the focus of some intense defense during the last quarter and one foul had brought him to the floor. You suspected that under the ice pack his knee was turning all shades of blue and purple.

“No! I’m good! I can still play!”

Ego turns his dark eyes to you. “Manager? Tell your boyfriend to listen to his trainer.”

You gasp but no air reaches your lungs.

Someone asks “What?!” and Rin rolls his eyes, calling all of this “Annoying.”

Reo’s eyes are wide open, his jaw slack.

You manage to take in a raspy breathe, than another.

“I…” You start, blinking to get rid of the fog. You swallow hard. “If Reo says he can still play, he can play.”

Reo snaps up as if pulled by an invisible string.

Ego takes a long breathe out throug his nose before he huffs.

“Alright. It’s your decision. If he hurts himself, you’re going to be responsible for it.”

You don’t dare to look at Ego or anyone else. There’s confidence in Reo’s eyes and you nod, forcing yourself to stay as calm as you can possibly be.

Blue Lock wins.

You tell yourself that you’re not surprised. It had been a tight squeeze at some point, like it often is, and there are half-moon-shaped red marks on the heels of your hands from squeezing too hard.

But Blue Lock wins and Reo comes running, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you like you weigh nothing, pressing you into him like he’s not just sweated out half the ocean.

“Get a room!” Someone rumbles behind you but you’re laughing.

If Ego kicks you out today, this will make a worthwhile memory.

“Good job, my diamonds in the rough.” Ego drawls, looking over the boys with a fondness in his eyes you can’t have imagined. “This will teach them what they’re up against.”

“Uh…” Someone says behind you and you turn to see Hisako.

You admire her confidence even as her eyes flicker over you and Reo and her brows furrow for a second.

“I’m sorry.” Ego’s voice is too nice to be genuine. A shiver runs down your spine at the sound. “This is no longer your team.”

“But they don’t need a Manager outside of this game.” Hisako points out. “They just told me. I’m…”

“No longer wanted at Blue Lock. You can leave.”

Hisako’s mouth is wide open and you feel bad for her until she screeches like a banshee.

“What about her?!” She points a finger at you. “How’s she allowed to stay? She basically never talks!”

“Last I checked talking isn’t a requirement for being a Manager.” Reo quips nonchalantly.

“Must have messed that up.” Bachira offers sweetly. “Cause all you ever do is talk.”

Hisako turns practically magenta and opens her mouth, but Ego is faster.

“Leave.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Before I make you.”

Your hands holding the tray shake from nerves but you manage to press the button that opens the door.

When you step inside, Bachira hollers your name.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, bounding over to you.

“Reo invited me.” You mumble, looking for him in the crowd.

To your surprise, Kunigami has him in a headlock, ruffling his hair. Next to him is Chigiri, doing a poor impersonation for you.

“But Mr. Ego! I believe in my boyfriend who I love! If he says he’ll win against the National team all by himself, he’ll do it.”

“I didn’t say that!” You disagree and Chigiri snaps out of it, having the decency to blush a little.

“Sorry, Manager-chan!” He laughs.

“We just have to teach this punk some manners.” Kunigami declares. “Has a girlfriend and doesn’t even tell anyone.”

“That’s none of your business!” Reo huffs out and manages to break free. He walks over to you, smile lighting up his face as he pulls you into the circle.

“Sit next to me, okay?”

“Not fair!” Bachira whines. “Manager-chan has the best food on her tray.”

“We all share!” Reo scolds and slaps away a hand that’s moving towards your plate of Takoyaki.

And they do. A piece of everything lands on your plate that never seems to get emptier until you realize that Reo steals food from everyone, slyly putting it onto your plate.

“Stop it.” You hiss and knock your shoulder into his. “I’m going to burst.”

“No such thing.” He says and drops another piece of steak on your plate.

You try to glare before you get distracted by something you’d been craving ever since you got here.

“Oh, is someone eating that pickled radish?” You point at the little bowl. “I love those.”

Laughter rings through the room. It doesn’t feel like it’s at your expense but you still wonder what it was that you said that was so funny.

“By the way…” Barou clears his throat and pins you down with a glare. “I wanted to say sorry.”

Someone gasps and you can’t hold it against them.

You swallow, feel the warmth of Reo next to you and the fullness of your belly, how a day filled with excitement has made you tired. You smile.

“I forgive you.” You pause for a second, take a breath. “But if you ever say something like that again, I’ll slap you!”

There’s a lot of laughter after that. Like when Nagi drapes himself over your shoulder, asking if you want to be his girlfriend too - and declaring a relationship too much work when you explain why that won’t be possible.

At some point the space between yawns turns so short you can barely talk and Reo pulls you up.

“I’m going to walk you to your room,” he declares, pulling you from the boys that make exaggerated kissing noises.

His thumb rubs over the back of your hand as you stumble along.

Just one corner away from your room he pulls you close and stops to press a kiss to your mouth, to edge of your jawline, the curve of your neck.

“I love you.” Reo mumbles, his breath washing over you.

“I love you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

In a way this reminds you of the beginning of you two, alone in a hallway, sharing secrets.

But this is no longer the beginning and there’s no end in sight.

@shoulmate

#my writing #Blue Lock #Reo Mikae #Reo x reader #Reo Fluff #blue lock x reader #Blue Lock Fluff

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chief-of-restless-hearts · 4 months

Text

Chapter 25: Toxic

. . .

March 17

…a few days ago…

Gotham’s only moon glowered down at Slade from its place in the roiling red sky. It bore the Dark Knight’s symbol—the brand of the gutter’s guardian. Slipping his half-drained flask back into his breast pocket, Slade swallowed its rancid aftertaste and searched his dim surroundings.

Unchanged since his last impatient glance, glinting bottle fragments still littered the untamed park turf beneath his boots. Crudities were still scrawled across the trees, fences, and filthy cobblestone. Shadows still flickered in and out of the corner of his eye, nightly omens that had long since chased seasoned Gothamites behind locked doors.

It was a city of madmen, guarded by a man no less mad than they. A man below Deathstroke’s notice. But this ‘guardian’ had allowed treasures to slip through his fingers. Left them for the wolves to scavenge. And the man hadn’t even the decency to show himself while the world’s deadliest assassin had stood within fifty paces of GCPD headquarters’ doorstep for as long as that pathetic beacon had shone in the sky.

Not that the so-called detective would have recognized the unmasked, haggard face of an old man who had buried a son one miserable year before.

Had it really been only one year?

Slade’s hand hesitated halfway toward the flask that he had in his week of absence refilled countless times with brandy that reeked of Park Row. Instead he snatched a cigar from the recesses of a different pocket. The last of Wintergreen’s hoard. Pressing the tobacco between his lips, he lit it, and waited for the familiar taste to chase away the ghost of a boy withering in his arms; a boy bleeding and voiceless; a boy cold on the floor with a smoking gun in his hand.

Smoke settled like ash on his tongue, returning him to the grave he had abandoned to come here, of all places.

A week spent in a city some called hell, during which he had acquainted himself with the gutter’s dubious virtues. The grime on his trench-coat thickened with every passing hour.

But he couldn’t go back. To that cavern. That plan. That—

Not yet.

Not while his eyelids still burned with the faces of those three boys, somehow most vividly with the one whose face least resembled his own—that, as little sense as it made, far more closely resembled that of Mr. Bruce Thomas Wayne.

Draining his flask might cure him of that thought—but there: the artificial moon had gone out of the sky. Either the Bat had finally shown himself or the Commissioner had resorted to doing his own job. In either case, the park had suddenly become far less interesting.

The breeze was fingering the hem of his coat, with only the soft flap of his coattails disturbing the stillness, except for the softest whisper of crushed grass behind him.

With the tobacco pinned between his tautened lips, he turned a fraction. Just enough to catch a glimpse of Gotham’s guardian.

The madman was nowhere in sight.

In his place stood the Batman’s little shadow.

+ - + - + - + - +

A hunter stared up at the sky.

Setting her face toward the crisis that had lit the Commissioner’s beacon, Batgirl leapt from the GCPD rooftop, her grapple line swinging her through the tangy night wind above Gotham Park. Where a hunter waited. Still, and hungry.

For prey? Or for—

The hunter continued gazing up at Batman’s signal even after it blinked out of the sky.

Batgirl dropped lightly onto the park’s soft spring earth. Two arm lengths behind the tall, broad back, she stared. Half of her knew why. The other half stared, perplexed by the figure’s contradictions.

The hunter wore a long overcoat that flapped in the wind that passed over his still form like water. He was old, but his age lived in the world-worn carry of his shoulders, and nowhere else. This hunter’s body was very much alive.

And already he had heard her.

Half-turned to his left, he looked at her. Anticipation, disappointment, and curiosity flickered across his body like half-formed thoughts. He had expected Batman. Hoped for Batman.

+ - + - + - + - +

The shadow hardly reached Slade’s rib-cage. It was female, but young—startlingly so. And her heart-rate reached Slade’s ears like a bloodthirsty battle drum. Unnatural.

Whether the shadow was a freak of science or nature, Slade couldn’t bring himself to care. What the Batman did in his spare time was no one’s business save his own.

His upper lip twitched slightly. So. Having run dry of sons, the Bat had resorted to daughters. Another radicalized tin soldier, green as ACE chemicals sewage.

…But no.

Slade watched the girl as she continued to study him, and something in her stance gave him pause.

+ - + - + - + - +

The hunter stood statue-still. A killer’s poise. As native to Batgirl’s blood as to that of Gotham’s underbelly—and yet this killer was foreign to Gotham. Foreign; Familiar. A strap clung to the back of his skull, as though it held something against his face. Or his eye. The eye that hadn’t turned to examine her with so much…what was the word?

Oracle had used it once, to describe Batman during those past frozen weeks, after he’d returned shattered in ways Batman was never meant to be. With a hideous wound in his side, and worse, so much worse, blinded to anything and anyone but that Robin, who had run from him.

…Apathy?

It seemed too small a word to describe what she’d seen, then. All words did.

But why did she look at this man, and remember a tattered Robin costume that reeked of gasoline? Why, as her eyes traced the lines of his shoulders, of his half-obscured profile, did she see a rolling stride with deadly intent, and hear Robin’s far-too-familiar scream—

A vision of black, orange, and turquoise armor flashed across the nameless hunter—and she knew.

+ - + - + - + - +

As though struck by lightning, the little bat recoiled from Slade.

—And lunged.

He pivoted, only half-braced when the storm hit. With no apparent trigger, or fathomable reason, the shadow jabbed, parried, and advanced with impossible, unnatural speed.

He struck back; she dodged effortlessly, and swept a leg toward his neck for the kill—

But as he evaded, with a speed only his enhancements made possible, he recognized its trajectory as calculatedly redirected to strike nerves rather than spine.

Whatever the shadow had once been, she had unquestionably become a disciple of the Bat. Who did not know Deathstroke’s face.

This was fact, not speculation.

Some other explanation, a different suspicion must have unleashed this single-minded fury—

“Where—” the shadow snarled mid-lunge, coarse as an un-whetted blade. “Is—” Slade bent nearly double to evade a keen swipe. “—Robin.”

Impossible.

His hands snapped out toward her neck; desperate—obvious. She slipped through his grasp like water.

His hands itched for the hilt of his sword—that he’d left behind. Along with every other blade or firearm, without even the thinnest layer of kevlar against his skin.

The tireless little demon’s speed rendered hand-to-hand combat a waste of precious time. Even a gamble.

But his pockets were full.

“WHERE?” she demanded with a viper-strike he only narrowly deflected. The glancing contact’s bone-deep aftershock decided him.

He sprang at her, twisting into an aerial kick directed squarely at her sternum, while his right hand slipped into his inner pocket. Past the crumpled scrap of newspaper that was his only souvenir from Gotham’s gutter, his fingers closed around a ridged sphere, looping his forefinger through a metal ring—

Breathless black.

Echoing out of his left side in waves; all-encompassing impact.

He struck earth, and the pain split through him like a spear. He threw himself back to his feet, defying the blinding waves as he registered that the gaping hole in his torso was exactly the size of the shadow’s bare hand, flat as a blade, that flickered wet with blood. It was recoiling for a second strike.

He brandished the grenade between them.

She halted.

One flick of his forefinger would free the pin. But his shoulders rolled with labored breaths, while she, the little bat, remained utterly unwinded. Already she was calculating her chances of knocking the grenade out of range, of dodging it. Either success would decide the night’s outcome. The park offered little cover for flight.

Breaths passed between them in the narrowing impasse.

“Need some backup, Batgirl?”

A girlish, uncertain voice. ‘Batgirl’ reacted, an agitated twitch toward Slade’s left. He permitted himself to follow her glance just long enough to pick out a slight figure in a purple cloak. Her fists were clenched as though for a fight, but her stance was amateurish. Juvenile.

“Go!” Batgirl barked.

The cloaked girl began a retort.

Barely three months previous, Deathstroke had known better than to try to tag Batman with a direct hit. But he had known just enough about the madman to find an alternative strategy.

It was time for the little bat to prove herself her father’s daughter.

He flicked out the pin.

Batgirl’s face snapped toward his. Took in the grenade. The grim line of his mouth. Her eyes seemed to widen behind the full-face mask.

He hurled the grenade toward the cloaked girl. And, with reflexes equal to those of the madman who had leapt between Deathstroke’s blast and his prodigal once-Robin, she lunged after the bait.

Slade didn’t linger to watch the explosion that ripped through the trees and licked his back with scalding heat. He tore unsteadily across the park to weave himself into the fabric of a crumbling city.

He was not pursued.

He stumbled against the sedan that would carry him back to his long-delayed responsibility. There, at least there, he could lick his wounds in peace. With the aid of a few swigs of courage to help the homecoming go down.

He dropped behind the wheel and fished out his flask, wincingly probing at his left side as the first swallow hit his gut. The wound would hurt like hell for at least another couple hours before it closed. His clumsy fingers stilled. He remembered, now: the shot he’d blasted into the Batman’s side. He couldn’t have replicated the injury more closely if he’d tried.

He choked out a laugh.

+ - + - + - + - +

“Wake up,” Stephanie choked, her throat coarsened by the smoke and grit settling atop the tattered black cape that still half-covered her. The cape that wasn’t hers, that had taken the brunt of the blast along with— “Oh God—wake up.” Her hands fumbled for Batgirl’s face, the mask half burned away, and the face underneath—what little she could see of the soft face beneath was caked with dark, wet streaks. “No. Nononono.” She fumbled for Batgirl’s neck, pressed two fingers there.

Please, please…

A pulse. Half-sobbing with relief, Stephanie raised her eyes slightly. And gagged. The kevlar along Batgirl’s right leg was wildly shredded, and the leg beneath it was nearly as dark with seeping blood and ohgodohgod—

“Batgirl! Batgirl report! Answer me—”

She snatched the comm out of Batgirl’s exposed ear. “Oracle,” she sobbed, “she’s, she’s hurt bad, dying, please help her, please…”

Oracle was saying something back, a jumble of words that didn’t mean anything to Stephanie with this bleeding girl’s head cradled in her lap. Was this how the too-silent Batgirl always felt?

“You didn’t even blink,” she whispered to the girl—her age?—whose face she’d never seen before, whose name she didn’t know. Who was dying for her. “And you hardly even know me…” Trembling fingers brushed a crimson teartrack from the girl’s dark, still lashes. “You hardly know me.”

+ - + - + - + - +

March 22

A sharp tug at his scalp jolted Dick toward consciousness. Toward awareness of the dead-rat taste in his mouth, the cold ache in his limbs.

“This is new,” said a voice—Cheshire’s voice. And Dick remembered. His heart-rate thumped unevenly in his chest. Breathing slowly, carefully, he stayed limp as a rag in her grip. “Far as I remember, back in Taiwan he had both ears intact.”

The flat pressure beneath him had to be a chair—wooden, judging by the slight creak as Cheshire leaned over his shoulder. Pressure wound numbingly tight around his chest, wrists, and ankles. His feet felt like blocks of ice. They’d taken his boots. Smart. But leaving his feet flat against the cement floor? Not so smart. Sportsmaster and Co. clearly didn’t make a habit of taking prisoners.

Humming thoughtfully, Cheshire wrenched painfully at his hair, tilting his head to the side. “The cut’s too jagged for a near miss.”

“Deathstroke might crop his trainees like dobermans for all I care.” Sportsmaster’s voice came from just a few feet to Dick’s right.

“It’s fresh. A few days at most.”

“Let me see.” Footsteps. Thick fingers pinched Dick’s jaw, turning it to the side with a low whistle. “Four months sure did a number on his face.”

Cheshire snorted. “Sloppy. It’s a wonder the Terminator’s kept him.”

“The boy’s a time investment.” Sportsmaster’s voice moved away. Muffled slightly as he turned away. “And if there’s one thing the Terminator hates, it’s wasted time. He’ll come, alright.”

“...Is that right, birdy?”

Cheshire’s claws prickled suddenly-poisonously against Dick’s thigh.

He threw every ounce of strength he had onto the soles of his feet, shoved off, and hurled himself and the chair forward, ripping his leg away from Cheshire’s touch and ramming his head into hers. His skull was ringing with the impact as his chair struck the floor, splitting on impact.

His eyes darted around the bare, grimy warehouse that was populated only by the three of them and the stack of weaponry that Sportsmaster was just beginning to whirl away from. Cheshire would be on him in an instant.

His strangled limbs felt as wooden as the splintered chair legs. His vision swam unnaturally, dangerously. The tranquilizer. He hadn’t reacted this badly last time. Something was wrong—but there. A gun was sticking out of a bag, just out of his reach. He lunged for it

—and dropped flat on his stomach, yanked short by his ankle. He twisted to defend himself, and had just enough time to recognize his attacker as a spiteful jumble of mangled chair and duct tape before Cheshire was upon him, teeth and claws bared.

Dick tried to kick her off. Too late. His foot connected with her midriff too sluggishly to impede her trajectory. She landed, pinning his legs and core, knocking the wind out of him in a rush.

Her claws closed warningly around his throat, and her green, hate-filled eyes stared into his, daring him to give her an excuse. Blood trickled from her nose, that didn’t look quite broken, down over her lip to stain her teeth a grisly shade. Suddenly Dick remembered the third, absent member of Sportsmaster’s family business.

“Where—” the word croaked out, half-conscious, desperately fearing the answer.

The claws tightened a hair as Cheshire’s eyes widened, the implicit threat cutting his question short. “My sister is still very much alive,” she hissed. “Fortunately for you. Crock,” she called. “Give him another tranq.”

Dick’s heart-skipping panic must have shown in his eyes, because Cheshire’s glittered down at him darkly.

Sportsmaster huffed. “Just give him a lick of your poison, girlie.”

Cheshire’s grin sharpened. She was giving her namesake a run for his money. “Not yet.”

Sportsmaster grunted indifferently, and stooped to rummage through his bag.

“Wait, wait-wait—” Cheshire’s claws cut Dick’s struggle short, biting into his skin almost-almost deep enough to draw a deadly drop of blood. Suddenly very still, he forced himself to speak through the warning pressure. “If you don’t want me dead, listen! That last dose was already too much—I can tell. I’ve been tranquilized before and this time was different. Another dose might kill me.” Sportsmaster’s old-timey hockey mask sauntered into his field of vision. The man knelt beside him, and Dick fought to meet his eyes without turning his head. “Listen, don’t—”

Pain sliced into his shoulder. Instinct caught his cry behind his teeth, even as tears pricked at his eyes.

Slade might have been proud.

“Just so long as you last ‘til the grand finale, kiddo,” Sportsmaster graveled as he withdrew the needle. “Do us a favor and make an effort to stick ‘round then then, ‘kay?”

With a brisk pat to Dick’s throbbing shoulder, the man’s already blurring shape withdrew.

Cheshire’s voice chimed in smilingly. “Assuming you do last that long, what then? With your mentor out of the picture, will there be anywhere left for you to go? Maybe we should see how the Dark Knight feels about getting his little runaway back.”

Dick laughed. It was a strange, almost hysterical hacking sound that made the claws dig deeper.

Had Cheshire pulled away? Dick was pretty sure she had. He could have sat up, if he’d wanted to. If he’d been capable of it.

“Or maybe we’ll hand you to Waller. She’s always looking for warm bodies to fill the ranks of that new Suicide Squad of hers.”

Those new words, strung so coolly together, rolled slow and heavy as molasses through Dick’s mind. This time, he didn’t feel like laughing.

“I’m just spitballing options, of course. Maybe I’ll just kill you with my bare hands.”

Dick mumbled something as his view of the dilapidated plaster panels overhead dipped in and out of shivering darkness. He was going out again. He’d been afraid of this before.

Of what?

Of who?

He blinked, the molasses in his mind filling the corners.

Who’d nabbed him? He couldn’t remember how it had happened. Had it been Dent? Joker?

He was too tired to shiver at the possibilities. It didn’t matter anyway. Whoever it was, he was coming. Just like always. Sure as a lucky penny. Any second.

…Who was coming?

The molasses settled, cooled, and questions slipped away unanswered.

. . .

Renegade lay flat against unforgiving cement, surrounded by clanking, churning gears, and blinking screens designed to remind him that his friends were a trigger-switch away from death. And that it’s his fault. All of it. Always.

He tasted copper. Whether it was the air that smells of oil and dust, or the blood on his tongue, he couldn’t tell.

Garbled voices were discussing what to do with this failure of a team leader.

No.

No, that wasn’t right.

He heard a new voice. It blended easily with the metallic cavern in his mind, though he couldn’t quite…

. . .

Claws rapped an annoying rhythm along one side of his neck, with a needle-sharp pressure set against the other.

“That’s right,” said a grim, unfamiliar voice. “Nice ‘n slow. Drop it.”

“Alright, Crock. I’m unarmed. Now let me see the boy.”

It was that voice. The one from the cavern…

“Not so fast.”

“Stand aside before I decide you’re wasting my time over a dead apprentice.”

Apprentice? The word echoed unnaturally through Dick’s mind. Robin wasn’t anyone’s apprentice.

He was a partner.

“Jade?” the grim voice called.

A searing pinch to his right ear gave Dick strength enough to hiss in pain, though not enough to lift his leaden eyelids.

“Satisfied, Wilson?” A short laugh. “That’s right. The HIVE finally decided to share a few key details with us. It is helpful when your target comes with a name attached—and a history.

“A man’s only as good as his word, Wilson, and your entire rep’s a sham. The ‘world’s deadliest assassin’, who’s never failed a hit? What a joke. You’re a smarmy bastard, Wilson, but you’re just a man—a man who’s lost before. The HIVE sure had tales to tell about you. Now we know why you didn’t choose one of the home-grown brood for a trainee. With your track record, it’s a miracle this one lasted as long as he did.”

. . .

Harsh laughter scraped across Robin’s ears like a steel rod against a cold cement floor. The clown was nearby. He was laughing. The warehouse floor was cold as death. Harley was crying. The crowbar was swinging down—

…But it wasn’t, was it?

Dick hadn’t been there, when it had happened to Jason.

. . .

“Anyways, down to business.”

A rustle of shifting cloth and clanking metal.

“As you see, it’s a risky affair taking on trainees. They get in the way. Drag you down. Little things like that can turn the game in or out of your favor. Well, Wilson. This time, the fight’ll be just between you,” a hungry, grinning beat, “an’ me.”

“Really? One on one?” It was that new voice again. The one that sounded like gears, dust, and copper. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Cheshire.”

Labored breathing beside Dick’s ear, not from exertion. Something seeping to soak the back of his head. It was damp. Warm. He smelled blood. His own? No. As much as his head throbbed, it was someone else’s wound soaking his hair, a knotted bandage pressing against his scalp. Claws twitched distractedly against his throat.

That Voice huffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d heard you’d finally gone solo, Cheshire,” into his tone crept the barest hint of a too-familiar sneer, “but you always were more comfortable playing second fiddle with your brat sister.”

Dick’s head struck cement with a vicious crack. Light and dark flared behind his eyelids. “You’re dead, Wilson!,” a woman’s voice roared—already distant. “Dead!”

“BACK, Jade!”

Ringing ears, ringing head. Still, the sudden battle-drum of fleshy percussion and whistling blades traveled across the room to tap a beckoning rhythm against Dick’s ribcage, his skull.

He was lying on cold cement. Someone must have lobbed him from behind. His head throbbed mightily enough, though he couldn’t remember how. Or who.

Not that it mattered. He was coming for him. Just like always. Partners. Dynamic, even. Bound by common oath and a gleaming sun in the night sky that beckoned them to fulfill that promise. And besides, he owed Dick one, after that last time he’d outsmarted a rogue single-handedly to save his partner’s neck.

He’d come.

But he would need Robin’s help when he did.

Get up. Get UP!

Run or fight.

…Run?

Had that ever been an option?

He rolled to his side. The earth lurched with him.

He couldn’t afford to wait for the ground to settle, or for his stomach to ease out of his throat. Because his eyes were drifting open and closed, revealing hazy gray shapes before a new wave of darkness wiped the slate clean of those chalky smudges, and amidst the clatter he could just make out a rhythm of nameless form and footwork he knew by heart. Was the name important? He couldn’t remember.

But He needed him. He always did.

Dick heaved himself up onto the numb, rubbery pillars that had once been his limbs.

A storm of earth-shattering thunder-cracks whipped a scalding gale against him, knocking him down to trembling elbows and knees. Swirling wind and pounding rain—no.

Pounding steps.

Louder—closer—and every instinct, every voice of every teacher screamed at Dick to move. His limbs refused. But the staggering, heavy gait swept past him, its breeze tickling hair against Dick’s burning ear.

A woman’s scream of rage like a battlecry followed the fleeing shape.

This time, the approaching steps were lighter. Lamer. And Dick’s eyes snapped open just in time to see a woman’s leonine snarl lunge to envelop him.

The world upended in a tangle of claws and limbs, and settled to swimming stillness with familiar, stinging spears against his throat.

A large, dark shape loomed before Dick’s swimming vision. He knew it. He was sure.

“Back, Wilson,” hissed the voice behind his ear. “You know how this works.”

Hanging limp and fearless with death against his neck, Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that the three of them had been here before.

“Drop him now,” said the shape, in slow, labored tones, “and I might not kill you.”

And he knew how it would end.

“Liar,” she spat.

He was a worm.

“These, Wilson, are my terms: let me go my way…or let the brat bleed out.”

A worm on a fishhook.

. . .

. .

The cement had been cold, before. Now it was warm. Sticky. Soaking.

Burning.

Large gloved hands drew him away from the warm pool, and clamped a slippery grip around his neck.

He would have screamed, but with four hooks set deeply into his throat, he hadn’t the strength to complain.

“Speak to me, boy.” The voice came from far, far away. “Say...say something.”

He was small, so very small. He fit neatly between the arms that lifted him.

He’d fallen asleep at his desk again, hadn’t he? But Bruce had found him. He would wake in his bed to the sun peeking through the manor window.

“...Bruce?” he rasped; the rib-cage against his ear surrendered a ragged breath. “M’cold…”

Burning cold. Icy flames laced outward from the hooks into twitching fingers.

“I know. I know, kiddo. Hold on.”

Vision and cognisance were fading, but for now, Dick felt safe. And even though the voice didn’t sound quite right in his ears, he pressed his face against the kevlar chest (heartbeat thundering against his ear, just like it should...) and slipped back into the dark.

. . .

Dick’s breath hitched at the sluggish pain in his neck. Raw, stiff, but strangely numb. Bandages, stitches, and localized anesthetic: a nostalgic combination. He exhaled slowly, drawing another equally cautious breath as he peered out from under his lashes. He was breathing the crisp scent of antiseptic, and the narrow bed and white walls he glimpsed in his first cautious glance pointed to a hospital of some kind. As if that made any sense.

His neck twinged again with his next breath, but he forced its rhythm to remain even. Sleep-like.

A ragged exhale from the left side of the bed instantly told him he’d been right to be cautious. Someone was stationed beside him.

A sharp cheshire-cat smile flashed across his mind. Sportsmaster, Cheshire: They must have brought him somewhere to lie low and wait for—

“God, kid,” rasped the voice beside him. It took everything in Dick not to flinch. “I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? They were after me, they always are...but somehow I’m never the one caught in the crossfire.” It was Slade’s voice, altered by a foreign huskiness. Something gripped Dick’s chest tightly, something too fragile to pass for relief. “Dammit...you’re my responsibility, now. My kid. And look what happened. Again. Maybe I’m just bad luck.”

Slade let out a ragged breath, and then his fingers were in Dick’s hair, brushing damp strands away from his forehead and smoothing them back against the pillow. “You’ll be okay, kid...we both will be.”

Those fingers, cold, fumbling, searched through the locks along Dick’s scalp, and a sensation gripped his throat so fiercely he could hardly breathe. The sensation crept higher, building dangerously at the corners of his stinging eyes. The monster whose fingers clutched his hair like a lifeline lowered his head to rest against the sheets over Dick’s arm. Blind to the tears that slipped unnoticed into Dick’s hairline.

The hand was too large, too heavy, missing scars and calluses from endless nights of clawing for hope in the gutter. But that absence wasn’t what caused Dick’s eyes to well and bleed like open wounds.

The tears fell with something like relief.

Because too many months had passed since he’d been allowed to cry tears of pity.

#batman #dick grayson #cassandra cain #slade wilson #bad company #batfam #my writing #stephanie brown #salt and light #i love cass <3 btw #mine

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sssusuki · 1 year

Text

WILTING DAFFODIL

ALIEN STAGE: IVAN X TILL

Dude— this was so impulsive WHAT DO I DO. I hope you guys like this.

Ivantill Ivantill Ivantill Ivantill—

When was the first time he was so enamored?

Perhaps it was when he was hung over that building. He had disobeyed direct orders and protected one of the young kids and was punished because of it. He remembers the shooting stars so vividly from that night. He couldn't seem to care for his life in that moment. All the fear and distress he felt was washed away when he saw those little stars shoot across the sky. So free, so unlike Ivan.

After that, he was tossed around. He can recount being shuffled into a booth to take some sort of ID photo, being tossed around from owners, and then finally landing at Anakt Garden.

It wasn't anything surprising to him, he would meet others around him and he would forget them just as quickly. It was always like that. He learned quickly to not get attached.

Even if the green grass and artificial light felt comforting, he knew better. Much better. And besides, it was constantly on some sort of day mode anyway, therefore there was no interest. No stars. It was boring, like it always was. Suffocatingly so.

And then he met him.

He recalls the day vividly. He was released from lessons and into the garden of Anakt when he encountered the boy. He was following another. Pink hair and glasses, he seemed enamoured.

He shouldn't have followed them. He knew better. But he did.

They were trudging through the woods and talking. The boy in question, grey hair flopping and messy from all the jogging, was noticably flustered.

He shouldn't have cared as much as he did.

Eventually, they seemed to find some cave, clearly a glitch of Anakt. While the two were enamoured, all he could focus on was the boy, who he would soon learn his name being Till.

Eventually, they made their way inside the cave fully, and he hid behind some rock as the chaos began.

Some giant monster, which, even now he cannot recall what it was, began to attack them.

It threw the girl aside as the boy was quick to run to her aid and try and protect her.

Perhaps it was the determined expression in the face of the inevitable. Perhaps it was, to Ivan, rebellion he never allowed himself to experience. Perhaps it was a simple interest. But he couldn't take his eyes off the boy. For once, he was reminded of those once dazzling stars that he looked towards in awe at the face of danger.

And that's when he was in too deep.

Eventually, they were found by aliens and taken care of, especially Till, who was locked up, but even then Ivan could not get his thoughts off the boy.

Every moment he could not help but have his thoughts wander to his little act of rebellion. Of him gritting his teeth and getting back up. Something that Ivan had always wanted to do, but always laid down in defeat.

All these thoughts, unnecessary emotions, eventually overflowed.

It was a rash decision, but perhaps it wasn't. He was studying the patterns of the guards and aliens for awhile beforehand. Who will ever know if it was intentional or not.

In the dead of night, instead of going to the exit to his owner, he slipped pass some aliens and into a restricted area, to where he was imprisoned.

It took a little bit of hiding, maneuvering, and hard work, but he ended up at the boy's cage.

It was quick, if easy, to unlock the door. Years of escaping to rooftops and taking a little reprieve with the stars seemed to prove useful for once.

The shackles on the boy? Not so much. It took a little maneuvering to wake him up from his pained stupor, and a bit more for him to realize Ivan was breaking him out. Though, he eventually got it.

Soon enough, they were working together to get rid of the shackles. First the hands, then the feet, then finally the neck. It was hard to safely take them off, but Ivan thankfully was able to avoid the inevitable.

And just like that, they were free.

Well, in a sense.

Ivan was quick to grasp Till's hand, as the boy in question squeezed with a determined vigor as he looked on Ivan's eyes and he swears that his heart stopped for just a moment.

Soon, they are running. Taking twists and turns and hoping that they are in the right direction. The whole time, the two hold each other's hands like a final lifeline. Like if they let go they would be lost to eternity.

It felt good. Ivan liked this feeling.

And it seems they were going in the right direction, as Ivan makes out two exit doors with the little Alien he knows and feels his wobbly legs give a burst of speed.

The doors seem to try and cage them in as they push and bang, and then Till gets an idea. Using one of the nails that came undone with his shackles, he wiggles it into the lock and tries to move it around. Ivan soon realizes what he is doing.

Making his way to the door, he helps Till as he guides him through the steps. Being so close to the boy makes his stomach churn and he doesn't know why.

Soon, they hear that familiar click as they push the doors open.

Oh, now they are free, and it feels glorious.

Soon they are holding hands again, tighter somehow, and running towards the sun. Nothing can stop them.

It's night, Ivan realizes, and the bright, small stars he once gazed at on rickety rooftops are enormous burning spheres that seem to be hurling towards their destination.

And yet— he can't seem to care. He is so happy in such a long time, perhaps even his first time. Looking back at Till every so often, the boy is just as happy, if not amazed.

Ivan can't seem to wipe his grin off his face.

Racing towards the end of the earth, nothing feels impossible. Perhaps they'll get caught eventually, or maybe they'll find a safe haven. The bright stars hurling down feel like a sign, a comfort even.

He can hear himself, and Till, laughing in glee. His heart feels so light and free and dear lord he thinks he has butterflies in his stomach.

It's now, he realizes, that Till probably means much more to him than he has with anybody else.

He could do everything with him. He feels so free with him. Perhaps he even likes him—

Till let's go of his hand.

He comes to an abrupt stop and whirls around. He looks guilty. It's the girl. He likes the girl.

And suddenly, his heart feels so heavy again. But this time it feels unbearable. He can't handle this.

Till looks around, conflicted. He wants to come with, but he also doesn't. And in the end, he turns around and runs back. Back to that prison. Where he is destined to die.

And for once, Ivan can feel tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he will go back too. Because he can't do this without Till. He doesn't want to do this without Till.

He loves Till.

And yet he only realizes this too late. Much too late.

And here he is now, slowly rising to the stage. Till is to his right. He looks conflicted, scared. Just like before.

That girl— Mizi— did just die. He can't blame him. If Till died instead of her, he would be just as distraught.

He just wishes, maybe, if things could've been different. If they had been born somewhere more peaceful, he could've had his love returned.

The platform finally rises to a stage of stars and galaxies. A grim reminder. Perhaps even a mockery of the two.

He only wishes this could've all been different. And as he looks towards Till, he can see the same. But perhaps it isn't for the same reasons.

He can hear the beat begin.

He wishes things could've been different.

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

HAJAGSKSVSKSBKSB I DID THIS IN LIKE. TWO HOURS. I love Ivantill so much they are so tragic please be nice to them. Anyway, I just hope that Round 6 ends in a tie. As ludicrous as it sounds, it'd be wonderful if it ended in a tie. I think I've reiterated this but, QMENG and Vivinos said that Sua's death was a special case and wouldn't be the standard, only the setting, SO THAT IS MY ONLY HOPE. PLEASE GIVE THESE BOYS HAPPINESS I WILL CRY.

#banging on the walls clawing at the door.#PLEASE. PLEASE GIVE THEM A HAPPY ENDING PLEASEEE.#Alien Stage #Vivinos #QMENG #ivantill #alnst #alien stage #vivinos #alien stage till #alien stage ivan #🦢writes

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kiaroscuro · 7 days

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Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

Warning: the end!

· · ─────── =^.^= ─────── · ·

Three days later finds Ren laying on his back in the observatory on the highest floor of the Sunshine 60 skyscraper, enjoying both the view and the little green the artificial grass provided. Arsene is sitting next to him, clad in more comfortable-looking clothes than his battle gear, paging through a booklet one of Futaba's lackeys had given them. Mitsuhiko, or something. After a whirlwind of a first day, being over-run by much more people he knew than expected -- along with his remaining thieves, some of his confidantes had made it to the Sunshine City: Takemi, Iwai and Kaoru, Yoshida and Lala-san. And Sojiro, thankfully, who'd also given Ren a bear hug once they met.

(If he was crying, then no-one but the two of them needed to know.)

Apparently Sae and Hifumi were holed up in another community with a handful of acquaintances that Futaba's made, their group having split apart or been forced to. The Sunshine City has established something of a working electrical grid with solar panels and a handful of workers and engineers who knew their way around, aided by a few shadows. The rooftops and most of the space between the buildings has been converted into gardens, some floors had been turned into pens for chickens and other poultry, and even an in-door aquarium has become a breeding ground for schools of fish. There were dedicated people who maintained them to provide food. It was quite the contrast to Ren's usual hunter-gatherer approach, but he couldn't exactly go hunting for fowl in the city, so he supposed it made sense.

Keeping everyone and everything in order was no easy task, though, considering that the settlement had something close to six hundred people of all shapes and sizes -- an incredible number. Apparently Sojiro had been shoehorned into a position of power in the beginning, up until Toshiro Kasukabe and Erina -- Eri Natsuhara -- arrived with members of the actual Tokyo MPD, who quickly created order amongst Futaba's well-intended chaos gremlin survival mode Sunshine City's had going. His thieves had been able to wrangle order into the first month of the apocalypse, and Inspector Megure of the MPD seemed to mostly defer to the thieves' expertise when it came to the shadow-related part of the settlement. Futaba had ended up working with the local engineers who'd barricaded themselves in, found once they arrived, setting up the power grid while the other Thieves had continued to fan out and support nearby settlements.

(Interesting for Ren was the settlement Sae Niijima was stuck in, all the way in Ekoda with quite a few other familiar faces, and Sunshine City and Ekoda's main settlement were officially allied, Makoto and Yusuke commuting between the two with resources every month or so.)

Ren's already met the (self-)appointed leaders of the settlement: next to Juzo Megure, Ninzaburo Shiroatori and Miwako Sato from the police had stepped up. Asahise Kato along with Takemi as the medical representative, Riko Fujimoto, Haru and Kuki-Hime as representatives of the workers. Toranosuke Yoshida and Toshiro Kasukabe were chosen for the politicians, with Erina, Junpei Iori, Yatagarasu and Futaba as the voices of the regular people, human and shadow alike. Sojiro, to Ren's amusement, bowed out of a leadership role the second other people became available, though he apparently sometimes crashes into the meetings to support the workers.

Out of those people Junpei Iori stands out as another persona user, of Hermes Trismegistus, who is a baseball coach for a little league and who, more importantly, managed to set up Futaba with his navigator friend Yamagishi, all the way in Tatsumi Port Island in the north. The two navigators could talk with some difficulty over a relay channel, and Yamagishi was their only intel on what was going on in the northern part of the country, though some of the other emergent persona users inside Tokyo were navigators as well, all of them in some form of contact. They had no idea about the south, until Ren started to relay what he could about the land and the people, and going over a map revealed that the influence of nature on -everything sunk exponentially the closer one was to Tokyo. They didn't know if this meant that Tokyo was the epicenter or not, but it was good to know.

More importantly: Juzo Megure was Zenkichi's contact in the city, and the older inspector had hugged Ren once he'd heard that Zenkichi was doing well. Which also lead them to today's agenda:

With a sigh, Ren stood up from his resting place, brushing over his lighting scar, the skin feeling numb from whatever salve Takemi made him apply. It was supposed to soften down the harsh edges, smooth out the pattern. "Are you ready, pigeon?" Ren asks, Arsene falling into line next to him. Hm? He asks, even while they make their way down from the observatory to the communications office a few floors below. Pongo greets them, the dalmatian-shaped shadow one of the heads behind the noise-based morse communication before he let Futaba take over, many other dog-shaped shadows acting as relay and messengers akin to the angels of the Choir.

Fitted to their electrical grid is Arsene's little handheld radio, merrily blinking away. They'd long lost the frequency this far away from the Bay, though Necronomicon had promised that it'd try and boost the signal, so here they were; later Megure, Shiratori and Futaba would join them, but for now Arsene was trying to fine-tune the thing. Pongo stayed next to them, head tilted in interest, and Ren really had to keep himself in check before he did something as disrespectful as pet the shadow's head. Or boop the shadow's nose. Pongo eyes him, expression deadpan.

"You would not be the first to simply touch me," he says. "I look enough like a common dog that it keeps happening."

"I'm sorry," Ren flushes. Pongo tilts his head, but his tail's wagging, so Ren seems forgiven. The others arrive shortly after, crowding around Arsene while he turns the dial to reach get rid of the noise. They start talking, and then Ayumi Yoshida enters the room with furrowed brows.

"Ai-chan's sent a message from Ekoda--" she says, and suddenly everyone's attention is on her, even Arsene's. "Yusuke-kun's requested to go back because they've been getting more fire-affinity infected again, and Naoto-kun's uncertain if they'll manage on their own. Ai-chan also says that Professor Agasa wants to send over some prototypes for the reworked stunners."

(No relation to his Sun, despite their shared surname.)

"...stunners?" Ren asks, interested, shelving everything else for later.

Ayumi-san nods; she's only a few years younger than him, two or three, maybe. "Yeah. Amamiya-kun, was it? Professor Agasa and Ai-chan are working on weapons that are effective against the infected shadows specifically -- he's designed a watch that's able to dispense narcolepsy-inducing needles, and the design's started to be updated over the past few months." She shows her own watch, a rather bulky thing. "They saved our lives in the past, so the professor started refining them once everything calmed down some. Now they work more like short-term stunners. " She smiles, grimly. "Shooting at a mutated with a dart doesn't alert other nearby ones, so it's objectively safer. The watch is one of a handful of power-enhancing accessories of his."

Ren stares, but it is Arsene that speaks up next, voice reluctant, hand dragging over the casing of the handheld radio. "...if the settlement in Ekoda has any shadows with access to attacks such a Dream Needle --" He flexes his own wings, ready to continue, when the radio static clears:

>>Hello?<<

Everyone falls silent, even Ayumi-san crowding into the room and closing the door, eyes fixed on the radio like a hungry cat. Arsene turns back to it with a frown. I accidentally turned the dial, this shouldn't be the Tsu frequency, he murmurs. Ren shrugs. The voice is still overlaid by static, but it could be Cassandra. "This is Ren and Arsene; we've arrived safely in Tokyo, and I've made contact with Inspector Megure."

>>Tokyo--!<< The voice balks. It falls silent for a moment, before continuing. >>...this is Richard Atkins of the OH:MU cross-communication and surveillance channel. We are a joint UN-NATO operation intent on helping the people of Japan. Do you copy? I repeat: the world is here to help you, Japan. We are here, do you copy?<<

First <<

#persona 5 #arsene #ren amamiya #persona #ren x arsene #my writing #fanfic #The Road Home #it's officially over!#wow this was a trip and a half #it ended up both longer and more plot-heavy than I thought it would #but I'm happy with it!

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provisoris · 1 year

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there was no turning back now, the games had begun. it was his least favorite time of year. the first twelve hours had been as bloody as they always were. the weakest fell. the nightly announcement had been done and gale retreated to the rooftop of the expensive luxury apartments the capitol hemorrhaged money with each and every year.

gale won his games at the age of 14 and he’d been in hell since. last year, cherrie had won her games. they’d spoken a little, but not much. and he definitely hadn’t told her about this little spot he’d found on the rooftop---a tiny “forest” in the middle of the bustling glamour that was The Capitol of Panem.

it was man-made, of course. hell, gale didn’t even know if it was real. but the trees stretched into the night sky and allowed the light of the moon to illuminate the leaves in a way that gale could’ve sworn he was safe and sound at home. he took a couple of steps into the artificial grass, careful to use a heavy footfall as he cleared his throat. “hey,” he smiled (if that’s what you could call a smile. it was the best he had right now, either way). “how’re you holdin’ up? first day’s always pretty rough,” he said with the huff of a sad little chuckle, no humor or joy in it at all. the capitol had taken that from him a long, long time ago.

@chaoslulled gets this for cherrie’s thg verse because omg yes?!

#chaoslulled #all the muses honestly #give them to me #we will love them!

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princelandscape · 2 years

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Drip Irrigation System: Advantages and Disadvantages

Irrigation is an important part of any cultivation, whether it's agricultural produce or simple gardening. Water is an essential component of the plant's survival and proper irrigation ensures that plants have a long and healthy life. Different forms of irrigation systems are used; in various agricultural setups. For lawn or garden setups, the drip irrigation system is more prevalent. Before we proceed any further, let us understand what a drip irrigation system is all about.

What is a drip irrigation system?

Drip irrigation or commonly referred to as trickle irrigation, is a type of micro-irrigation that involves the dripping of water into the soil at; very slow rates from small outlets known as drippers or emitters. Unlike surface irrigation and sprinkler irrigation, drip irrigation system doesn't involve complete exposure of plants to water. Studies have shown that; using drip irrigation has reduced water consumption and wastage by 47%. Water applications are more frequent in this system of irrigation and plant roots stay moist for; long periods.

Now that we have a general overview of drip irrigation, let us take a look; at the advantages and disadvantages of this system.

What are the advantages and disadvantages of a drip irrigation system?

Water used at an optimum level: Water optimization is maximum in drip irrigation as it irrigates the land at a very; slow rate. Wastage of water is minimum; the soil doesn't get water-logged. Water logging causes damage to the roots, and the plant ultimately dies.

Can be employed in all types of landscapes: Extensive leveling of lands, is not required in drip irrigation. The components; of the drip irrigation system can be installed easily on all landscapes allowing even the most rugged landscapes to be; proficiently irrigated.

Fertilizers are not wasted: Drip irrigation helps in reducing the wastage of fertilizers. The system uses the local application of water and hence, leaching doesn't occur. Soil nutrients are preserved as soil erosion by water is; minimized.

Weed growth is controlled: Local application of water and fertilizers ensures that the nutrients are; provided to the target plants and weeds don’t receive them. It is a very effective way to control the growth of weeds.

The initial cost of installation is high: There are; various components required; for installing the drip irrigation system. The cost of installing the components is high but is effective in the long run.

Clogging and dysfunction occur: Drip emitters are prone to clogging if they aren't; cleaned frequently. Clogged emitters cause leakage in pipes due to the generation of excessive force. Water filtration and regular flushing of drip pipes can help avoid this issue.

High skills required for water management: Drip irrigation requires skillful water management. Optimal water distribution is only possible when, installation of the system is done correctly as per the landscape requirement.

Drip irrigation is functional in places where water scarcity is prevalent; it is the best way to irrigate grass lawns which can control weed growth but help the grass to grow lusciously. But there are other alternatives if you don't have the capital or space to install this irrigation system. Several garden maintenance companies as, the Prince's Landscape Pte Ltd, provide artificial grass in Singapore and rooftop garden in Singapore that doesn't require extravagant irrigation facilities. Therefore, if you're looking for an irrigation-free gardening arrangement, contact Prince's LandscapePte Ltd today!

Blog Source: https://landscapecontractor.weebly.com/blog/drip-irrigation-system-advantages-and-disadvantages

#artificial grass in Singapore #rooftop garden in Singapore #drip irrigation system

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booklearling · 2 days

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Transform Your Outdoor Space with BelleTurf’s Innovative Design

Creating a beautiful, functional, and low-maintenance outdoor space has become a top priority for many homeowners. Whether it's a lush backyard garden, a modern patio, or a tranquil rooftop terrace, the desire to maximize and enhance outdoor living is growing. One brand that is transforming the way people approach outdoor spaces is BelleTurf, offering innovative solutions that combine aesthetic appeal with durability and environmental responsibility.

Why Outdoor Spaces Matter More Than Ever

The value of outdoor spaces has seen a significant shift in recent years. In our fast-paced, often digital lives, the need for a natural sanctuary—a personal retreat for relaxation, entertaining, or spending time with family—is undeniable. Outdoor living areas have become extensions of our homes, offering not just beauty but functionality and comfort.

The trend towards sustainability has also shaped how we design these spaces. Homeowners now look for eco-friendly options, durable materials, and solutions that reduce water consumption while maintaining a lush, inviting appearance. This is where BelleTurf's innovative designs step in.

BelleTurf’s Innovative Approach to Outdoor Design

Artificial Turf: Low-Maintenance, High-Impact

One of the primary ways BelleTurf is revolutionizing outdoor design is through its high-quality artificial turf solutions. Traditional grass lawns can be a headache to maintain—regular mowing, watering, and fertilizing are time-consuming and expensive. BelleTurf provides an alternative that not only eliminates these hassles but also delivers a pristine look all year round.

BelleTurf’s synthetic grass is designed to look and feel just like natural grass, with advanced fibers that mimic the softness and color variations found in real grass. Whether you’re transforming a small garden or covering a larger area, artificial turf creates a vibrant, evergreen appearance without the need for constant care.

Benefits of Artificial Turf

Water Conservation: Natural lawns require significant amounts of water to stay green, especially in warmer climates. BelleTurf’s artificial turf requires no watering, making it an environmentally conscious choice for those looking to reduce their water usage.

No Need for Pesticides or Fertilizers: Traditional lawns often need chemical treatments to maintain their beauty. BelleTurf’s synthetic grass eliminates the need for harmful pesticides and fertilizers, creating a safer environment for pets and children.

Durability: Unlike natural grass, which can wear down in high-traffic areas, BelleTurf’s products are designed to withstand heavy use, making them ideal for play areas, sports fields, and even rooftops.

Year-Round Greenery: No more worrying about brown patches or seasonal dieback—BelleTurf offers a consistent green look no matter the weather.

Creative Uses for BelleTurf Products

While artificial turf is often associated with lawns, BelleTurf's products are versatile enough for various applications, both large and small. The possibilities are endless, from large commercial projects to cozy residential spaces.

1. Patios and Decks

BelleTurf’s artificial turf is a fantastic way to add a touch of green to hardscapes like patios and decks. It can create a warm, welcoming atmosphere, especially in urban environments where natural greenery might be limited. The soft, lush surface is perfect for lounging and can make your outdoor space feel like a private oasis.

2. Play Areas

For families with children, BelleTurf offers solutions that are both safe and fun. The synthetic grass provides a soft landing surface, reducing the risk of injuries, making it ideal for playgrounds or areas where kids play sports. Unlike natural grass, BelleTurf's artificial turf is durable enough to handle frequent foot traffic without becoming worn down.

3. Pet-Friendly Yards

Pet owners will appreciate how easy it is to maintain a BelleTurf yard. The synthetic grass is pet-friendly, resistant to wear, and drains efficiently, ensuring that pet waste is easy to clean up. Plus, there's no need to worry about your pets digging holes or creating unsightly patches of dead grass.

4. Rooftop Gardens

For those with limited ground space, BelleTurf’s artificial turf can be used to create stunning rooftop gardens. These green spaces not only enhance the look of the building but also help improve insulation and reduce heat absorption, making them both visually appealing and energy-efficient.

How BelleTurf’s Design Enhances Curb Appeal

BelleTurf doesn’t just offer practical solutions—its products are also designed with aesthetics in mind. Each turf variety is created to emulate the unique qualities of different grass types, allowing homeowners to select the perfect look for their outdoor space.

In addition, BelleTurf offers a range of colors and textures, enabling you to customize your landscape to suit your personal style. The uniform green of artificial turf can also make spaces look more expansive and organized, enhancing the overall curb appeal of your home.

Boost Property Value

A well-designed outdoor space can significantly boost the value of your property. With BelleTurf’s artificial turf, you can create a beautiful, low-maintenance landscape that will attract potential buyers. The aesthetic appeal, combined with the long-term cost savings on water and maintenance, makes BelleTurf a smart investment for homeowners.

Conclusion: Transform Your Outdoor Space Today

Transforming your outdoor space with BelleTurf’s innovative design means combining beauty, functionality, and sustainability. Whether you're looking for a low-maintenance lawn, a pet-friendly yard, or a lush garden for entertaining, BelleTurf has the perfect solution. Its artificial turf provides a realistic, eco-friendly alternative to natural grass, helping you create a stunning outdoor area that enhances your lifestyle and the environment.

By investing in BelleTurf's innovative products, you're not just upgrading your outdoor space—you're reimagining how to enjoy the outdoors, with less work, lower costs, and lasting results.

#belleturf

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marketresearchintent · 15 days

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Artificial Turf Market: How Technology is Revolutionizing Green Spaces

Artificial turf has become increasingly popular in recent years, transforming from a niche solution for sports fields to a widespread option for homes, businesses, and public spaces. As urbanization continues to increase and environmental concerns push for more sustainable alternatives, the demand for artificial turf is growing steadily.

But what exactly is driving this market’s growth, and where is it heading? In this article, we'll explore the current trends, challenges, and future projections for the artificial turf industry.

Market Size and Growth Projections

According to Intent Market Research, the global artificial turf market is currently valued at around USD 3.7 billion in 2023. With a projected Compound Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 6.3% during the forecast period from 2024 to 2030, the market is expected to reach approximately USD 4.8 billion by 2030. This strong growth is fueled by both residential and commercial sectors looking for durable, low-maintenance, and sustainable alternatives to natural grass.

Key Market Drivers

Increasing Demand for Low-Maintenance Landscapes

One of the primary reasons for the surge in artificial turf usage is its low-maintenance nature. Unlike natural grass, artificial turf doesn’t require regular watering, mowing, or fertilizing, making it a cost-effective solution for homeowners and businesses.

The Rise of Urbanization

As cities continue to expand, more green spaces are needed to enhance urban living. Artificial turf is a practical solution for urban planners seeking to create green areas in high-density regions. Its versatility means it can be used in parks, rooftops, and other urban settings, offering a durable alternative to natural grass.

Sustainability Concerns and Eco-Friendly Alternatives

With increasing awareness of environmental conservation, artificial turf offers an eco-friendly alternative to traditional lawns. It conserves water, reduces the need for harmful pesticides and fertilizers, and remains lush and green all year round.

Download Sample Report @ https://intentmarketresearch.com/request-sample/artificial-turf-market-3016.html

Technological Advancements in Artificial Turf

Enhanced Durability and Realism

Over the years, artificial turf technology has improved significantly. Modern artificial grass is made from high-quality, durable materials that closely mimic the look and feel of real grass. These advancements make artificial turf more appealing for a variety of applications, from sports fields to residential lawns.

New Manufacturing Techniques

Innovations in manufacturing have made artificial turf more affordable and customizable. From color variations to blade lengths, today’s artificial turf can be tailored to suit different climates, preferences, and uses, further driving its demand.

The Role of Sports in Driving Demand

Artificial Turf in Stadiums and Sports Complexes

Sports are one of the biggest drivers of artificial turf demand. Stadiums, sports complexes, and schools often opt for artificial turf because it provides a consistent playing surface, regardless of weather conditions. Whether it’s football, soccer, or golf, artificial turf ensures a reliable playing experience year-round.

Benefits of Artificial Turf for Sports

The durability of artificial turf makes it ideal for high-traffic sports areas. It reduces the wear and tear seen on natural grass fields, minimizes the need for constant upkeep, and provides better drainage, allowing for play immediately after rain.

Residential and Commercial Applications

Growth in Home Landscaping

Artificial turf isn’t just for sports fields anymore. Many homeowners are turning to artificial turf for their lawns, patios, and rooftop gardens. It offers a clean, low-maintenance aesthetic that’s perfect for those looking to reduce their water consumption and eliminate the hassle of lawn care.

Artificial Turf in Commercial Properties

Businesses are also embracing artificial turf for courtyards, terraces, and other outdoor spaces. From hotels to office parks, artificial turf is being used to create attractive, functional green spaces with minimal maintenance requirements.

Regional Insights on Artificial Turf

North American Market Overview

The North American artificial turf market is one of the largest, driven by demand from sports complexes, schools, and homeowners. The U.S. is particularly strong in this sector, with significant investments in stadiums and residential projects.

European Market Trends

In Europe, artificial turf is gaining popularity in both residential and public spaces. Countries with stringent environmental regulations are seeing artificial turf as a solution to water conservation and pesticide reduction.

Emerging Markets in Asia-Pacific and Latin America

The Asia-Pacific region is an emerging market for artificial turf, driven by increasing urbanization and rising environmental awareness. Latin America is also seeing growth in this sector, particularly in the sports and residential markets.

Challenges Facing the Artificial Turf Industry

Environmental Concerns

While artificial turf offers several environmental benefits, there are concerns about its long-term impact. The materials used in some turf products are not biodegradable, raising questions about their disposal at the end of their life cycle.

Initial Installation Costs

The upfront cost of installing artificial turf can be higher than planting natural grass. However, the long-term savings on maintenance, water, and chemicals often offset the initial expense.

Counteracting Environmental Concerns

Recycling Initiatives

To address environmental concerns, the industry is investing in recycling programs to ensure that used turf can be repurposed or recycled rather than ending up in landfills.

Water Conservation Benefits

Artificial turf saves significant amounts of water compared to natural lawns, particularly in drought-prone regions. This benefit has led to its adoption in areas where water conservation is a top priority.

Competitive Landscape of the Artificial Turf Market

Key Players in the Industry

Some of the major players in the artificial turf market include companies like Act Global, Co-Creation Grass, Condor, Dow, ForestGrass, Global Syn-Turf, Polytan, Shaw Industries, SIS Group, SpectraTurf, Sports Group, Tarkett and TenCate. These companies are continuously innovating to improve the quality, durability, and eco-friendliness of their products.

Strategies Employed by Major Companies

Many of these companies are focusing on expanding their product lines and entering new markets. They are also investing in R&D to create more sustainable and high-performance turf products.

Access Full Report @ https://intentmarketresearch.com/latest-reports/artificial-turf-market-3016.html

Artificial Turf vs. Natural Grass

Cost Comparison

While the initial installation of artificial turf can be expensive, the long-term savings on water, fertilizers, and lawn care make it a more economical choice over time.

Maintenance Needs

Artificial turf requires minimal maintenance compared to natural grass. There’s no need to mow, water, or fertilize, which significantly reduces both labor and material costs.

Environmental Impact

Artificial turf conserves water and reduces the need for harmful chemicals, making it a more eco-friendly option. However, concerns about its non-biodegradable materials still remain.

Future Trends in the Artificial Turf Market

Technological Innovations on the Horizon

As technology continues to advance, we can expect even more realistic and durable artificial turf products. Innovations such as self-cleaning turf and more sustainable materials are likely to become industry standards.

Expanding Markets and New Opportunities

With urbanization continuing and environmental concerns becoming more pressing, the demand for artificial turf will likely expand into new regions and applications, from rooftop gardens to public parks.

Government Regulations and Standards

Safety Regulations for Sports Use

Governments and sports organizations are implementing safety standards to ensure artificial turf is safe for athletes. These regulations focus on aspects like shock absorption, temperature control, and material safety.

Environmental Guidelines

Many countries are also setting guidelines to ensure that artificial turf meets environmental standards, particularly in terms of water conservation and recyclability.

The Role of Artificial Turf in Sustainable Development

Reducing Water Usage

Artificial turf plays a significant role in reducing water consumption, especially in drought-prone regions. This makes it an attractive option for cities looking to promote sustainability.

Contribution to Urban Green Spaces

As urban areas continue to grow, artificial turf is providing a green, low-maintenance solution for public spaces, contributing to the development of more sustainable cities.

Conclusion

The artificial turf market is poised for continued growth, driven by urbanization, technological advancements, and the demand for sustainable solutions. While challenges like environmental concerns remain, the industry is taking steps to address them through recycling and innovation. By 2030, we can expect artificial turf to play an even greater role in both residential and commercial landscapes.

FAQs

What is the projected market size for artificial turf by 2030?

The global artificial turf market is expected to grow from USD 3.7 billion in 2023 to USD 4.8 billion by 2030.

What are the major applications of artificial turf? Artificial turf is commonly used in sports fields, residential lawns, commercial properties, and urban green spaces.

Is artificial turf environmentally friendly? While it conserves water and reduces the need for pesticides, some environmental concerns remain, particularly around its disposal.

How does artificial turf benefit sports facilities? Artificial turf provides a consistent playing surface, requires less maintenance, and can withstand heavy usage, making it ideal for sports fields.

What are the challenges facing the artificial turf market? Some challenges include environmental concerns related to disposal and the high initial installation costs.

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