#i could hear the stomp of their boots and idle chatter

[avatar-aaang]

had a dream there were people in the house, construction workers or something. it was so vivid that I woke myself up by shouting who goes there

[0risha]

“BONES.”

✰ PAIRING ⤷ dabi x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤷ It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones, not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself.

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

✰ WC ⤷ 6.6k?

✰ TAGS ⤷ major angst, there is fluff though pinky promise, there’s a suggestive line, please don’t cancel me, it was detrimental to the story manga spoilers, a few curse words, character death, very, very soft dabi, shigaraki is an ass

NOTES ⤷ this is, indeed, the longest thing I've written that wasn't for school. and the summary is just a blurb because i had no idea what to write there. lol, I'm sitting at my laptop while crying my eyes out...... but uh.... I hope you like it ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

You smoke, Dabi takes that into account on the first day he sees you. Dabi hates cigarettes, despises them. He hates that itchy feeling his lungs get whenever he takes a drag, hates the way it makes him feel abyssal, co-dependent. And if there's one thing that Dabi hates, it's relying on something else that wasn't him self.

With that into consideration, he’s not entirely sure why you catch his eye, you’re not typically the type he goes for. He usually chose the dainty ones, the ones that were so eager to experience a jive of thrill, they don’t realize that they’ve encountered a person who played an important role in one of the most powerful villain organizations. 

You're in the corner of a dingy bar, the dim lights somehow doing your angelic features justice. The light catches the glint of your name tag and the pastel blue of your scrubs. You look tired. Even from a far distance, he can see the sunken tent of your cheeks. The cigarette stick which hangs from in between your index finger and middle is halfway from becoming a stub. The plastic platter of pretzels that sit across from your chest is untouched as you grumble out replies to the bartender who's trying to make conversation with —a very uninterested— you.

When the clock hits eleven, your bar stool is scraping the ground as you attempt to leave. The relentless bartender grabs your arm with one last plea. His voice raising when you deny the idea that you should give him your number because you're too pretty to be by yourself. With one last pull, you stomp away towards the exit. Dabi doesn't know if it's because he's a villain too, but he follows after you. His senses telling him that there’s no way the bartender who you’d just rejected would let his wounded pride stay unbandaged. 

He’s careful not to make any noises with the soles of his boots. The absence of street lights concealing his figure. Unbeknownst to him, his body enforces the skills he uses while stalking his next prey. His languid motions flowing with the same transverse as the cold, biting wind.

And you don’t notice a thing, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your thick silver jacket. But when your walking comes to a stop, Dabi’s heart nearly tumbles out from his chest. Not a second later, you pull out a pack of cigarettes and place one to your lips, lighting it in one go. When you resume walking, Dabi’s body internally holds a jubilee with jeers of relief. He’s not exactly sure why he’s helping you but what type of person would he be if he let a pretty lady like you get hurt? 

At the thought, his throat tickles with the hope to let out a laugh.

When Dabi hears the crunch of leaves that bounce off the cracked concrete, for the second time that night he nearly breaks into a fit of laughter. The culprit’s first step is to trap you behind the fenced wall and his burly figure. What an amateur.

A part of Dabi wants to wait and see what you do. Are you a regular civilian? Do you have a strong quirk that would fight him off? His trail of thought evaporates when you hiccup out a laugh, smoke from the corner of your lips flowing into the man’s face. Dabi’s eyebrows quirking up with interest. What’s your next act?

After several hitches of breath, nothing comes and Dabi finally decides to step in as he feels the waves of anger emitting from the balding, middle-aged man who has you cornered.

The confrontation is brief —when the bartender turns to glance at an approaching lean, scarred figure, he scurries off without a word.

“Didn’t have to help me, I had it in the bag.” You squint at your savior as your cigarette bobs with the movement of your full lips. His stature towers over yours but you don’t seem the little bit phased. 

“You weren’t scared,” he says and it’s more of a question than a statement. His cool voice sends a frosty layer through each stack of your vertebrae. Though, it slowly ebbs away as you study his features and realize how pretty he is —his eyes a pool of melted lapis. Sharp cheekbones molded to accustom to scars and silver staples that do nothing but add to your thinking connotation of him being ambiguity personified. 

“Yeah, even if he did... you know.” You wave your hand. “He would’ve died sooner or later.” Dabi’s eyes narrow in confusion as he catches the way your eyelashes flutter prettily against your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh.. uh- he had heart issues, the kind you can’t recover from.” You remove the lit stick from your lips and give him a full-toothed smile. “Thank you, Mr. Stranger.” And with that, you turn away and resume your lethargic walk down an empty alleyway.

Must be your quirk. Dabi thinks as he watches your figure disappear into the grasping shadows of the night. When he returns to the battered LOV hideout, he goes out of his way to avoid any interaction with the League. Refusing to taint his memory of your pretty smile and pretty face.

The next time Dabi sees you, you’re in the same place. This time you’re not wearing scrubs, opting for a more casual look with a baby blue top that contrasts nicely with your skin and jeans that accentuate your figure. You don't have a pack of cigarettes either.

Unlike before, you notice his stare and you bathe in it. The bartender from the other day all but glances at you. Amusingly, you turn to glance at the brooding figure in the corner of the bar with a knowing look.

After two beers and spinning courage, you walk towards Dabi with sway in your step. His eyes follow your movement until you decide to situate yourself next to him in the booth. His low lids focus on you as you fidget with your manicured fingers. Cute. He thinks. You’re too cute for your own good. 

“What’s your name?” You break the silence. Teeth gnawing into the plush dent of your bottom lip.

Dabi takes his time to mull over his answer, he doesn’t notice the way his body temperature flares nor the tiny blue flames that threaten to dance on his scabbed knuckles. A grasp —an unfamiliar cloak, wraps its fabric around his shoulders. Prickles of his being push with urgency to ease it away but it’s all in vain.

“Touya.” 

Touya, from the corner of his eye, watches your eyes light up with interest. Bright and wide with swirling specks of gaiety— joy. Which Dabi guesses are because of him. He turns his attention away from you, not wanting to get warped into your pretty eyes that sparkle just from hearing his name. 

“S’ a pretty name,” you whisper. Sporting a subtle grin, one that blows wide when you see all four chambers of his heart pumping wildly with blood. 

“Can you walk me home, Touya?”

It goes on like this, again and again —conversations with Touya at the back of the bar, sitting next to him in the grimy booth. His replies are quip ones but you know he’s listening to your idle chatter because you feel the way his eyes bore into your skull. 

The night always comes to a close with both of you walking shoulder to shoulder, the plans of your upcoming day echoing off the bounds of the night sky. You live in an apartment building, a shitty one. He remembers you complaining about the squeaky floorboards, your loud neighbors, and the pervy, greasy-haired landlord that barges through your door at the most unreasonable times of the day. Touya raises his eyebrow at that.

“I’ll take care of him for you.” The words fly past his lips before he can stop them. 

Your response is a peal of robust laughter that comes to a halt when you pull out a cigarette. “I’ll be sure to come to you,” you say. Today marked the thirtieth time you both engaged in subtle conversation. He takes note in the fact that you only smoke when you wear scrubs —the rope of curiosity gets the best of him.

“I have to keep up with the appearance of my two personalities, duh.” Touya has no clue what you mean but your clipped tone tells him that he shouldn't pry.

Meanwhile, your eyes flit to his sapphire ones than to his lips.

“Touya?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I kiss you?” You watch the way his eyes widen with a low giggle. 

But before he can answer, your lips are already on his. He’s quick to take action as he cups the underside of your jaw, your breath minty even though you just had a smoke. His head’s a mess, there’s a jumble of terms that fail to come together and form coherent ones. The only thing his brain can commit is the pillowy softness of your lips. Sadly, he can’t enjoy the whole experience. His bottom lip erased with the tissue needed to feel, only leaving a purpled patch in its wake. 

For a second, his chest tides over with a tinge of shame but it’s quickly washed away as you pull him even closer. Your small, gentle fingers carding through his soft, inky tresses.  

The kiss ends when you pull away with a breathless sigh. You stay close to him, noses nearly touching as once shared breaths mingle. His hands are on your hips now, slowly kneading the soft flesh. A couple of seconds dart by as your dark eyes stare into his bright ones. The low-lighted area giving them a fascinating glow.

You want to tell him how pretty he looks at this moment. His flustered expression causing your gut to simmer with heat.

You need to tell him how nicely entrapped his presence always makes you feel but something in you decides against it, choosing to save it for another time. So you search for an alternative, breath growing unsteady as you stumble across one.

“Can you....walk me home, Touya?” This time it's different from the first night you asked him.

This time your voice trails off with a much different undertone.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Touya wakes up before you do. Peeks of the sun squeeze through your bedroom blinds, casting a shining glow on your skin. As he studies your peaceful features, he encounters a divulgence. One that causes his skin to crawl with parasites that immediately beg him to keep up with this facade. To derive a little longer and enjoy this bliss at his own expense. However, Touya decides against it. It’s quite obvious that he’s not the safest person to be around, his appearance giving that thought away. 

It might be better if he tells you first, he thinks.

It might be better if he lets a precious thing like you go before he builds a stockpile of lies that’ll eventually come crashing down when the realization finally hits. 

“I’m a villain, you know,” he murmurs as he watches your eyelids flutter open. He grimaces as he tries to think of what your reaction may be. The first words you woke up to would have to be that you’d let a criminal into your home —into your bed.

He sits up to place his back on your cool headboard. The bell of anxiousness that sits at the pit of his stomach rings after a few beats of silence. You turn to stare at his upright figure with two arms tucked underneath your satin pillow. “I know, m’ not stupid, Touya.” You grumble, turning your head to return to sleep.

“What?” His eyebrows knit has his chest shutters with disbelief. 

You ignore his bewilderment. “Since we’re confessing our deepest, darkest secrets can I tell you what could’ve been my villain origin story?” Touya stares at your face before bursting into laughter, one that nearly causes the staples around his jaw to unhinge. Though, this laughter is one of relief.

 A part of him doesn’t believe it. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever done a deed so right, so pure, that had earned him someone like you. The only thing his reeling mind can suffice is that he had killed a scum in some random, dirty alley that ended up being the lowest of the low. At the random thought, he laughs some more. 

“What?” You can’t help but giggle, his laughter —which was a rare entity— made you giddy with joy. “I’m serious!” You pout, turning away from him to feign anger, your ears stay perked up as his smooth, rich laughter fills your bedroom with warmth. 

“Okay, fine I won’t tell you.” His laughter trails off as he moves from the headboard to lie directly across from you. 

“Alright, tell me.” His abnormal body heat causes you to shuffle closer until you rest your head on his chest. 

When your story is done, he can’t help but stare at the ceiling in cerebrate silence.

At the age of fifteen, a program introduced by the hero association had recruited kids with abilities related to the medical field. Yours being an x-ray like quirk that allowed you to detect diseases, broken bones, and infections. Ones even normal x-ray’s couldn’t see. Forced to drop out of high school to take nursing classes and discard your latest stage of childhood life, you’d already become a registered nurse before the ripe age of nineteen. You worked in a special division, one where you only dealt with pro-heroes. You tell Touya about your worst encounter, one where you diagnosed a collection of broken ribs and the incapability to do hero work for several weeks and got shoved so hard that your ankle had twisted. Fortunately, the program had been discarded when you were twenty. With your inability to do other things that weren’t related to nursing you decided to stay one. 

“Where were your parents?” It takes you a second to answer, chest deflating in the worst kind of way as you remember your father and mother’s shame-ridden faces staring back at your own —your's ridden with disbelief.

“They got money, so it didn’t really matter what happened to me.” You whisper, using the soft pad of your index finger to trace his scarred skin.

“Wanted to be a writer, Touya.” You try your best to hold in your cries but to no avail. “Wanted to write a best-seller,” You laugh, but it’s overshadowed by the watery sob that follows.

And with that, he finally understands. You’re two personas, a writer and a nurse. His chest tides up with pride once he realizes that he’s probably the first person to see and understand what they both mean to you.

“You can still be one,” he says. But it’s a promise of his own in disguise. I’ll change the world for you, make it so you can do anything you want to. It echoes from his every syllable and trails off with a familiar lilt.

And you see it too —hope-filled eyes flit to glittering ones. His, a bright pair of blue gems that shine with raw, unfiltered passion- yet to be completely polished. Against your will, every tendril of your being untwines and wraps itself around his words- you believe him. Unconsciously, your lips blow into a wide smile. “I’ll hold you to it, Touya.”

The stagnant air diffuses once you ask him a question, “when’s your birthday?” 

Internally, you kick yourself in the shin as Touya shoots you a whimsical look. You’re not sure why this is the first personal question you decide to ask him.

But to you, Touya’s painted in grey, moral wise. You’ve only known him for less than a month, his background revealed the same night you met him. When you were with Touya, he didn’t seem like a villain. Villains were supposed to be vile, viscous people that didn’t dissolve properly into the troughs of today’s society. 

His touch was gentle, handling you with nothing other than care. But you’re sure he’s used those same nimble fingers to inflict pain on whomsoever he chose. To you, Touya’s a jigsaw. You’re prepared —at least you think you are— to solve it. Prepared to start with the small pieces. And when those gradually come together, you’d use them as a guide. Treading carefully to work from known to unknown. 

However, Touya prays to the gods that you don’t use your quirk to see the way his heart pumps wildly and the way his breath hitches. It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself. 

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

“December 15th.” Your eyes widen when you realize the day was when you both had met. “I was your birthday gift then, huh.” You giggle, pressing closer to his body to feel the erratic thump of his heart.

“Guess so.” A good lie is always better than the truth. 

That’s what he tells himself when Tomura asks where he’s been for the past couple of months. Vehement, crimson eyes digging into Dabi’s skull.  He scoffs in annoyance, opting to tell the blue-haired man that he’d been out of town to scout for new members. Rummaging through underground areas where the average of villains was the thickest. 

And yes, they’re all lies. He’s happy that Tomura is as dumb as he looks. Though it may be because Dabi has mastered the art of weaving intricate webs of lies- he’s grateful, nonetheless. 

When Dabi turns away from him, Tomura’s eyes narrow.  

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t as dumb as he looks. But Dabi didn’t know that -at least, not yet.

Here in the LOV hideout, where Dabi’s just a ruthless flame kindler, he finds no self-content, only impatience. Sometimes, taking part in Toga’s antics as a source of entertainment, her bloodlust too damn thick to ignore.

Impatience, a contagious drug that filters through Dabi’s veins and causes his blood to sear whenever he thinks about the overturn he wants hero society to so badly face. It’s the only way this ache of his can be soothed.

At first, it was just for him to bask in -for him to enjoy. For him to see a part of his past, burn. To see a rage of flames that -in time, turned to a cinder, his memories with it. 

But now, he wants you to see it too. He wants to keep you tucked by his side as everything unfolds. Knowing this, he waits. Dabi’s not naive, this dream of his isn’t a one-man act. 

Though, the biggest step closer to glory comes earlier than expected…

He’s a hero, the number two pro hero in all of Japan. His speed and the aid of his wings being his strongest suit. The information he provides is what still causes the Leauge to thrive. And the reason that Shigaraki now knows of the Meta Liberation Army. A powerful villain organization that rivaled Tomura’s very own. Led by a man named Destro, a name that every villain’s supposed to know. Kuriogi tells him this in his usual monotone voice, he’s the founder and now his son currently leads the army. The thing is, Dabi does know but for other reasons. His father was a hero after all.

Shigaraki orders Dabi to keep watch over Hawks. Sure, Dabi has his suspicions too, but he couldn’t differentiate if it’s the hostility he feels after he learns Hawks’ friendly relationship with Endeavor or for the fact that several missions had been deemed as errors because of the red-winged man’s mistakes. 

Though, his stress dissipates when he comes home to you. It didn’t take a lot of time for Touya to get accustomed to your apartment. He’s used to living in shitty places, the League had been -and still is- living in one for months. 

Fortunately, your landlord never comes around. You think it’s because of Touya’s intimidating presence but it stretches farther than that. Farther into the territory of what makes Touya into the fearful villain he is. But, you didn’t have to know that. Touya deliberates. You were stressed enough as it is.

Sometimes you’re not even home, late shift reminders overtaking your flimsy calendar. On those days, when you return, you’re so tired that Touya has to undress and bathe you himself. It’s never a toll, he enjoys listening to your barely decipherable recaps of your day, ones that sometimes turn into angry speeches of frustration that he’s sure to soothe with soft kisses to your pursed lips.

“Touya,” you whisper. Head in the crook of his neck while he lathers your body with body wash. Your head’s cloudy, exhaustion taking its home in your body. 

“Mhmm.”

“Love you, like.. a lot.” The words bleed together with little to no pauses. It’s so slurred that Touya has to mull over it.

When he finally separates them in his head, he pauses. Eyes going wide as the grip on the pink loofah loosens. 

Those words had never been emitted between you two. They were the three forbidden syllables that hung still, frozen in mid-air. It should’ve been easy to say. So easy to confess if push ever came to shove and the tides of adoration ever became too much to bear.

Despite that - in Touya’s head, his sole belief was that he was a package of damaged goods. What solace could you find if he ever told you that he loved you? Would it bring you happiness- fear?

Months had passed between the two of you, the light of winter and spring passing with intertwined hands. But what if- what if- you didn’t love Touya as much as he thought? What if you stayed by his side because you took pity on him? Took pity on a man who had no efficiency, no worth, no value, and used it to your heart’s content to mend yourself together.

Unbeknownst to him, those thoughts had run aimlessly across your mind as well. Both of you were damaged goods. Both of you unfamiliar with the thrum of the common melody. 

When you feel his movements halt, a part of you feels victorious.

Oh, how lucky you were for being high on delirium. This was a chance pulled out of luck’s pocket. 

“Don’t gotta say it, I see it.” He lowers his gaze to see you staring intensely at his chest. Which no doubt encases an organ that beats wildly because of your words. For the first time in a long time, he grows embarrassed. A streak of red blossoms from under his scarred cheeks as he chooses to hide his head in your neck, inhaling the strong citrusy scent of your body wash. 

Hesitantly, you brush your fingers across the expanse of his back. Careful to avoid rough skin. Hoping that with your touch, you can convey a message of understanding. 

I love you Touya and I know you love me.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

On a week that you’re finally off from work, you choose to spend it with Touya. He‘s barely out anyways. When you ask him why he’s never out doing villainy things. He answers with, “to spend time with you, princess.” A chortle at the end of his sentence when he sees you duck your head in embarrassment. 

“Wanna go dress shopping with me tomorrow?” You ask, taking a handful of potato chips in your palm, focus still on your tv show -which Touya believes is the most boring thing he’s ever come across.

He turns to glance at you, eyebrows knitted as he contemplates. 

He knows he shouldn’t, situations where his identity might be discovered, wouldn’t be good for the both of you. 

And if Tomura were to find out…. the possibilities were too endless and Touya would keel over before he put your life in jeopardy.  

But he still says yes- he’s never actually seen you wear a dress, he tells you. A subtle smile adorning his lips when he sees yours. He doesn’t ask why you want to buy a dress all of a sudden but he doesn’t mind.

The next day, you dress him up in a big burly coat that you had found at a thrift store years ago. Touya scrunches up his nose in disdain as you pull it up to cover his purple-hued scars, the fabric smelling oddly like sulfur. If it weren’t for the way you seemed so focused on hiding his identity he would’ve discarded the clothing a long time ago. He thinks the last straw is when you plop a pair of dark sunglasses on his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you fuss. “I tried my best.” 

“Was your best option really a combination of coat and sunglasses?” He exasperates, voice coming out muffled.

“What... I can’t hear you?” You cup the back of your ear, feigning curiosity.  

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “Whatever, let’s go.”

You grab your silver coat from your rack and walk outside, both of you making it to your beat-down  Honda. As Touya shuffles in the passenger seat you can’t help but giggle at his uncomfortable posture, they turn louder when he turns to glare at you but fails miserably, his intimidating face shrouded by the coat and glasses. 

When you enter the boutique a small ding of a bell hits your ear. You smile in victory once you realize the vacancy. A short lady with gray hair waddles towards you and Touya. “Well, hello there!” She exclaims her soft voice matching with the appearance of her shop. Sweet and adorable. “What are you two looking for today.” She walks closer to you two, her motherly aura shrouding you in contentment. 

“Well… I’m not entirely too sure,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back. “But something blue and flowy.” You hum.

“Blue and flowy, you say?” She turns. “Follow me.”

You turn to glance at Touya, whose attention is already on you. You grab his hand and follow behind. She leads you to a wide room, the smell of laundry detergent filtering through the air. Your eyes widen once you see the rows of dresses adorned in plastic.

“These are all my babies.” She waves and turns to you with an expectant look, eyes crinkling as she gives you a warm smile.

“They’re real pretty, aren't they?” You nod. “Well, the dressing rooms are back there.” She points to the far right. “If you need anything just come to me, I’ll be at the front desk.” 

You walk towards the small corridor of dressing rooms and pick the first one you see. Pushing Touya into the stall, you place your hands on your hip after clicking the door shut. He takes his sunglasses off and shoots you a quizzical look.

“Show me your flames,” you breathe out, palms growing clammy as nervousness starts to set in. 

You wring your hands as you watch his adam's apple bob, his stare turning hard. “No.” 

You cross your arms and plead. “Please Touya, I wanna find a dress that matches your flames. They’re probably really pretty… don’t know why you won’t show me.” Your voice trails off.

He had an idea that this would happen sooner or later. There were times where you did see his flames but those were accidents. He always made sure to quickly extinguish them when he caught your peering eyes. 

His chest floods with guilt once he sees your disappointed expression. He didn’t think his flames were pretty. He’d melted too many flays of flesh to count. The last thing he wanted to do was show you the bright-tinged spirit responsible for his grave sins.

But one dilemma Touya has is that he can’t ever seem to jump over the weak spot he has for you. So, he gives a meek - fine.

He watches your features light up with glee, only hoping that you wouldn’t regret asking him for this. “Can I take the coat off, first?” You hum, scrambling to do it for him. Revealing his plain white tee and his dark black jeans. 

“Step back for me,” he whispers, gnawing at the bottom of his scarred lip. He opens the palm of his hand- to first, show a tiny blue flame that sways languidly. Progressively, he increases the flame until it engulfs his hand and upper wrist. When he looks up from his palm to your face, he’s surprised to see that your eyes aren't menacingly calculating or searching for release from fear. Instead, you look on in astonishment. 

He sees the reflection of his flames in your eyes and from that circled mirror, a tiny nibble of his conscience starts to ebb with pride of his quirk. 

After gushing about how pretty his flames look, you commit the color to memory. Dashing out of the stall to search for a dress, humming a tune when you envision his reaction to seeing you in such a nice, quaint dress on such a special day. 

He perks up once you unlock the door, expecting you to change and show him what you’ve found. But instead, he’s met with your smiling face and what seems to be a dress -shrouded in a velvet coverup. “Don’t look so disappointed.” You wag your finger in front of his face. “You’ll see it soon.”

When December rolls by with chilly air as company, you start to see Touya less and less. He never does tell you what exactly it is he does while out doing villain work. Though, he did tell you that his absences would occur more and more since he and his league were working hard to take down a villain organization. 

Your eyebrows had furrowed at that. “I thought villains were supposed to band together,” you asked, head resting on his thigh as you stared up at his face. “Not ones with different philosophies,” he had said, hand suspiciously inching closer and closer to your chest. You hummed, still confused. 

It might sound naive, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Hero society didn’t interest you. You couldn’t say villains did either but Touya was one. One of the bigshots. 

Once, when you’d seen him on the little tv in the corner of your break room, it took a lot in you to not crack a smile. Though the idea of bringing chaos into the world with wide arms made your nerves rack with trepidation, you had Touya, and that seemed like enough. 

Fortunately, Touya not being home was a benefit to your plan. You’d already scheduled your days off for work and booked the reservations for the fancy restaurant that was at least an hour’s drive from your apartment building. It was hard work, but for Touya’s birthday, it was all worth it.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Shigaraki Tomura does not like to be lied to. 

If he had written commandments for the people he came across, that would be his first line, golden engraved. It’s an unexplainable feeling he gets. If he could, he’d describe it as an itchy, hot coil that warps across his skin. It’s not painful, it’s simply annoying. And he feels it nearly every day. The scars that mar his neck being a result of it. 

Why does the world have to be riddled with so many liars? 

Dabi’s a liar, he knows that much. Hawks, that red-winged hero may be one too, but he’d deal with that when things finally came into play. 

Now, he focuses on the man Dabi truly is. Villains lie. Shigaraki knows this, he’s a villain too. But- he tells the truth when it comes to his goals. 

He tells the truth with what he wants. 

What he wants LOV to bring. 

What he wants society to flood with.

So why couldn’t Touya Todoroki do the same?

Shigaraki Tomura’s smart and Dabi is a fool to not see this. Who came up with the plans? The missions? The very concept of LOV? Sure, AFO had shaped him into who he was today but he was the same man locked in Tartarus, not Tomura.

When Tomura finds the roots of Dabi’s lies through Kurogiri’s peering eyes. It takes an hour of pleading for the ghastly man to convince Tomura not to find Dabi and disintegrate him into a fine pile of dust. 

“Why should I!” Tomura shouts, his ruby eyes glaring into Kurogiri’s yellow ones. “He lied to me.” Shigaraki spits out the word so hastily and it’s as if saying the word itself was a sin of its own. Kurogiri nods, silently transmitting his words of understanding, not wanting to raise his temper even higher. 

“But Dabi’s an important member of the League, Tomura.” Kurogiri coaxes. “In a week or so, we’ll be off to fight with M.L.A. If anything give him a warning, a threat. Just don’t kill the boy.” Shigaraki takes a second to glare at Kurogiri but eventually, his shoulders sag with defeat. 

Even though Dabi had committed the gravest sin, he’d show mercy. 

Begrudgingly, he grabs the cup of orange juice from Kurogiri’s hand, his thoughts flying at a fast pace, anger refusing to subside. All until his thinking cogs get stuck on one idea, one thought. 

The thought crawls out from his mind and paints his expression with one of sickening glee. His smile so wide, that rivulets of blood dribble down from his cracked lips. His tongue darts out to lap up the tangy liquid as he gets high on this idea, on this revelation. 

Shigaraki Tomura needs Dabi but Shigaraki Tomura does not need you.

Tomura knows everything about you, your background, your parents, the countless homes you had to reside in, where you live as of now- where you and Dabi live as of now. Where you work and what exactly you’re planning to do on the 15th day of December. It’s terrifyingly easy to uncover reservation logs.

You’re a pretty woman, Tomura could admit that. But you were a stain in his perfect, webbed canvas of the future. Those countless months where he had expected Dabi to be his righteous subordinate and listen to his demands were spent with you. Cooped up at your run-down apartment doing god knows what. 

Tomura’s teeth grit as he digs into the flesh of his neck, specks of blood underneath his fingernails while he fervently scratches the already scabbed skin. Kurogiri glances over at him, seemingly reading his mind. 

“I’m leaving.” Shigaraki swipes up from his dusty seat. Oh, how he missed the elegance of his LOV’s old hideout. 

“Don’t forget AFO’s orders concerning Gigantomachia.” 

Tomura blinks once, twice. “That thing has way too much HP.” He breathes out. 

“For now, I need to do something else.” He whispers, bringing his embalmed hand to rest on his face.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Whenever Touya thought of coincidences he thought of the word luck. It was a coincidence that Touya had been at the same bar as you, a coincidence that because of your lack of care for hero society that you’d glossed over the fact that he was a villain. But as Touya stood in your empty apartment, bloody and bruised from his prior fight, his connotation of coincidences slowly turned sour. A bitter taste sat on his tastebuds as he read over your note. 

Happy Birthday Touya, my love.

meet me at the Burqoues Restaurant! 

Take an uber…. I don’t have any money for one 

(using it on the restaurant money) 

so I’ll just take my car.

p.s. you’ll get to see my dress. 

It was a coincidence that the day he told you was his birthday was the very day the League of Villians had merged with the Meta Liberation Army. Touya didn’t know what this grappling hook of fear was, but as he saw that your Honda was still idly parked in that weird angle you always had a habit of doing -it came to take its hold around his neck. 

Maybe you’d actually found a couple of bucks and took an uber instead. Right? 

You were probably in the restaurant, ordering that expensive champagne you really wanted to try. Ready to show that pretty, wide smile you always gave Touya when you saw him. 

Right? 

Touya couldn’t think- couldn’t breathe as he sped down the street. His grip on the wheel was so tight that his staples were close to popping. The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the persistent honking of cars that he nearly collided with. 

What should’ve taken an hour took a measly twenty minutes. Without a second thought, Touya was already out of the car. 

Upon entering, he received perturbed glances. He didn’t blame them, his clothes were bloodied, several staples unhinged from the skin. 

“S-sir?” a tiny voice squeaked. He glanced at the receptionist desk, the bright chandeliers illuminating her meek stare that looked borderline terrified. He probably looked like a villain. 

“D-do you have a reservation.” 

“Yes.” He answered gruffly, head craning to see if he could catch sight of you.

“Your name please.” 

“Touya.” He gritted, eyes focusing back on the receptionist who didn’t seem to believe him. She ducked her head to check, eyes scanning frantically. 

“Oh, yes!” She smiled, it was too wide to be real but, frankly, Touya didn’t care. All he needed to know was that you were here. 

“Table 15.” She pointed. “You won’t miss it.”

Touya didn’t bother to reply, legs already scrambling towards what he hoped would be you. Ignoring the stares that followed behind him.

Table 12

Table 13

Table 14

Table 15-

Touya's heart nearly stops, vision tinging with black as his knees nearly crumble beneath him. 

You weren’t there. 

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

When Touya returned to the now, Paranormal Liberation Army hideout, Shigaraki had given him a smile so sweet that it had caused Touya's blood to run cold.

However, Touya did not pry, choosing to ignore the guilty glances the rest of the league sent his way. And he hated himself for it, hated the coward he'd grown to be in such a short period of time.

Later on that night, he returned to your desolate apartment, choosing to take a cigarette from your half- empty pack. 

Yes, Touya despised cigarettes but at that moment they'd never tasted so sweet. His lungs didn't itch, he didn't feel abyssal. He just felt— soothed. As he took several drags, Touya silently pleaded for the nicotine to somehow make every fiber of his being believe that you had decided to finally leave.

That you had finally realized that a villain like him was no good and would only put your life at risk.

However, his façade had cracked when he'd found multiple files on your desolate laptop, drafts of your story in the making. The first page dedicated to your love for giving you the motivation to publish your first ever book.

And at that moment, for the first time in his godforsaken life, Touya wished he could cry. To show you, somehow that he was grateful for everything you had given him. That he was thankful and sorry for letting his mirror that reflected thousands of moments with you -your arms cradling him, him cradling you- shatter into fractured pieces.

As Touya Todoroki sat on a velvet sofa, arms wide and camera ready, a piece of his brain fabricated the image of you next to him --adorned in a sapphire blue dress, showing him that pretty, pretty smile that he’d grown to love, he told you —and told the world the story he never had the chance to.

To simply, atone.

[spacecadetcity]

prompt 6: “didn’t we already have this conversation?”

words: 1047   fandom: original (original loz storyline)   characters: link (or sunspots), zelda (original loz storyline version)

    link peered around the corner of the castle hall, looking back and forth to see if there were any incoming guards. he held his breath to listen for the sound of clanking boots, or idle chatter from guards standing at their posts, and turned the corner when he heard nothing. he tiptoed down the hall, pleased with his choice to keep his slippers on instead of his daytime shoes as the soft material made barely a sound on the stone floor.

    distantly, a bell rang to signal the passage of an hour, a total of nine times. he would be expected soon at his first class, but he was rarely on time, so he wasn’t in a rush. no, link had something more important in mind than learning letters or numbers (though if he had a music lesson today, he’d have seconds thoughts). link was headed deeper into the castle than he’d ever been, even with queen zelda, who was happy to tour the large castle with him.

    now in unfamiliar halls, his steps slowed, and link looked around in wonder. the stone walls here seemed scarred, with large scrapes and portions of the walls filled in with newer stone, as if at one point they’d all but crumbled away completely. he looked in a doorway curiously, going in when he realized there was no one there.

    the room was filled floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, and a glass case in the center of the room held clearly damaged relics- a broken magic rod, an ocarina that looked as if it was a touch away from dusting, even a large black and gold shield that looked bigger than he was. link stared wide-eyed at the contents for several moments before turning to the bookcases to see what treasures and wonders they might hold.

    disappointingly, the books seemed to be heavily burnt and damaged- several had chunks of missing pages, charred covers and spines, and even some that were nothing more than a carefully bound pile of loose papers. others seemed to be so old that the text had long since faded, or written in hylian forms that hadn’t been used in hundreds of years. 

    finally, the young boy came across a book in better condition than the others, on a shelf just barely too high for him to reach. he stretched, pulling himself up a shelf and grabbing at it the best he could. it fell from the shelf and hit him on the head before landing with a heavy thud on the stone floor.

    link froze as the sound reverberated though the room and down the halls. after several moments without anyone appearing, or the clang of metal boots stomping on stone, he relaxed and picked up the book and sat with his back to the bookcase.

    like the others, the words in the book were old and somewhat faded, but the pictures were still viewable, and he found himself drawn in by the depictions. sword-wielding heroes in green faced down monsters that threatened their homes, drawings of different races that were similar to those that he learned about in his classes, a set of triangles that shone with golden light- he so deeply engrossed by the pictures that he didn’t hear the footsteps enter the room.

    “ahem.”

    link froze at the sound, and slowly looked up from the book to find not his instructor, not his personal guard- not any guard, in fact. stood in front of him, with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow was queen zelda, and link felt his heart drop.

    “um.. good morning, queen zelda..” link said weakly, and she sighed. he prepared himself to be scolded quite fiercely and to be sent to his room until dinner, and was quite surprised to see her come to sit by her side.

    “didn’t we already have this conversation, link- about both my name and the rules about off-limit rooms?” she asked, gently taking the book from his grasp and closing it, reading the cover before turning her attention back to him.

    “yes ma’- yes zelda, ‘m sorry zelda,” link apologized, looking mournfully at his lost book. zelda seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then waved him closer. he hesitated, unsure of if she really wanted him closer, and then inched closer until he was pressed up against her side.

    “you may call me queen zelda if you’d really rather, link, but i find the title to be so formal and i’ll tell you a secret,” she leaned in, “i really only have people call me that at stuffy meetings. some of the shop owners still call me zelly from when i was a little girl your age.”

    “really?” link asked, feeling somewhat doubtful. he couldn’t imagine the regal woman as a kid like him, running around in the halls and begging the chefs for sweets before dinner.

    “really. ask the baker for zelly’s favorite treat if you don’t believe me! now, tell me about this book you found?” she carefully brushed away some dust from the cover, revealing the faintest picture of three triangles.

    “i was looking at all the pictures in it- there are ones of the heroes, and there are monsters, and there was a picture of that old music ‘corina over there in the box! did one of the heroes use that one? do you know the songs from it?” link asked eagerly, nervousness at being in trouble gone at the prospect of getting to know more about the book, and the idea that a hero of old could have played a little wooden ocarina like the one he’d started practicing with.

    “well yes- many heroes of old used magic mixed with music on their journeys. i suppose you might like to hear about them?” zelda asked, and link nodded his head so quickly he almost knocked into the bookshelf behind him. zelda laughed, and carefully opened the book to a picture of the old ocarina.

    “well, many, many centuries ago-”

    “how many?”

    “so many that we still don’t know how long it has been- it’s honestly nothing short of a miracle that the ocarina over there has survived, though not likely that it is the original. now, listen and don’t interrupt link. as i was saying, many, many centuries ago…”

[creativitytoexplore]

Died Rich by Mitchell Toews https://ift.tt/3mPjo2r In Mennonite Manitoba, hard-up teenager Diedrich Deutsch is getting bullied at school, and tries his hand at basketball; by Mitchell Toews.

Part 1 - The New Shoes "I am a true sea-dog with balls the size of cantaloupes!" Diedrich shouted, slashing at a snowy tree branch with a cutlass made from a broken broom handle. "Diedrich! Diedrich Deutsch!" Doctor Rempel shouted from an open window. His breath turned to frozen vapour as soon as the words left the warm sedan. "Do you want a ride to school?" Diedrich dropped his weapon but not his swagger. He walked towards the waiting car that sat idling on the rutted ice of the street. A plume rose from the tailpipe, fouling the blue of the Manitoba sky, and when the engine backfired a perfect white smoke ring shot out, twirling with delight. "Hurry up, swashbuckler!" Doctor Rempel said with a friendly smile. He hawked and spat, then tossed out a cigar remnant and rolled up the window with a pumping arm. Diedrich got in and slammed the door. His window fogged immediately. "Now, did you say, 'cantaloupes' or 'antelopes'?" the doctor asked, steel wool eyebrows wagging. His nose was a purplish red and the pores on his cheeks stood out like moon craters, complete with a coating of grey dust - the same fine material that accumulated on the interior surfaces of the round-fendered four-door. Diedrich offered a winking reply, "Which is bigger?" "Ho-ho! You sounded like your dad just then. You did. Looking like him too. Seen him lately?" How likely is that? Diedrich thought. He held back the bold words and just shook his head no, adding a quiet scoff. "How about your aunts then? They are doing alright? Still living in that farmhouse on the edge of town, right?" "By Plett's potato fields," Diedrich said. "How long you been with them now? What's it, two years?" "Yes. Since Grade Seven," Diedrich said. "Yeah, yeah. And now you're in high school. A future matriculant in the class of '65. Cum Laude, no doubt. Your family has a fine history of brains and determination - and not a little of either! I delivered your daddy, you know? I swear he tried to kick me after I slapped him on the bottom." He grinned at the thought, then grunted with effort to steer the lumbering car onto the high school street. He halted, tires sliding, in front of the steps. A muster of teens stood on the curtilage just off school property, the snow packed down with footprints, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts. They turned to watch Diedrich disembark, the door squawking as he pushed at it. "Swing it hard!" Rempel hollered. "Give my greetings to Myrtle and Rosalyn, buccaneer!" The door clanked as Diedrich flung it shut with two hands. The boys watched him. "Hey, buccaneer," one of them sneered, "how come the doctor has to give you a ride?" "Yeah, what makes you so special? You sick?" The biggest of the boys stepped forward and grabbed Diedrich's sleeve. The old woolly garment, a refugee from the church basement, threatened to part at the shoulder seam. "Hey," the boy said. "Us guys are talking to you." His name was Morton, and he was the son of the Phys. Ed teacher, Mr. Smullett, a new resident who was an "Englisher" from Winnipeg. It was only the Smulletts' second year in Wenkler and the family was a gossip favourite, discussed by residents with mild, unspecified suspicion. Morton had earned the unfriendly Plautdietsch sobriquet, "Moazh". It meant "ass". Moazh was over a head taller than Diedrich, but Diedrich was most concerned for the well-being of his jacket, the only one he owned. Without stopping to think, he lifted his boot and stomped down on Moazh's foot. Protected only by a Converse basketball sneaker, the result was as Diedrich hoped. Moazh jumped back cursing and Diedrich made a streaking getaway, churning through fresh snow and up the steps, shouting, "Moazh!" into his floury wake. In Miss Feeblecorn's classroom, his new home room this semester, he found his name written on a piece of masking tape affixed to a desktop. "Deidrick Deutsch". He stared at the penned name tag as he hung his jacket on the chair back. "Young man," the teacher said, raising her voice and pointing at him with a ruler from her post on the raised floor near the blackboard. "You should put your jacket in your locker. I think you know that..." He nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am, from now on. I forgot." She mouthed "OK" as the announcements crackled from the loudspeaker.

He steered clear of Moazh for the rest of the day. After school, he snuck out of the janitor room door at the back of the building. On his way through he scooped a handful of green granules from the paper drum marked, "Sweeping Compound". He held the mixture under his nose, sniffing the refreshing chemical tang, and then put the crumbly concoction in his pocket. For later. Cutting diagonally across the playground, Diedrich set a course for the Thrift-T Car Wash. He found his tools in the pump house: a square edged spade, a wheelbarrow, and a stout length of steel reinforcing bar bent into a "J" at one end and a welded "T" at the other. One of the pumps hummed a short electric tone and then jangled to life. The copper water pipe that led out through the block wall to the car wash stall quivered like a hard-struck tuning fork. In the unoccupied stall, Diedrich began his after-school routine. He blocked the entrance with a sawhorse and left the waterlogged overhead door open for light. He coaxed the re-bar tip into the grillwork of the steel grate. Lifting and backpedalling, he skidded the cumbersome cover off, revealing a grave-sized pit in the concrete floor. At the bottom of the cement-walled tomb lay a six-inch thick layer of grey-green sludge. A compost reek grasped him in a foul embrace. He dug the minty sweeping compound from his pocket and took a deep solvent scented breath. "Ahh... ambrosia," he sighed, squinting one eye and then discarding the compound into the hole. After placing the wheelbarrow next to the edge and armed with his spade, Diedrich hopped down and began scraping out the half-frozen slurry of car wash residue. The loud rasp of the shovel hid the sound of a vehicle approaching. When he finally heard it he looked up in time to see the sawhorse lying on its side. A pick-up truck rolled towards him, its crooked teeth spelling out "Mercury". He ducked under the low-slung front axle. The truck pulled up to the wheelbarrow and then continued more slowly, the wheelbarrow chattering and screeching as it slid sideways against its will. The vehicle stopped above him and the doors opened. Feet appeared, including a familiar pair of Converse high-top runners. "Hey, hey, little Deutsch! Who's the ass now, eh? Eh? Now you're the morch - Ronny, is that how you say it?" "Yep, moarrzzzhhhh," was faceless Ronny's phonetic reply, emphasising the buzzing-shushing last syllable sound. "Ha-ha! Hear that, moarzzhh? We're goin' for a Pepsi now. You wanna watch my truck for me while you're down there? Tell ya what - I'll shut the garage door so you and my truck stay nice and warm in here, eh." Diedrich watched as the feet drew near to the wheelbarrow, dumping the dead-rat-motor-oil stinking muck on the sloping floor. A few seconds later he heard a quarter clink into the coin box on the wall and then the rush of water from the wash wand. Soapy water ran into the pit. He scraped a canal in the sludge so it could drain away. The wand fell with a clatter and then propelled itself backwards like a fleeing cuttlefish until it jammed in the corner of the bay. Moazh and Ronny left, their laughter echoing above the hiss of the spray. As soon as they were gone, Diedrich began crawling out, turning his head sideways to fit under the truck. Watery slop smeared his jeans and the chest and sleeves of his black jacket. No sweat, he thought, it'll all wash out. But once he emerged, he noticed the rip, on the seam where the sleeve attached to the shoulder.

Walking home in the failed light, he thought of all the things he could have done, retaliation planned with malicious precision: piss in the gas tank, empty the tires or drench the pick-up's interior with the wash wand. As he cut across Plett's plowed field, pebbly white snow capping dark furrows, he shook away his scheming and began preparing the lie he must tell his aunts to lessen their anger and dismay. He'd accept the black spot of their blame he decided, but not the punishment.

"Dear Miss Feeblecorn," Diedrich wrote in his neat cursive. "I have hung my jacket in my locker. Thank you for reminding me. Also. I noticed that you are spelling my name wrong. There is an easy way to remember: died rich. That's what I'm going to do, live a long life and die rich. You can remember it easy this way - I'm going to be the student who died rich, indeed. Spelled died but pronounced deed. Diedrich." He stuck the tape from his desk to the bottom of the page as evidence. Folding the note carefully into thirds, the way Aunty Myrtle taught him, he put it on the teacher's desk before school started. After the class sang "God Save the Queen" and recited "The Lord's Prayer", Miss Feeblecorn taught them about decimals, her tall, slanted numbers gathering like a crowd of bystanders on black pavement. The chalk dust lit on her green sweater, and she picked bits off her sleeve as she assigned a problem to them. Walking slowly down the aisle, arms crossed, she approached Diedrich's desk. He looked up when the soft tap of her square heeled shoes paused beside him. She bent down from the waist and whispered, "See me at lunch, please, Diedrich." He nodded, detecting the faint fragrance of Jergen's Lotion that reminded him of his mother. "I just wanted to confirm that I received your note," she began when he went to her desk at the break, after eating his sandwich. "Okay." "That's a very creative way to help others to remember the spelling of your name. I appreciate your telling me - I use tricks like that to remember names all the time." Diedrich blushed. He put his hands in his jacket pocket. He glanced at the shoulder seam, now neatly re-stitched courtesy of Aunty Rosalyn. She had washed it too, hanging it to dry in the glowing orange-toothed grin of the kitchen's portable heater. He caught a whiff of detergent and the outdoors smell of clean wool. "Of course we don't want to think about dying, necessarily, but it's okay to have big dreams. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, are we not?" "Pass it!" a high-pitched shout from the playground soccer game interrupted his consideration of her comment. He took a half-step back with one foot. "Oh, I'm holding you up. Sure! You get out there and get into the game with the others." As Diedrich turned to leave, Mr. Smullett came in, a whistle dangling on a lanyard around his neck. "Anita," he said, then glanced at Diedrich and corrected himself, "Miss Feeblecorn. Here are the sign-up sheets for the boy's basketball team. Please announce it to your class and invite anyone who wants to try-out to put their name here." "Shall do, Coach. Here you go, Diedrich, you could be the first to sign up. That way," Miss Feeblecorn added, her eyes shining, "everyone will see the correct spelling of your name!" Diedrich shrugged but stopped and looked at the foolscap sheet. It was divided into three columns: Name, Grade, Position. "Does it cost anything?" he asked, looking up at Smullett. "Only your time and sweat," the coach replied. "When do you play?" "We practice at noon-hour in the gym - that way the bus students have a chance to make the squad. We play in the evenings, four home games and four away games and then the championship tournament is on a Saturday." Diedrich pouted his lip, thinking of his job at the car wash. He could play. "'Kay give it here, once," he said, reaching for the sheet. He took it to his desk and wrote his name and grade into the spaces provided on the top line. Pausing, his gaze passing back and forth between the two teachers, he asked, "What should I put for 'Position'?" Smullett held out a flat palm to the top of Diedrich's head, "I'd say, 'Guard'. Can you dribble, shoot and pass? Can you run fast?" "I can run fast. I can shoot, I think." Diedrich smiled at Miss Feeblecorn and she replied with a determined face paired with a stabbing, upward hand gesture. Shooting? he wondered. He smelled the Jergen's Lotion again and handed the paper to Smullett, thinking, what does he mean, 'dribble' and 'guard'? "Okay," Smullett said, shuffling backwards, "I'll mark you down as a guard. See you tomorrow at twelve. Wear your gym clothes."

"When it's this cold, it always occurs to me that some of the creatures from Hell, the ones who were the borderline cases, the ones who just barely missed going to Heaven, get a short furlough. A vacation from Hades. I imagine the gatekeeper of Hell to be wearing a sharp business suit with a tailored shirt and tie, and that he would not be sweating, not even armpits or ass crack. He would just be there at the gates, surrounded by flame and molten sulfur, near the hounds. That fiend would be crisp and clean as a brand new twenty-dollar bill, frosty as a Fudgsicle," Doctor Rempel said, his bushy Roosevelt moustache cantering as he spoke. Since basketball try-outs started, there had been a cold snap and he had taken to driving Diedrich to his job at the car wash each afternoon. He also bought a pair of lined, leather work gloves for the boy. These were kept in the old Lincoln so that the doctor could also use them when he scraped the frost off his car windows. Rempel continued, "'Where the Hell do you think you're going?' the gatekeeper would ask - his little joke - and the borderline hellions would hand him a note. On Satan's private stationery, stamped in blood, a short message from the devil. 'Please allow these lost souls a brief respite from the heat. They may walk from the Wenkler Collegiate Institute to the car wash, accompanying young Diedrich Deutsch to his after-school job. Once they cool off to their satisfaction, they are to promptly return. No playing billiards, no consorting with women, no consumption of strong drink. No dancing, either," he added with a sly grin. Diedrich snickered, enjoying the forbidden topic as Doctor Rempel likely knew he would. The two drove in silence for a block and when the car stopped at an intersection, the doctor waited patiently for a number of boys and girls to crouch down behind the Lincoln and grab the bumper. He pulled away slowly, gradually accelerating until the kids could be heard squealing and laughing as they slid along the ice-covered street behind the car. "But what if they did some of the things they weren't supposed to?" Diedrich asked. "What if they played pool or drank a cold root beer from the Dairy Whip, or what if they didn't go back? Then what?" Doctor Rempel toggled the indicator switch as they turned onto Hespeler Avenue, towards the car wash. The bumper-shiners let go because Hespeler, freshly gravelled, was too gritty to rutsch. "Well, exactly!" Rempel said, reaching into his tweed coat and finding a cigar of reasonable length. He lit it while Diedrich waited for him to continue and the Zephyr idled at an intersection. They watched as a teacher led her line of waddling children across the street in their bright snowsuits, two-by-two. "If the lost souls are already in Hell, borderline or not, they can receive no further, greater sentence, right? Here on Earth, if you receive the death penalty, that's the maximum. In the same way, if you're in Hell, what worse place is there? If there is a Super Picante Hell, it's not mentioned in the Bible, and you'd think they might have pointed that out!" His conversation tailed off as the car wheeled onto the car wash yard. "So, okay," Diedrich replied. "They can't be punished any more, they are already ten out of ten, so they play hooky. Then what?" He looked around for the leather gloves. "Oh, Lordy, I wish I could figure that one out," Doctor Rempel said, puffing on his cigar. "On one hand, I suppose there's nothing matters at that point. They are hell-bound souls that have escaped, conditionally. If they come to this realization - if they see that they have beaten the system - what then? I hesitate to say this to such a tender boy as you, youth's impressions lasting lifelong as so forth, but that knowledge of having beat the devil might almost be better than Heaven!" "Oh, bah nay..." Diedrich said softly. "Listen. To get to Heaven, you play by the rules. You sacrifice some earthly pleasures, many examples of which you yourself will soon face in relative abundance in the coming years, even here in Wenkler." He tapped ash from the cigar. "These imaginary borderline folk obviously did not fully embrace self-denial and hence, wound up in the basement suite. Now, what if these prisoners of eternal damnation, out on their cold-weather day pass, recognize the infinity-sized loop-hole? Imagine the joy, imagine the freedom of knowing that, for all eternity - nothing more matters. My dear Diedrich, I suggest that wondrous revelation is not only better than Heaven, but worthy of a whole new religion in support of it. What say you? Are you my first convert?" "Thanks for the ride, I have to get to work," Diedrich said, sliding out the door into the frigid prairie gloaming. He paused, imagining the condemned, newly released from hell. Then he added, "Yeah... The worst punishment for them would be if they were sent back to you-know-where, and that was gonna happen eventually anyhow." He flipped hair out of his eyes, then pulled his toque on. "They couldn't be threatened!" "Yes! But would they feel brave because they were safe, or because they were totally, eternally unsafe? Eh?" Diedrich trudged to the pump room, confused by the strange conversation. He stopped and walked back to the open window on the driver's side, from which a blue cloud of El Producto emanated. "Yes, my acolyte?" Doctor Rempel said. "What you are saying is you want me to be brave? Period, end of story?" "You got it. Period, end of story." "Alright. I think I'm pretty good at that..." Diedrich said. "Be better than 'pretty good'. Be the best there is at being brave. You live in this little darp on the smooth, flat bottom of an ancient sea with your aunts, me, and some others here who know about you and the bad things you've endured. So you're safe. On the other hand, the things that have vexed you will continue to do so, and new adversaries and evils will threaten you on your path. So you are unsafe."  He stoked the cigar with hollowed cheeks, bringing the tip back to crackling life, then similarly revved the flathead when it sputtered and seemed about to stall. "It's cold and my window's frozen open, so hurry up," he said, nipping at a silver flask he slipped out of his coat. "You have exactly thirty minutes before my tail lights you will see."

Early on school day mornings, the thump-thump-thump of a basketball could be heard in the deserted hallways framing the cinderblock sanctuary that was the WCI gymnasium. Periodically, the echo of the ball dribbling would cease, followed after a few seconds by the metallic clash of the steel supports that held the basketball backboards. Diedrich Deutsch created this syncopated melody as he padded barefoot from end to end, practicing his dribbling - first lefty, then righty - and taking an awkward shot at each end of the court. Panting and red-cheeked, he stopped just before the bell rang to alert teachers and janitors that the front doors would now be unlocked. Diedrich had gained early entry through the janitorial staff entrance, courtesy of Mr. Schellenberg. "No work boots on the gym floor!" Janitor Schellenberg scolded on the first morning, kneeling as if in prayer to apply a wetted thumb to one of the black heel marks left behind by Diedrich's boots. "Vedaumpt groota oabeit Steewel!" he had said, rising up and glaring down at Diedrich's dirty footwear. He followed this pronouncement with a blast of air through his thin nose and a translation for Diedrich, who looked puzzled. "Shucks-darn, big work boots!" Then he beckoned for the ball and with unexpected skill, banked it into the basket directly above him, spinning it like a top off the backboard. "English, not Low German!" he said, winking and retreating quickly to continue his morning chores. After a few weeks, Mr. Schellenberg paid him no attention. Alone one morning under the buzz of the blueish lights, Diedrich sat on the bleachers and rubbed at the soles of his feet, pink and blistered in places from their taxing laps on the polished hardwood. Just then, Coach Smullett came into the gym on the way to his small office. "Hey-hey!" he shouted, "look who's here early workin' on his game!" He pointed at Diedrich's bare feet. "It looks like old Schellenberg gave you the heck for wearing street shoes on the floor, eh?" Diedrich nodded. He was on the team's "Spare" list and although still allowed to attend practices, he had not yet made the team, officially. Being discovered in the morning by the coach was a happy accident that he had patiently contrived. He wasn't a particularly guileful boy but knew that extra effort could not hurt his chances. "Why don't you have your runners on? Forget 'em?" "No. I don't have any. Ernie Froese lets me wear his old ones, but I can't keep them 'cause he has to save them for his brother Jake. They don't really fit me anyway." "Hmm. What size you take?" "My boots are tens, but they are a little big, yet. A lot, actually." Smullett spun on a creaking rubber heel and walked swiftly to his office. He swung the door open and reappeared a minute later carrying a pair of worn Converse All-Star high top runners. One lace was red and one blue. "These old clod-hoppers - they're eights - have been in the lost and found since last year. You are welcome to them. Also, we have a game on Friday night in Plum Coulee. Can you go?" Overcome with excitement, Diedrich held the shoes as if a priceless, fragile treasure. He flopped down on the gym floor and immediately began trying them on, first holding the dark gum sole of one flat against his bare foot. Tying the laces, Diedrich took some rapid stutter steps, each squeal like music to him. He licked his fingers and cleaned the rubber soles the way he had seen older players do at practice. "Grippy!" he said to Smullett. "Thanks, Coach! Danke seea! Thank you!" With that, he peeled away across the floor at top speed, rounding into a U-turn and flying back to Smullett, finishing with a bounding lay-up - sans basketball - his fingers riffling the dangling cotton string of the net.

Part 2 - "Gentle and humble in heart" The sweaty starters sat on the bench while the second string stood in an encircling crescent. Crouching low in front of them, Coach Smullett swallowed his excitement and carefully went over his notes. "We are behind by only four points and their big guy..." "Number five, that groota Schanzenfelder?" Ernie Froese asked. "Yes, yeah, five, he's got four fouls. One more and he's out!" Diedrich listened, arms folded, weight on one foot above canted hips. He stared intently into Smullett's eyes as, arms waving, the coach described how they would pressure the guy with the ball in the second half. ("Dutch Blitz!" was Ernie's uninvited translation.) As the scoreboard clock sounded and their huddle broke up, Diedrich spoke. "Not to change the subject Coach, but when do I get in? I can take the ball away from those guys, easy." Smullett ignored the comment and sent the team out onto the floor. When Diedrich turned to sit down, he found no room on the player's bench. He could stand or choose instead to sit on the first row of bleachers in the midst of the Plum Coulee fans. Several of the nearby spectators recognized his predicament and began mocking him, laughing and jeering. "Hey number nine, why don't you sit down? Ride the pine!" "Yeah, you make a better door than a window, not? Sat die dohl, Jung!" Anxious to get out of the spotlight, Diedrich spun around and backed in, wedging himself on the crowded bench right beside the coach. Smullett slid sideways, hanging one chino'd cheek over the end. With the game tied and only a few minutes left, Moazh fell heavily. He limped off the floor and when Smullett turned to look down the row of eager replacement candidates, Diedrich shot up, yelling, "I know what to do!" and sprinted out onto the court. Smullett sputtered, but the referee blew the whistle and the game resumed. Red and blue laces flashed and Diedrich was everywhere at once, frantically chasing the ball, his slim form darting in between and around the taller players. Within seconds he stole a pass and despite missing the open shot, and the subsequent one he gained off a scrappy rebound, he was there when one of his teammates scored. The same thing happened twice more. Diedrich did not contribute directly to the score, but WCI pulled ahead and the buzzer blared to signal a timeout by the home team. "Nine is fine!" said a pretty girl with bright blue eye shadow, calling from the stands. Diedrich hid behind the coach. Steve, a skinny boy who scored twice thanks to Diedrich's rabid dog antics, slapped him on the back. "Way to go, there, Deutsch!"

Doctor Rempel's breath wheezed in and out. He concentrated on the Converse All-Stars that sat in a box on the Lincoln's bench seat between him and Diedrich. He peered through smudgy glasses perched on his rutabaga nose. "And that's how you found them, in your locker..." Diedrich nodded, his chin lifting off his chest. "Yeah. I could smell something was wrong, right away. The melons are totally rotten." "Right, I'm getting that," the doctor replied, sniffing. He used the red tip of a wooden match to pull back at the tongue of one of the runners. They were packed with a viscous, runny filling of rancid fruit. The shoelaces were slit down the middle and the canvas uppers were in ribbons. "Kind of funny, don't you think, that cantaloupes were the weapon of choice? Eh? Remember?" Diedrich snuffled in reply. Rempel quickly said, "Coulda been worse, coulda been rancid antelope!" Diedrich laughed then, despite his best efforts. He forced himself to look serious. "What should I do?" Rempel mused. He retrieved and offered a clean folded hanky to the boy, who took it and blew his nose hard. "Hey! That's for polishing my glasses!" Doctor Rempel said, feigning anger. "Okay, look. What do you want? Justice? Revenge? A get out of jail free card? What?" "I just want my runners," Diedrich said. "Really? Whoever did this deserves some knuckle justice. Me? I'd want to kick his ass." Diedrich blew out a puff of air. "I'll take you home. Leave the shoes with me. Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning. Sound good?" After a long, clearing breath, Diedrich hummed, "Um-hmm," and wiped his nose on a jacket sleeve. "Here. Keep it," Rempel said, tossing back the hanky with a pronounced wrinkling of his sea lion nose.

The next afternoon at the car wash, Cornelius James Rempel, MD, sat in his rusting '46 Lincoln Zephyr and smoked. He watched the boy work, a study in efficiency and diligence. After scraping up a shovelful of sludge, he rocked its weight back and used the pendulum momentum to heft the load up to the apogee. Up and over the lip of the barrow it went, with a sudden twist of the blade at the last to spill the sodden cargo. Still so young, he thought. Whip smart. Mature too - a stoic. Unlike his weasel of a father on that count. "How far that little candle throws his beams!" Rempel said aloud. His speech disturbed a chickadee that pecked at cigar ash. He had asked the boy the day before what he wanted - justice or revenge. "What about you, Rempel?" the doctor said now to himself, eyes regarding his reflection in the mirror. "What do you want?" The chickadee, satisfied that there was no nutrition in the black bits on the snow, beat a whirring retreat. Rempel watched it go. What do I want? To have no regrets - free as a bird, he thought. Leaning back in his seat, he remembered Rosalyn, back in high school. A year after him, she had the best marks in her grade and beat him in the school spelling bee. He faltered under her confident stare and added a fatal extra "n" to "panache", giving her the win. Diedrich hurried towards the car, whacking the leather work gloves against his dirty pants and the sides of his boots, as if challenging them to a duel. "All done, record time!" he called out. Swirling back into the old Zephyr together with a shock of cold air, he rested a hand on the box that held the rotted evidence, his defiled All-Stars. "Okay, Doctor, what did you decide?" he asked, applying his hanky to his reddened nose. "I think you and your aunts - not me - should be the ones to decide. Not me, sir. But I have an idea." Diedrich waited for the doctor to continue as Rempel pulled the car up onto the macadam esker that was Hespeler Avenue. "Myrtle and Rosalyn will be home now, yes?" he asked. In the aunts' small 1-1/2 storey house, Rempel sat across the kitchen table facing Diedrich and his two spinster aunts. Following small talk and tea, he told the whole story to the sisters. He answered their initial questions, then laid out his plan. "First, I believe we need to confirm, with absolute certainty, who did this. It seems quite obvious to me that the vandal is the coach's son, Morton," he looked at Diedrich, who affirmed with a nod. "His father should be given the evidence and..." "Morton said something to me," Diedrich said. "Sorry I didn't tell you before, but at school today he bugged me about the shoes." "Who else knew about them, about your runners getting wrecked?" Rosalyn asked. "No one. Only Doctor Rempel, and now - you and Aunty Myrtle. Today, Morton, he said to me, 'How do your shoes smell?', or something like that." She looked at Rempel, "Go on, please Corny." "Fine. That's out of the way, then! Morton's as good as confessed. He's our man. That's no surprise to me. And that makes me even more certain that what I have in mind is the right thing to do! I say it's best to force a confrontation. I want Diedrich to challenge Morton to a fist-fight. After school, just the two of them." The room was quiet. The sisters looked at each other, then both at Diedrich. "That could get him in a lot of trouble," Myrtle said. Rempel nodded without commitment. "And what about 'turn the other cheek'? Don't answer violence with violence." she added, fretting with her napkin. The doctor sat still. The mantle clock ticked from the parlour. "He could get expelled." "Not to interrupt," Diedrich said, waiting for his aunt to approve before he continued. "But not if it's before or after school and off school grounds," Diedrich explained. "Helmut Reimer and Fats Wall had a fight behind the pool hall and they didn't get kicked out." "But Morton's dad is a teacher," Rosalyn said, smiling at her nephew and adding, "not to interrupt..." "Also, that Morton boy is three grades ahead of D'rich! He must be way bigger, not?" Myrtle said, her tone trembling, fragile as the mismatched plates on the table. "All that is true," said Doctor Rempel, taking a slow breath and worrying with fat fingers the pocket holding his cigars. "That's why I went and talked to Coach Smullett earlier today..." All eyes in the kitchen were on him as he continued - bedside manner activated, his voice rumbling like an advancing tank. "I believe Smullett is a decent man. I met him this morning where he gets his coffee before school. I went to his car and showed him the shoes. As soon as I showed him, his face turned bright red and he said, 'Morton!'" "He knew right away?" Rosalyn asked. Rempel nodded slowly, a hand cupping his beard, fingers combing the grey whiskers. "He did. Smullett was convinced. Is convinced. He said that he would get the truth out of Morton, and that the boy would buy new ones and apologize in front of the team." Doctor Rempel drew himself up and adjusted his glasses. "I said no to that..." "Why?" Myrtle and Rosalyn said simultaneously. "This kid is a bad egg. He's not gonna take his medicine, he'll blame Diedrich for calling him names, he'll blame anyone else but himself. He'll plot a revenge, too. I reckon that the only way to get him to lay off Diedrich, now and forever, is to push him right to the edge. Diedrich should challenge him to a fight." "Oh, my. But it's the Coach's job to manage the team and it's also his job as a father to discipline his son. Right? Plus," Rosalyn said, shifting in her seat, "the shoes were free in the first place. A gift from the coach. A very thoughtful one, too." She looked hard at Rempel. "You're right, Ros," Rempel stammered. Eyes that could stare an eagle blind. "But, in this case, I think this misery will visit us again if we don't cut it out entirely. Now's the time to excise it." The tiny kitchen was quiet again. This time the muffled clatter of the sump pump from the crawlspace below broke the nervous silence. It jumped to life with a throbbing beat. "You think that if Diedrich challenges Morton to a fight, the other boy will back out?" Rosalyn said, her voice raised slightly to overcome the rattling pump. "If I know my bullies, yes, that's what I think will happen. Between his guilt and his weak character, yup. One hundred per cent. I can be around - I am a doctor, remember - to make sure it's just a little dust-up. A cut lip never killed anyone." "How will that, excise the problem for good, as you put it?" Rosalyn asked, one eyebrow hitched. "Morton will be shamed, of his own doing. If he declines to fight... if he fights and loses... and - especially - if he fights and wins over Diedrich who is smaller and younger - he is shamed. If, however, his father, or the school, or I, or you and Myrtle step in, then Morton will be off the hook." "Why?" Rosalyn shot back. "He'll become the victim and our Diedrich will be nothing but a tattle-tale. Plus," he said, taking in a breath and tapping his fork handle on the tablecloth, "it will leave the door open to future animosity from Morton. Reprisals against Diedrich that could be even more serious." Rosalyn drummed her fingertips on the table-top, almost as if a Morse code reply. Her brow crinkled in concentration. The others watched her for a reaction. "Diedrich," she said, turning to face her ward. "I never thought I would push you into a fight. That is not our way! But Doctor Rempel thinks it may not come to fighting. What do you think, Jung?" "What took you guys so long?" he said. Rosalyn touched Diedrich on the shoulder. "It's your decision. Still, I'll pray on it."

The old Zephyr gurgled asthmatically, shuddering in place on the street in front of WCI. A small flock of chickadees took turns flitting to and from between the open driver's window and a cluster of young elms across the street. A shoebox under his arm, Diedrich was one of the first to skip out of the entrance doors after the final school bell rang. He trotted towards the gurgling car with a light gait and popped the passenger door open in a smooth one-handed motion. "So? How'd it go with Morton? What happened?" Doctor Rempel asked in a rush of words as soon as the Diedrich got in. "Oh, no big deal. At lunchtime, Morton bought me new shoes with Christmas money from his Opa in Altoona and he's gonna come to the car wash and help me for a week." "Huh! I hope you mean Morton, not his Opa," the doctor said, unable to resist the jab and using it to hide his surprise. He turned away and then kicked at the accelerator, suddenly annoyed with the halting idle. "I thought you were going to challenge him to a fight?" "Who, his Opa?" "Ha." Doctor Rempel slipped him a dour, side-eyed look, buttered with a smile. "I don't mean to change the subject, but Morton an' me are going to go to Winnipeg with his cousin on Saturday. To the U of M. They have glass backboards in the Bison fieldhouse. We're gonna shoot around and then watch the team practice." "So - what?" Rempel said. "That means you two are friends now?" The big V12 grumbled and Rempel adjusted the choke lever on the dash. "I guess. You said be brave. You said be the best at being brave. Period. End of story." Diedrich said this plainly, all the while with his eyes on Doctor Rempel, a frank expression on his young face. "It wasn't as scary as you guys figured." "Sure," Rempel said, imagining how this resolute young boy, the ruined shoes brandished like loaded pistols, would have approached the bully, pushing down his fear, looking up at his stronger, older foe. He could not have known what to expect, but he emerged with the best of all outcomes. "...for I am gentle and humble in heart," the doctor thought, the passage clear in his mind. "Anyway," Diedrich said, leaning forward to tune the radio dial. "You get the Stones on this old bucket?" He grinned playfully and then shoved the shoebox at his chauffeur. "Take a look, these runners are really neat! One lace red, one blue. Chuck Taylors!" Doctor Rempel put the car in gear and began up the street. The engine fell into synchronization, dropping down several octaves and then spitting out a white smoke ring that spun rearward, rising gracefully into the Prussian blue of the winter sky.

[setsunatama3]

Chapter 6: the trials of the Emerald forest part 2 of 3

Chapter 6: the trials of the Emerald forest part 2 of 3

While making their way to the temple Pyrrha and Naruto made idle chatter. Pyrrha thought how odd it was that they had not run into any GrimmGrimm yet until Naruto had broken her out of her daze with a question. "So Pyrrha what was your home like ?"  

With a smile, Pyrrha reminisced about her home for a moment before answering the question." my home is called Argus, it's the link between Anima and Solis.so it takes its architecture from both. It's peaceful, and it's one of the largest trading ports. I enjoyed my time there its home, you know."

Taking in her words had reminded Naruto of the joys of his time in Konoha. Then the reformation of his clan and the restoration of his familial homeland Uzushio. While he was thinking of Uzu, he was broken out of his thoughts by Pyrrha.

"To...ruto...naruto hey naruto are you listening?" "uh... Sorry, Pyrrha I kinda got lost in my thoughts what did you say?" Naruto asked the girl rubbing the back of his head nervously.

Puffing out her cheeks and huffing, she repeated her question. "I said what was your home and life  like?"

Grinning to himself and thinking back, he began to speak." My home was a small village outside the protection of the kingdoms called Konoha. It was nice. I think my favorite place was on top of the Hokage mountain where our leaders' faces were carved. On top of my dad's head from there, the view was terrific, especially the sunset. I always liked watching the sunset from there it gave me time to think."

As the pair continued to walk, they heard a voice in the clearing just before them.

"how about a cute little pony?" another voice replied, "whatever…"

Entering the clearing, they found that the two voices where Yang and blake.walking up to the pair and a wave naruto gave a greeting. 

"Yo! Yang, Blake, how are you doing?"

Seeing Naruto yang jubilantly ran up to him and hugged him and said.

"What's up foxy did you miss me?"

With a grin, she then embraced his arm with her cleavage

Pyrrha noticing this grabbed his other arm and did the same without thinking in jealousy. 

Noticing blake was standing there naruto greeted her and broke free of the other two girls and gave her a bear hug. 

A now blushing blake panicked for a moment at the contact, calming down she gasped at his tightening grip. Getting desperate for air, she started to pound on his chest as her ribs were now feeling like they were going to break. She then gasped out. "N-naruto can't breath…"

Noticing her now blue face, he let her go and apologized with a grin on his face." sorry, blake, you just looked left out." 

"It's okay just not so tight next time okay?" a blushing blake huffed out.

Pouting and then grinning at her new idea. Yang ran and jumped onto naruto's back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her self into him." what about me, Foxy?"

Instinctively grabbing her thighs naruto caressed them using his husky voice he said." all you had to do was ask Yang.

Left speechless Yang blushed scarlet from head to toe she jumped off his back. Shuffling away quickly with her mind in turmoil, she desperately tried to come up with a response, but the pounding of her heart in her head was distracting her.

"Heads uuuppp!" a red blur screamed as it fell from the sky.

Noticing who it was Naruto raised his hand and intoned." Shinra-Tensei." instantly killing the momentum of the red blur only for a similar blonde armored blur to come flying in. Acting quickly, he raised his other hand and did the same just before the to collided. He then said," Banshō Ten'in." safely floating Ruby over to himself catching her as he cut off his power in a bridal carry.who then taking advantage of the embrace snuggled in closer." what's up Jaune how's it hanging?" Naruto asked with a cheeky grin on his face. "Umm you know just hanging out but could you let me down please?" and Naruto promptly just cut his power off and Jaune fell into a heap on the ground, letting out a groan and thanks.

Yang noticing this act was about to jump into big sister until the sound of rumbling, an explosion of some kind and falling trees caught her attention and an Ursa plowed into the clearing in a heap with a girl riding on its back. "Aww it's broken." the strange girl said. "Nora! Nora, please don't ever do that again." a boy in a green tailcoat stumbled out from behind the corpse gasping hunched for air, looking up only to find that the exuberant girl was missing.

The now named Nora just seemed to appear at the relics as if the girl just teleported. "Oooh, I'm the queen of the castle~ I'm queen of the castle~ I'm queen of the castle." Nora exclaimed as the girl grabbed the rook piece, placed it on her head, and  danced around." Nora!" 

"Coming Ren," she then disappeared and was next to the now named Ren. 

"Hey, can we slow down please, Lycan?" one voice declared. Another retorted." and I offered to carry you we need to get a relic as soon as possible Ragora. When the two made it into the clearing. They two gained the attention of the group for a moment. 

Before joining as two more pairs came into running the clearing one with a mainly colored dark bluish-grey with thick black hemming on the collar, sleeve cuffs. Bottom flaps, and the left side's outer edge, which is fastened by two silver cross clasps at the top and bottom to the right side. Light black jeans that go down into his pair of darker high boots, strapped with three buckles and colored the same grey as his jacket on the inside as well as the top of his actual shoes, with the rest of it colored brown and a different shade of grey under the soles.

The other a lighter grey bowler hat with a fringe sticking out from the side. For the rest of his outfit, he wears a sleeveless black jacket with a popped collar, dark symbols down the back that reach around the front, and short coattails lined with red around the lower edges, held together by rectangular silver clamps down the middle and open around his chest. Underneath that is a bright red dress shirt with a black bow tie and buttons, the sleeves of which come out from his jacket and are folded up to above his elbows, his forearms and hands were completely covered by long black-and-grey gloves. He also has dark dress pants over his legs and wears sneakers of the same color scheme as the rest of his outfit.

The other pair were chatting amicably to each other." are you sure your eyes are okay; I mean they were bleeding Sarada." I appreciate the concern Vella, but with that technique, it is normal okay?" "uhh okay if you say so."

Putting the little reaper down and giving her a head pat, he gave Sarada a wave and a greeting. "yo Sarada. "

The peace was broken once more when a girl dressed in white came running into the clearing with a deathstalker on her tail. this 

At this point, blake just stated the obvious "Did she just run all the way here with a deathstalker on her tail ?"

As Yang's anger reached bursting she exclaimed, "I can't take it anymore will everybody just chill out for like two seconds before something crazy happens." as her eye turned a brilliant scarlet red and lit her self aflame briefly.

Moreover, as if responding to her plea, the universe took a comedic pause for two seconds.

Ruby grabbed Yang's arm and pointed her attention upwards." uuuhhh Yang."

Hearing screaming caused the group to look up, and they saw Weiss hanging onto the talon of a Nevermore. "I can't believe you left me," Weiss shrieked. "I said jump," Ruby responded.

As the group looked on, Blake said,"  she's gonna fall." 

"She'll be fine," ruby assured the group.

"she's falling," Ren announced.

"I got her!" an excited Jaune exclaimed.

"Will I'm not gonna help," naruto pitched in.

Hearing this Sarada stomped on Naruto's foot and glared up at him." ow damn it okay."

Huffing to himself Naruto raised a hand as Sarada stepped back to give him some space. 

With one motion and a breath" Banshō Ten'in," Weiss went from a deadfall to flying like a rocket into Naruto's arms.using his chakra to keep his balance to slide back a foot.

"Ah, man," Jaune sighed out.

As Weiss opened her eyes, she realized that she wasn't falling anymore. However, was being held in someone's arms, looking up to see a whiskered grin staring back at her. She couldn't help but blush a little bit.

Seeing the look on Weiss's face, Naruto couldn't help but be a little cheeky. "You okay princess?"

In response to the comment, Weiss's blush grew, and she punched Naruto in the gut. Causing him to hunch over and drop the girl.weiss in an impressive motion managed to land on her feet.

(gwwraaaooor!)

Hearing the massive roar caused everyone to pause even the Grimm they were about to face.

Looking to where the sound came, then hearing the rumbling of the monster as it barreled its way through the trees and into the clearing. As the dust cleared, it was revealed to be a massive elder chimera Grimm.

"Great just great now we can all die together," Yang sighed out now thoroughly defeated by the current string of events.

Ruby piped up, Wanting to prove herself to be a great warrior as everyone else." I got this!" As Ruby Charged forwards towards the Deathstalker, Yang cried out as she tried to reach out to stop her.`` Ruby don't!" 

Ruby rushed the beast intent on cutting it in two.only for the monster to knock her back with its claw.

Taking advantage of the opening, the nevermore flapped its wings and fired its feathers at the now downed girl. Acting quickly Naruto and Sarada gave each other a glance communicating their roles without speech. Sarada leaped in front of the deathstalker just as Naruto made it in front of the oncoming spear-like feathers. Acting in sync naruto raised both hands "Shinra-Tensei," repelling the feathers.shortly after this happened Sarada's eyes began to bleed as an ethereal rib cage and arm formed around her just in time to stop the stinger in its tracks.

Running over to help ruby Weiss began to tear into the girl." You are so childish. And dim-witted, and hyperactive, and don't even get me started on your fighting style." "Ehem, princess get to the point," Naruto said interrupting. Blushing Weiss continued," And I suppose, I can be a bit... difficult... but if we're going to do this, we're going to have to do this together. So if you quit trying to show off, I'll be... more agreeable."

Growing another arm out of the rib cage Sarada delt the deathstalker a devastating right hook turning to the pair. "If you don't mind moving like now please!?" 

Quickly moving out of the way Weiss and Ruby make it back to the group they hear a roar of pain to their left. Where the chimera was to see a trench in the ground. Looking to the other end of the trench, they saw Naruto; one handheld outstretched Huffing deeply. 

"D...Did you just kill that thing?" Weiss timidly stuttered out uncharacteristically.

Acting like he was catching his breath, Naruto responded. "No, but I did blast it a fair distance away we need to run. All I did was piss it off. And this clearing is a bad place to fight no cover."

As if to confirm his statement, they heard another deafening roar and rumbling coming from the same direction.

"Uh, Kid I've got some bad news." Kurama relayed through the bond.

"I know we got another one coming and it's growing more powerful as it approaches it must have sensed that last attack I used," Naruto replied as he and Sarada ran to the group.

As the group ran through the forest with the three Grimm on their tail and a fourth on the way. Naruto and Sarada glanced to each other nodded then naruto spoke to the group." alright I've got a plan, but none of us are going to like it.there is a fourth Grimm making its way here  Pyrrha, broody boy, castle queen and I will run intercept on it. 

"my name is ren, and this is nor-" ren tried to explain as Nora covered his mouth." shhh ren Castle Queen is fine." as Naruto continued to explain his plan.

"Right, anyways Ruby, princess(getting a blush from the said girl), Blake, and Yang take the murder bird. Jaune, jacket guy, bowler hat, and shield girl take the Sasori."

"You could at least get our names you know I'm Simin, not jacket guy, and this is Brandon." 

Huffing at another interruption naruto gave in and compiled." right the name is Naruto Uzumaki good to meet you Brandon, Simin. And you are my lady…"

With a small smile, she introduced herself, "I'm Lysette."

Sarada pitched in." Vella and I will take … um, I'm sorry, but I didn't get your names I'm, and this is my partner villa?"

The girl in purple introduced herself and her partner "Ah, I'm Ragora, and this is Lycan I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

a shrill inhuman scream was heard by all as they began to split up.

"Naruto what was that?" Pyrrha asked

"That was the fourth Grimm that's on its way here we're going to intercept it so it can't get any bigger," Naruto answered while searching his pouch for supplies.

Finding the explosive notes and wire, he gave  the wire and tags to Ren." here take these when we make it into the next clearing set up a perimeter around us with the wire and tags with only one way in for it."

Ren, for his part, looked strangely at the notes and wire and nodded his head.knowing that they had a purpose.

"What do you mean it's getting bigger?" Pyrrha asked as she took in the information.

"I don't know what it is, but its power started really small, so I ignored it but its been seeking out other Grimm and I guess eating them or absorbing them because it  feels bigger now."

This caught Ren's attention, and in an attempt to probe for information he asked." Naruto said you felt its presence what did you mean by that exactly?"

Stunned at Ren's perceptive question Naruto answered," I can sense aura and negative emotions. It's something I was born with and trained extensively. And the thing that we are going to ambush has been gaining more malice every time it comes across other pockets of the hate in this forest. Also, those tags are unique. Put them inked side up there explosives in case this thing tries to escape.

As they worked to ready the clearing, the grim was lashing out and ripping its way through the forest. Naruto signaled Kurama. "Are you sure we should be doing this Naruto? I mean using my killing intent will send it straight towards you and the brats."

"Yes Kurama we can't let it prey on the grim in this forest it's getting stronger, and soon the kids won't be able to handle this thing. If that happens, we will have to show more of our cards than we would like. I don't want to use your chakra or any other weapons I have yet. Do it! " 

Naruto responded back setting up the last of the traps. And with a surge of chakra and malice, the Grimm changed directions and headed straight towards them. A surge of chakra caught his attention. Letting him know that Sarada's battle was underway. And theirs is about to begin.

[mister-maiden]

The Stars Went Dark

(Old Story found on old website :o)

I sighed from the station of my desk. The night sky peered through the large windows of my dorm hall as I looked at the clock. Four. Only two hours to to go until I could leave this hell. The eerie halls of empty masses echoing every low groan the building produced from the ventilation to the foundations which caused me to jump every so often. In a building full of people, nothing is ghastlier than seeing a lack of.

Every so often I enjoyed walking away from the desk to stretch my legs. My superiors didn’t need to know and even if they somehow found out, I was always able to just walk right on back to my chair and explain I thought I saw something outside. They didn't’ expect much considering I am a college student looking over the front door of a large dorm. I enjoyed my special Sunday nights with the normal sandals, long sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants. To say I dressed like a slob was believable, but guests only dealt with my torso upwards, so I doubted there would be some form of dress violation. As the clock hit 4:30, I slowly stood and brought myself to the monumental windows.

I peered into the abyss outside and whistled. It was a dark night with no life. Thick snow packed cleanly across the front with hurried footsteps tracing into the building.. Normally I could see at least one idle body across the way or even the moon’s light across the ground. The medical center would be close by as well as our music center immediately to the right..but everything was black. I tapped at the glass jokingly before moving towards the door and gave a quick push to let myself into the mid section that connected one set of glass doors to the next. It felt akin to that of a hamster’s box. With another push, I looked around. The darkness filled my vision as I peered at the lone street lamp lighting the white ground and snow fall at least a football field away. All the paths were completely concealed in darkness.

I moved my hand left to right to test my vision before walking back inside. Suppose the snow did far more than I thought. Perhaps it was clouding the moon. With a low exhale, I sat across from the desk’s computer and simply resumed my night’s watching of a new Netflix movie. Not a single person passed from the hallways nor a single guest entered. I didn’t mind this. Slow nights always appeared on the midst of a blizzard storm, or simply on Sundays.

It was now 6:00 A.M. and I still can’t see a damn thing outside.

No sun to illuminate, no warmth to melt and harvest the snow. It was as time had played a prank on me. I had gotten used to the idea of being alone, but this was ridiculous. After typing in my key code to the desk and locking up the supply closet, I turned out the lights and began to head to my dorm room, except with one last look to the outside.

As I opened the door and stepped outside, I could hardly see the snowy ground itself. In fact the only reason I knew snow was on the ground was because of the familiar crunch and cold of the snow hitting my shoes. Shearing wind slashed against my pale face. The howling blizzard only roared as I looked around for life. Darkness and a few lamps to be seen, but nothing to help.

Why is it so dark, I asked myself before looking to the sky. And then I realized.

Everything Was Gone.

There was no familiar film of dank, disgusting smog that carried over a city. No clouds of snow blocking out the beautiful morning sky. In fact there wasn’t a single star willing to show its radiant shine. It was just black.

I couldn’t explain what I saw. You think you know black, but it was nothing like this. Nothing even like space. It felt like something was staring at me like an ant. Without hesitation, I forced my way back into the dorm as if I had seen a ghost. My chest heaved heavily as my fingers shook. Every breath was a cold blister to my lungs as I shook my head in a sweat.

I’m simply tired. That’s it. I’m tired. I’ve had brief moments of obscured clarity while I slept. I simply continued to look outside through the plated glass before moving back to my dorm room on the fifth floor.

My dorm had five floors which housed hundreds of residents each. Most floors were empty late at night to early mornings so it wasn’t surprising to see a soul. I made my way to the fifth floor through a large stairway, the echo of my footsteps accompanying me with each flopped push. All the floors seemed to be asleep. Their lights off and night lights on in the lounge. I made my way around the dorm halls and cleaned up any loose items before moving to my room.

The doors were heavy wood which deterred criminals from trying to break into college dorms. With a hefty push, I gained entry to my room. Nothing much. A large computer humming to the left with twin monitors, a webcam, and special mic to stream games and speak with friends. I was mildly popular online as a persona who played games, so all this tech was probably my life. I sat down at my computer chair to relax for a few minutes before looking online.

Everything was normal. The occasional shit-posts from Reddit, the weekly news, emails...nothing mentioned the strange darkness. Even as I peered out my window I couldn’t see a damn thing. I tossed it to drowsiness and dragged myself away from the machine to fall asleep. The blue lights flashing from the computer tower kept me awake for a few minutes before I was able to pass. Those damn, blue flashing lights.

I was woken to the same lights and the sound of a door slamming. In my grogginess, I peered over towards the window. Pitch black as before. I rubbed my headache ridden temples together while I shifted my head to sleep. I felt filled with energy and shifted far too much to be tired. I slowly groaned and popped my back with a satisfying crack before picking up my phone. It was 1:00 P.M. I had slept for 9 hours and was late to my first class. Instinctively, my heart thumped, my breath became raspy, and I began the day feeling stressed.

A normal grey T-Shirt with a silly, green vest printed in the front with a pair of blue jeans and brown boots followed by a black leather jacket. I didn’t know much about fashion, but this functioned for class and a trek through the snapping cold. With a quick grab of my computer bag, keys, phone, and wallet, I exited from my room into a freezing, empty hall. On either side of me, the dorm lounges were empty. Their night lights turned off as well as the regular lights. A pitch black engulfed the area lay stray of a few lights that never turn out.

I quickly rushed out of my lounge in fear of being late to class. Of course it was dark, but I walked through this thing every day. I knew the location of the couches and tables lining the walls. Within seconds I made it to the door of the stairwell, hearing screams of laughter and stomping from the stairwell. I wasn’t insane after all.

As I stepped into the stairwell, the faint lights were illuminating the stairs and no one walked up. I suppose I may have just missed them. I slowly made my way down the dark stairs while looking into lounges. Some had their televisions on which was different from before, others had their lights on as if people were still going through their day. I sighed to myself before a door suddenly opened in front of my face. I braced myself for impact and jumped back expecting someone to run into my by accident, but no one ran out. I didn’t have time to argue nor investigate, so I grunted and walked down the stairs. Figured some asshole had pushed the door open and didn’t know I was there. Reaching the first floor only to see the same monumental glass that made the front of my dorm building. ALl that accompanied was the familiar darkness.

I pressed my hand against the cold glass and looked up towards the sky. Abyss. The sounds of footsteps and chatter began to echo in my ears as I looked around. The room felt like it was spinning as I lost my mind. Noises were being made left to right and I couldn’t see where they came from. I quickly escaped from my dorm building, the snow pressing against my feet as I shivered from the experience, and from the sudden apathy I felt. Nothing made me feel worse than standing within this darkness. I was away from the lights of the inside and of the lamps. It was as if my energy was being drained. My legs turned into noodles as my arms folded to my chest, my head looking down as I continually heard the happy sounds of conversations.

As I turned around, I saw them. Through the same, plated glass. A husky girl at the front desk was talking to a lanky fella while a few students were gathered around the chairs near the glass. They were entirely real. I wasn’t simply imagining these statements  coming from the air. I pressed my hands to my head in relief before slowly looking around, the air being as empty as the sky. All I could see were faint shadows and a few lights from the buildings around me. I began to re-examine myself but didn’t have much to work with since I couldn’t see my body in this darkness. I breathed heavily to feel the whip of cold crack in my lungs before moving on to rub my eyes. Yup. Still there. Didn’t hurt  to gently rub them either.

I slowly pushed open the door before standing in the middle compartment to stare at the people at the chairs. Their conversations still going on in the air as the sound of a woman’s laughter broke out. The chairs were completely empty. What were areas filled with life was now meaningless. Even the front desk had become abandoned. As I stepped further into the building, I watched as a pencil and writing board were passed from the front desk to the air.

I couldn’t believe my eyes...These objects were just manipulated with such purpose! I didn’t understand what was happening as the pen hit the board. I peeked over the board to watch the name “Matthias Conway” being printed onto paper with the lead before it was placed on the table. The supply closet opened and a box floated through the air. “Here you are,” came the voice of a woman. A quick thank you came from in front of me, and the box simply floated right on down the south wing.

Without explanation, I needed a seat. I took a seat closest to the door and shook my head as I continued to hear the normal drull of doors opening and conversations carrying out beside me.

Was it my eyes? Could I not see some special type of light that others could? Was I a ghost? Was I just insane? I began to bite at my short fingernails for some form of comfort before pressing my palms against my ears. Drowning it out was better than letting it carry on.

After slowly walking around the dorm halls for hours, I found that conversations were being made in common areas. Lounges, dining areas, offices. I could hear it all yet not communicate. I could speak yet not be heard. Know where people were yet not be known myself. After far too much walking around in fear, I found myself at that familiar mid section room walled by two glass doors leading in and out of my dorm.

You want to know what true isolation is? Being in a room full of people and not a single person acknowledging you exist. It’s worse than being alone in a room by yourself, because at least  you are presented the choice of being a part of a conversation. This is torment.

Some findings I have discovered on my trek through this abysmal dorm:

People can’t hear me nor see when I manipulate something.

I can type things into a computer and it will post to the internet. I can see myself on a webcam and have tested to streaming. I was able to talk to chatters...but none believed my predicament.

Outside is bad. DO. NOT. ATTEMPT.

I can see others only through windows and mirrors.

I’m still traversing this building before moving outside...I’ve learned several laws in this strange event. I shall update once I try looking for supplies inside. Getting hungry. If you're reading this, I guess you got one of the stories I've posted out there about this. Help.