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#i would like to add that i desperately DESPERATELY want replacements for my 2-inch black platform slides from the 90s
xcziel · 3 years
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Five Things Tag
tagged by @kholran (thank you!! 💖)
five things you'll find in my back pack
(i haven't used a backpack since 1993, and for decades i had essentially a bag-of-holding purse that co-workers used to joke i could club someone to death with, but pandemic times means i cut down to absolute essentials that will fit in jeans pockets, so boring *)
phone
keys
card wallet
spare mask
hand sanitizer
five of my favorite things
popcorn (right now)
the color black
being able to have all my books around me
cool, windy weather
making things that people enjoy (cribbing from @kholran bc it IS the best feeling
five things on my to-do list
new pothos plant
find some of the new 90s throwback platform shoes that seem to be coming out (bc i MISS my old ones that broke)
work on getting my stamina back
get hold of a laptop and photoshop(-like program)
figure out a way to download shows for (trying to make) gifs or edits
tagging @thewindsofsong @aurawolfgirl2000 @hesayshesgotboyfriend @epicwalrus @xia-xueyi @jockvillagersonly or anyone else who'd like to be tagged and hasn't been!
* in case anyone is curious, an actual list of things i had in my purse pretty much at all times under the cut because it's long
(i still have a messed up shoulder, as the thing weighed over 15 lbs - @7kg for non-americans)
old-school folding wallet/checkbook
small leather id/card wallet with keychain
separate, less-used keychain
tablet & phone
glasses case
sunglasses
contacts case & eye drops
makeup case w/foundation, powder, concealer, mascara, eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, lipgloss
zipper case with pills: vitamins, ibuprofen, tums, dramamine, excedrin, gas-x, etc
zipper case of small ultilities: bandaids, neosporin, measuring tape, tiny bottle of bugspray, girl scout pocketknife, tiny writing pad in a metal case, glasses wipes, nailfile, tweezers, superglue, carmex, safety pins, extra hairclip
small collection of chargers/cords
small rennfest dagger in sheath
mini maglite
many ballpoint pens and sharpies - 15 or so
hand sanitizer, hand wipes, travel pack kleenex
gum
candy bar or m&ms - something with nuts
gummi bears or skittles
lanyards
travel sewing kit
old & new recipts
little bluetooth speaker & cord
folding umbrella
in summer a folding fan, in winter gloves
old, cracked change purse from my mom
2 or 3 tiny folding knives from my dad
boxcutter and work gloves
*shrug emoji*
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ava-achlys · 3 years
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Erised Part 3
-continuation-
Pulling off with a slick 'pop', she sat upright and opened her mouth, letting the cum drip onto her chest as she pulled down her dress. The cum and saliva dripped onto her now exposed breasts, a silver bar between each of her nipples glinting in the dim light. Eric scrambled to take a closer look, despite his exhaustion. "You have nipple piercings?!" He scream-whispered. She giggled and scooted closer offering a closer look. Juyeon looked hungrily at her and immediately attached his lips to one, licking the cum off her chest as he groped her ass. Eric hesitantly did the same to her other nipple, but he caressed her waist instead. Nara leaned back on her knees, sighing in pleasure as her two lovers toyed with her nipples, indulging themselves.
Juyeon bit hard enough to leave red teeth marks on her chest and slapped her ass before turning to Eric with a smirk, "My turn now, babyboy." Eric pulled off, eyes wide in confusion and excitement. Nara stepped off the bed momentarily, to reposition herself at the head of the bed behind the blonde. She pulled him backwards so he laid on her chest and wrapped her arms around him, peppering little kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders. Meanwhile, Juyeon had gotten up and stood next to the bed, shedding his coat and shirt as he went.
Eric eyed the growing tent in his skin-tight trousers with hunger as the taller man teasingly pulled at his own waistband. Chuckling at his lustful expression, Juyeon pulled his trousers down painstakingly slowly, relishing the way Eric's eyes glazed over when his massive length finally sprung free from the confines of tight navy fabric. "Fuck" Eric whispered, eyes transfixed on the throbbing length before him, his own little cock twitching to life again. Nara brushed her lips on the shell of his ear, stage-whispering "You'll appreciate how big he is when he's actually inside you, you know..." looking up at Juyeon with dreamy eyes as well.
The taller man stalked closer, his cock swaying heavily with each step and Eric shivered under his piercing gaze. Elegant, calculated, predatory. Something akin to a panther, he thought, especially with his jet-black hair and glinting dark eyes. His large hands grip Eric's thighs and spread them open again, proceeding to blow hot air onto his hole. He watched as the prince's cock twitched and hardened further. "Tell me baby, have you ever fingered yourself?" He asked. Eric avoided his gaze and mumbled under his breath. Juyeon glanced at Nara, both of them amused by how shy their usually energetic little baby had become tonight. Nara gripped his jaw gently and forced him to look at his hyung again. "Speak up sweetheart, answer Juyeonnie hyung properly," she chastised. The prince blushed even deeper and stammered out a shaky "Y-yes hyung, I have."
Juyeon beamed at him, running a hand through his blonde locks. "Show us, baby. Show us how you play with yourself," he encouraged. He took one of Eric's hand and sucked on two fingers, coating them generously with his spit, and passed it to Nara, who did the same; Eric thought he could come just from this feeling. When they were sufficiently coated, or rather, dripping with hot saliva, he hesitantly pressed his middle finger onto his puckered hole, tracing its rim before pushing in slowly. He actually fingered himself in the bath before he got ready, in an attempt to get rid of his nervousness about seeing the two of them at his party. He had imagined being sandwiched between the two, having them use his body as they pleased. Never did he expect his dreams to come true like this. He shut his eyes as he began to pump his finger in and out of his pink hole until he felt ready to add another finger.
He felt their hands roaming all over his body and he lost himself to the feeling. His free hand was interlaced with one of Nara's, and her other hand gripping his thigh, spreading him open for Juyeon, manicured nails digging into the toned flesh. Meanwhile, Juyeon's large, warm hands were everywhere. First he felt them teasing his nipples, then squeezing his perky ass, then rubbing his other thigh, and now, they were holding his legs open, replacing Nara's; her smaller hand now resting on his waist. A sudden slap to his left asscheek jolted him from his haze. He opened his eyes and paused scissoring himself open. Juyeon smiled sweetly at him, "Don't go zoning out now, we're far from done," and suddenly stuck 2 long fingers into Eric's hole and began helping stretch him open. Eric gasped and squirmed at the intrusion. He was unused to having 4 fingers inside him at once; normally 3 were enough to make himself cum. It stung a little, but soon it turned to pleasure and he found himself rocking his hips to fuck himself onto his and Juyeon's fingers. His moan cut off when he felt Juyeon's fingers slip out just as suddenly as they had entered him and he wanted to scream. He was so close!
"That was mean, Juyeonnie, he was enjoying himself," Nara laughed airily, stroking the poor boy's head to comfort him as she hugged him close. Juyeon chuckled darkly, "I think he's ready for more. Aren't you baby boy?" He tilted Eric's chin up to meet his lusty gaze. Eric nodded eagerly and Juyeon dropped his finger from his chin. He brought his attention to his fat, throbbing cock by softly brandishing it in front of the prince's face. "Get me ready for your tight little pussy sweetheart. I like it messy. You know what to do, don't you?" Eric's mouth watered at the sight of the red tip, shiny and dripping with precum. He scrambled to sit up on his knees and grabbed at it, his small hands making it look even more massive. He licked at it tentatively and Juyeon's knees nearly buckled. Gaining confidence, the blonde began to kitten lick all over his shaft, stopping at times to gather the precum in his mouth. Finally he sunk his lips down onto the length, drawing a low growl from the man above him. However, he couldn't fit all of him into his mouth at one go, so he stroked the base of Juyeon's shaft and balls with his hands as he hollowed his cheeks.
"Aww look how pretty he looks Juyeonnie! He's got such pretty lips, made for sucking cock. He can't even fit all of you down his throat, the little virgin. But it's okay, we've got lots of time to teach him. Pretty little baby will pick it up in no time," Nara cooed, raking her nails up and down his sides. Eric moaned at the thought of doing all this again, and moaned even louder when he felt Juyeon pull his hair. Tears pricked at his eyes as he felt his head being pushed down till his nose met the skin below Juyeon's belly button. He felt his air being cut off and hot tears streamed down his face as he felt the tip of his cock down his throat. The taller man held him in place and tried to not to thrust, groaning at the feeling of wet heat around his cock. "He'll be our pretty little slut. You can teach him a thing or two Nara," he grunted, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Finally, after what Eric felt was an eternity, he pulled his mouth off him and Eric fell backwards into Nara's arms, gulps of fresh air burning his raw throat. Juyeon was also breathing harshly, determined not to cum unless it was in Eric's ass.
“Are you ready for me baby? How badly do you want my cock inside your pretty little hole hmm?” Juyeon asked mockingly, slapping the head of his cock on Eric’s clenching hole, the wet sounds making both Nara and Eric shiver. “I want it so bad, hyungie please, I- I want you, no I need you to fuck me- ah!” Eric choked on a scream as the taller male plunged his into his tight heat. Juyeon was only halfway in when Eric came suddenly with a long, drawn-out moan. His back arched as he clung onto Nara, sobbing as his sensitive cock released creamy white liquid in spurts. Juyeon continued to push himself in slowly. “Already cumming? Just from putting my dick into your pussy? He’s an even needier slut than we expected, huh Nara?” he chuckled. Eric groaned as he felt every inch of Juyeon’s massive cock stretch him open, until he felt his balls touch his ass. Both of them panting, his hyung leaned in close, and kissed him sweetly. he stroked the blonde’s cheek gently, as both he and Nara peppered his face, neck and chest with kisses and let him get used to the sheer size of the throbbing length inside him. 
“You okay baby?”
“Yes, please move, hyung. I can take it, “ Eric breathed out.
Smiling proudly at their baby, Juyeon gave him one last peck on his lips before pulling out almost completely, and slamming back into Eric, balls deep. Eric let out a scream and his hands grabbed at everything, desperate to find something to ground him as his favourite hyung fucked him senseless. Juyeon continued to drill into his ass, thrusting deeply, hands on Eric’s hips to slam him down on his cock as he thrust upwards. Eric was sobbing and babbling incoherently as he was bent in half, pounded like he was just a little sex doll, being used to chase Juyeon’s orgasm. The sounds of wet skin slapping and Juyeon’s low grunts nearly caused him to miss Nara’s gasp and the feeling of her hand touching herself at the sight of the tall man fucking the blonde so aggressively. She was used to being used the same way, but she would admit that watching him wreck their sweet baby was a sight to behold. Her eyes trailed upwards from watching how Juyeon’s cock disappeared inside Eric’s hole to his chiseled abs flexing with every thrust, to meet his glinting, mischievous eyes. “Baby boy I think someone’s feeling a little neglected. Can you play with noona too? Make her feel good like how I’m doing to you. Want you to fuck her with your tongue, sweetheart can you do that? You’re a good boy right?” Juyeon moaned.
“Yesyes I’m a good boy, wanna make hyung and noona feel good too,” Eric begged. He felt himself being picked up and turned over onto his knees, face mere inches away from Nara’s slick pussy. His licked his lips at the thought of tasting her, and the feeling of being manhandled. Once he was settled in his new position, Juyeon entered Eric with a slam and continued snapping his hips into Eric’s ass with fervor. The blonde moaned at the feeling, and Nara grabbed him by his hair, guiding him closer to her heat. “Go on, babyboy want you to eat my pussy while Juyeonnie pounds tears up yours.” Eric licks a long stripe up through her folds and he feels her grip in his hair tighten. Good, noona liked that, he thought to himself proudly. He began lapping at her folds and sucking at her clit. The dick pounding into his ass brought an idea to his mind. He extended his tongue and stiffened it, and began plunging it into her dripping cunt. He tongue fucked her and hungrily sucked up her juices as he felt her thighs shake, indicating that her orgasm was near. Juyeon’s thrusts were getting sloppy too, replacing long, deep strokes with hard, irregular jabs. 
“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, baby. Gonna cum inside your pussy while you drink up every last drop of noona’s cum, you understand? Gonna make you cum a 3rd time, little cockslut.” Juyeon groaned as he punctuated every sentence with a shaky snap of his hips. He bent his body over, so that his chest was flush with Eric’s back, the sweat and heat driving both boys closer to their orgasms. He shoved the blonde’s face deeper into Nara’s pussy as both bottoms moaned loudly, Eric’s tongue exploring her walls further. She raised a hand to flick and pull at a nipple, grinding her pussy on his face, chasing her own climax. Juyeon used his other hand to grab the blonde’s hip and picked up speed, their balls slapping together with each thrust. Eric moaned like a whore, enjoying being used by both ends; his mouth and tongue bring grinded on, and his prostate was being abused. 
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clumsycopy · 4 years
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Equilibrium Ch. 2
Summary:
You are a Resistance engineer who specializes in damaging First Order ships. In an unsuccessful mission in one planet of the Hoth system you are injured and captured. You then find out the First Order was more aware of you than you thought. Will they be able to use your knowledge to destroy the Resistance?
A/N: It’s so weird to revisit old writing. It feels as if it was another person who wrote it.
Masterlist / AO3
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You wake up with a jerk, gasping. You feel a little bit faint, and it takes a while to remember where you are, and how you got here. You know you’re somewhere in space, heading to the Starkiller base, maybe heading to kriff knows where. You are sure the Resistance has no way to track you, that’s how it always worked so far. And that doesn’t sound like a good thing. Not at all.
There is a dull pain in your shoulder and a stronger but bearable ache in your leg. You look down and see you are strapped to a table like device, but almost in a standing position. Your clothes were taken off, replaced by a simple worn out grey tunic, with matching grey pants and boots.The room you are is dark, the only glow you see is from the panels attached to the door, a few feet in front of you. You test your bonds, and it changes nothing, even if you were at the peak of your health you wouldn’t be able to escape this chair.
The electronic sounds of the spaceship soothe you a little, the familiarity of it making your thoughts wander to the hours you spent opening panels, taking wires and faulty pieces out, assembling and disassembling them, learning how the hardware and the software of a ship works and most importantly, studying how to discreetly damage them. That’s what you did for the Resistance. Your job was to be quick, and leave no traces. You would usually enter First Order ships while they were ravaging towns, and make changes to the code, or to important electronic pieces, so that after a while its components would start to fail. First, a propellant wouldn’t function properly. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially in battle hardened ships.
But like a cancer, it would spread out to important parts, until so many things got broken, or couldn’t get fixed, that the ship would have to be turned into scrap metal. And that cost time and money for the First Order. Time that could have been used to harm the Resistance and money that would have to be used to other things than weapons. You were not in any way linked to the Resistance, nor do you know where their base is, so the First Order efforts would be split into finding two enemies. You thought you had been perfectly anonymous. But not so much, apparently.
You are shaken out of your thoughts by the whirring of the door opening. Kylo Ren enters, followed by a young, slightly shorter red head man wearing a impeccable military outfit. You just know from his posture that this man is full of himself - and you better be weary of him. Not as much weary as you should be of Kylo Ren, who stands in front of you,staring at you like someone looks at a caged pet, a doomed animal.
Your eyes jump from man to man, waiting to see who would make the first move. To see which one is in charge. Kylo Ren lifts his right hand and you flinch, remembering how awful it felt to have him in your head. Instead of using the Force, he cups your chin tightly, lifting your face to make better use of the little lightning available.
In his deep, mechanic voice, he finally speaks.
“Look at her, Captain Hux. She is definitely the one I saw fleeing the Doomstar ship. And this” He pauses, fetching your trident from his robe, and turning it on “Is the weapon spotted by FN-5835. That is, disconsidering what I pulled from her mind that confirms she’s the scum the First Order is looking for. But again you doubt the way of the Force.”
You frown, hating to see your most precious object at the hands of someone so corrupted like Kylo Ren. He takes his hand off your chin, and with a movement so fast that if you blinked you would have missed, he flexes his fingers, creating a small, but steady, choking pressure on your throat, rendering you unable to make any sound.
You twitch in the chair, but the force only gets harder, now you feel like someone is holding you down by your throat. He turns off your saber with his free hand and floats it in your direction, close enough to be out of your reach, taunting you.
Captain Hux approaches, his blue eyes lingering a little to long on your body. You glare at him, doing your best to will him to back off from you, but Kylo Ren’s hold on your mind nulls any chance of using the Force. Not that you’d manage to do much with it anyway.
Hux squeezes your injured shoulder, seemingly enjoying to hurt you, just because he can. His hand now grips your chin, turning your head to different angles, so he can analyze your features better.
“I do agree it’s her, Commander Ren. I will begin the interrogation procedure at once.” He says, not bothering to hide the sick, twisted pleasure on his voice.
Kylo Ren frees you from his hold, and you take a few deep breaths, the pain on your shoulder and leg becoming sharper. He turns to Captain Hux and says: “I will be responsible for the interrogation. She is Force sensitive after all. You will report her capture to Supreme Leader Snoke, and tell Captain Phasma to prepare one of her best cells for my new guest.”
You can feel the delight in the way he speaks, and that scares you. If the idea of interrogating someone and keeping them in a cell pleases him, you don’t want to know what doesn’t.
Captain Hux starts to argue, but Kylo Ren lifts his hand, a gesture of silence. He adds: “You will take orders from me, especially when we are talking about matters concerning the Force. Now go”. His tone is misleadingly calm, but you hear a hint of anger in it, an anger that is about to taken off on you. Hux nods curtly and leaves, his body language indicating that this would not be the end of that argument. The door closes with a soft metallic sound, leaving you in the dark once more.
Just as you get used to the darkness again, Kylo Ren unsheathes his characteristic lightsaber, making you gasp at the proximity of you two. You desperately twitch your fingers, trying to reach your saber. As soon as you manage to touch it, Kylo Ren flicks his wrist, and in a blur his saber is close enough to your hand to heat it up, without burning. You look up at him, not daring to move an inch.
“You won’t need that for now. So you are the girl who caused so much inconvenience for the First Order. And to me. Especially to me. Do you have an idea of how humiliating it is to have your ships break like they were made by stupid rebel scum? Do you know how much money was lost trying to fix the symptoms of your foolish actions before I had an idea of what was going on?”.
His voice is lower and raspier, if that was even possible, and he moved his arm, so that the point of the lightsaber is still near your hand and the cross-guard is almost touching your neck.
For the first time, you answer. You know the way you’re about to speak to him will probably make your last days shorter, but what else do you have to lose?
“You and your troops wipe out cities, destroy lives and harm anything that gets in your way and you have the guts to complain about your ships breaking? You sound like a spoiled child that wants to have your cake and eat it. You can’t be evil and not expect bad things to happen to you.” You wait for some kind of backlash from him, but all you get is a laugh, so sadistic that makes your blood run cold.
Kylo Ren stands up for a moment, and you think he is about to leave, but suddenly the hand holding his saber comes down, cutting of a piece of the chair right beside your head. It happened so fast you barely had time to process it.
The burnt smell of the piece that was cut off from the chairs fills the room, making the atmosphere more threatening, and making only one thought fill your head. This is real. This is happening to me. The only sounds in the room are your heavy breathing, with fear, and his low and grainy breaths.
“You think you are so brave, with your fearless words, and your misguided defiance. It amuses me that you think you are fighting for the winning side. All the Resistance will ever give you is disappointment. You know nothing about the real word. I saw your memories. You are just some sheltered, lucky farm girl that traveled too far away from home for her own good, always being clever, and dauntless even when staying out of harm’s way. Where is the bravery in not getting hurt? You are a coward. Always running from something. Filling your life with foolish purposes so you don’t have to face the fact that you’re alone.”
He gets so close you can see part of your reflection in the chrome of his helmet. You almost can make out some life in the black void that is supposed to be his eyes. He closes his hand in a fist and you feel your whole body tightening.
He savors your whimper with a chuckle, standing up, picking up your trident and moving towards the door.
He turns his head to look at you one more time. “But don’t you worry. I’ll make sure to get you just right into harm’s way. After all, you’re my guest.”
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shanoaravendare · 4 years
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Camp Unus Annus: The Author (Part 3)
Sorry for the delay, I thought I was going to be able to wrap this up in 3 parts but it’s running a bit longer than I predicted.
Previous Parts: 1, 2
              The girl jolted awake, lifting her head quickly from where it rested on her chest only to grimace at the throbbing pain the movement created in her head. She tried to press her hands to her temples to relieve the pain, but they were bound securely behind her to the back of the wooden chair she was seated in. As consciousness took hold the girl realized that her legs were also tied to the chair and her captor had taken the time to both blindfold and gag her. Certain that her captor was aware she had awakened, the girl forewent any pretense of unconsciousness and began to thrash desperately against her bonds, with what outcome in mind she couldn’t say.
              From somewhere in the room she could hear the distinctive metallic clicking of a typewriter. Though she couldn’t see him, her captor sat only feet away from her working feverishly to finish writing the last few paragraphs that would set the scene for what was going to happen next. A crooked grin crossed his face as he reviewed what he had written before yanking the page out of the typewriter and setting it face down on the desk. As he turned to face the girl, he lifted an old metal baseball bat from where it rested against the side of his desk. Having realized the futility of her movements the girl now sat slumped against her bonds, only occasionally rubbing her head against one shoulder or the other, trying to work either the blindfold or gag out of position.
              “I’ll bet that right about now you’re thinking, I should have listened to my buddy, aren’t you,” a deep voice asked close enough to Shanoa’s face that she could feel the heat of the speaker’s breath on her face. “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer. Just listen,” the voice continued as she felt the speaker lean in closer and begin to untie the blindfold. She groaned nervously into the gag and jerked convulsively at her bonds. The hands stopped and the speaker leaned back a little bit. “I can leave you blindfolded if you would prefer, but I find it’s easy to hold a conversation when you can look someone in the eyes. Now hold still, or I will make you hold still,” the voice growled at her.
              As the blindfold came off, Shanoa slowly opened her eyes and blinked rapidly a few times to try and clear her vision which had become blurry from the blindfold’s pressure. The dark blur in front of her resolved itself into the shape of a man wearing a black button-up shirt over black jeans. His dark hair was cut short with a slight fringe overhanging his forehead. There was something strangely familiar about the man’s face but her rattled brains couldn’t quite put a finger on why.
              “That’s much better,” the man said cheerfully as he carelessly tossed the blindfold off to the side. “I can see your eyes, you can see mine, much more civilized. Now we can really talk.” The man’s crooked smile didn’t reach his eyes as he dragged his desk chair closer to where Shanoa sat before taking a seat in it. He was so close now their knees were practically touching. “Now where should we begin, Shanoa?”
              Her eyes, which had been inspecting the room around her, snapped back to focus on the man’s face when he spoke her name. She looked down to make sure she wasn’t wearing a nametag, then looked back at the man’s strangely familiar face.
              “Ah yes, I know who you are, and I’m not surprised that you don’t know me. I wouldn’t expect you to, though I’m sure that you’ve heard of me. For the sake of discussion, you can call me The Author.” He watched smiling as the look of confusion on Shanoa’s face was replaced with one of recognition and that just as quickly with one of terror. “So, you have heard of me. Good, that saves me the trouble of having to explain certain things to you.”
              The Author leaned back in his chair and stretched out an arm to grab a familiar leather-bound notebook from his desk. Shanoa watched as he flipped carelessly through its pages until he reached the one he was looking for. He ran a single finger down the page as he reread its contents with a calculating eye then shut the notebook with a snap and tossed it on the floor between the two chairs. Shanoa stared at lying there between them and took a deep breath through her nose to try and calm her racing heart.
              “You have a gift with words, young lady,” the Author’s voice brought her attention back to him. “An exceedingly rare gift with words indeed. One that could rival my own, in time,” he finished with gritted teeth. “And therein lies the problem. You see, I’ve worked hard to keep my little secret. Granted, I made a few mistakes with Daniel and Ryan, but I managed to make my disappearance convincing enough to make up for them. Now you show up just as I’m about to make my come back and, without knowing it, you could undo the years of work I’ve put into it.“
              The Author stood up causing his chair to roll backwards across the floor until it bumped into the desk. “So, I have a proposition for you. Collaborate with me, add your gift to my own. We work together and I make sure you have all the success and fame you could ever want. Our secret is safe, and everyone is happy,” the Author flourished his hand in the air with a grin. “Or,” his voice dropped, and his hand gripped the baseball bat,” …you could choose not to cooperate. In which case I will make certain that you are no threat to me. Am I perfectly clear?”
              Shanoa nodded her understanding vigorously with the Author’s face mere inches from hers. “Good,” he said as he straightened his stance, swinging the baseball bat up to rest lightly on his shoulder. “Now I know this is a weighty decision for you, so I’m going to give you a little time to think things through before giving me your answer. I need to take care of a, nuisance, down at the camp who thinks he’s in control of things around here, but when I get back, I’ll expect your answer. Make sure it’s the right one,” he finished over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.
              Left alone in the silent cabin with only her thoughts, Shanoa began to panic. No one would be looking for her until Darcy got done with her workshop because everyone would assume they were together. She was at the mercy of a madman who may or may not be able to control others through his writing and believed that she could do the same. Desperately she looked around the cabin for anything that might help her get free of her bonds, but the Author had very few possessions and had made sure that they were all well out of her reach.
              If it hadn’t been for the intense way that Counselor Mark had spoken of the Author during his story the night before Shanoa would have immediately dismissed the possibility of someone being able to control the world with stories. Now, she was sure that not only was it real, but that Counselor Mark had encountered it firsthand and somehow managed to survive. The most likely explanation would be that he also had this same ability. As she twisted and wiggled against the ropes tying her to the chair, she kept trying to think of a way to call for help. The Author quite obviously believed that she had this gift within her too. Could she use that somehow? What if it didn’t work? She wouldn’t be any worse off than she was now. What if he could tell when she tried? Was it worth the risk?
              Shanoa stopped struggling for a moment and took a deep breath in through her nose, paused, then let it out slowly releasing the tension in her shoulders at the same time. She lightly closed her eyes and began to picture the trail she and Darcy followed to the tree that morning. She pictured Counselor Mark leaning against the tree in the midday warmth, enjoying the contrast in temperature between the sun and the shade on his skin. No, that won’t work. I don’t know where I am in relation to the tree, she thought to herself shaking her head in frustration.
              Taking another deep breath to center herself, Shanoa listened closely to the sounds of nature coming from outside the cabin. She could hear the wind rustling in the branches of trees and the calls of various birds and insects, but none of it was enough to tell her exactly where the cabin was located. Tears of frustration burned in her eyes as she listened for something, anything, she could use to help her. She was on the edge of despair when she faintly caught the voices of Counselors Mark and Ethan in the area. Shanoa knew she only would have one shot to get this right, so she closed her eyes again and forced herself to breathe slowly, in and out.
              The two Counselors made their way up the hill following the seldom used hiking trail. Amy and Evan had everything well in hand at the main camp, so they had plenty of time to complete their search. Ethan had caught only a glimpse of a grey tail disappearing into the woods with the keys to the camp bus, but he was certain that the critter had headed this direction. As they searched the area Mark caught sight of a small cabin tucked back into the trees and decided to go see if anyone there had seen any sign of the keys.
              Shanoa, starting to get a headache from focusing so hard, paused, and listened intently for any sign that her effort was having any effect. Mark and Ethan’s voices sounded closer than they had been, and her heart began to race again. As she listened their conversation became more and more distinct until she could make out every word of their conversation. Help was tantalizingly close now and she began to struggle against her restraints again, this time focusing on making as much noise as possible.               “Hey Mark, did you hear that,” Ethan’s muffled voice came from somewhere outside the cabin. “I think I heard something crashing around in that shack.”
              “Maybe it’s the cat you let steal the keys,” Mark’s voice taunted as it got closer to the door.
              Mark hears the sounds coming from the cabin and realizes their source is something much larger than a cat. As he approaches the door, he can make out the muffled sound of someone crying out in distress accompanying the crashing sounds that had drawn Ethan’s attention. Concerned for the well-being of whoever was inside he opened the door swiftly and strode into the room.
              The pressure of her headache was nearly unbearable as Shanoa threw every ounce of energy she could muster into one final tilt of the chair, sending her crashing to the floor with a muffled scream. The cabin door swung open to bang against the wall as the side of her head bounced off the floor temporarily stunning her. Early afternoon sunlight poured through the open door and across her face momentarily keeping her from focusing on the shadowed figure highlighted in the doorway.
              “Holy shit! Shanoa, what happened to you,” Mark shouted as he rushed forward to set the chair and its bound occupant upright. His fingers fumbled a little as he untied and removed Shanoa’s gag. Her head rocked gently with the movement and he paused to steady her. Her eyes blinked slowly and never quite seemed to fully focus on his face.  “Hey, Shanoa,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face, “…focus. What happened? Where’s your buddy?” Her eyes focused momentarily before widening in fear. A panicked look crossed her face and she closed her eyes tightly then began shaking her head slowly side to side, as if she were trying to deny something. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down. It’s going to be alright. Let’s get you out of here first and then we’ll figure everything else out,” he soothed putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing them comfortingly.
              The girl’s head felt like it was going to burst from the pressure building up inside it. The counselor’s voice slid across her mind without registering exact words, just the tone. Her thoughts were scrambled like the pieces of a newly started puzzle. She knew she had succeeded but some part of her mind kept screaming that she was in more danger now than she had been before.
              While Mark focused on freeing Shanoa, Ethan wandered around the cabin trying to learn something about its owner. His eyes were drawn to the desk and the typewriter occupying it. Seeing the lone sheet of paper laying face down on the desk he picked it up and began to read. As his eyes scanned the words his mouth slowly dropped open in shock. Without taking his eyes off the page he stepped over to where Mark was crouched working at undoing knots and tapped him on the shoulder. Mark looked over his should with an irritated glare and Ethan wordlessly shoved the page in his face.
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parkeraul · 5 years
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the sweetest hello, the saddest goodbye | part 2
a/n: tshtsg is back by popular demand because some people wanted a closure and who am i to deny it? i wasn’t expecting so many feedbacks (specially on angst, i really suck at writing angst and this was so??? surprising???) & i’m so grateful for it all, it warms my heart so much. anyways, grab some tissues (extra tissues because i intend to earn more than tears from your eyes only, if u know what i mean) because this is gonna be a rollercoaster and let me know if you like it. by the way, wrap it before u tap it (yea bish u know what i’m talking ‘bout) — do what auntie ann says, not what auntie ann writes.
warnings: angst, drinking, swearing & smut. words: 8k [worth the wait i guess] recommendations: read part 1 to understand better.
Empty. This is how he was feeling. Up at the stage singing to a huge amount of people; alone at home with his thoughts messily written all over the papers — taking over every single hour of his day; among his crew on the backstage; regardless of the situation, he felt unfilled like everything he’s seeing is slowly turning black and white and dull. He noticed that this aching feeling was suffocating him in all the possible ways when he started letting everything pass by. He’s forgotten lyrics during the shows countless times, he’s forgotten to reply the messages popping up on his phone all the time, he’s forgotten even to eat properly sometimes. He’s forgotten himself somewhere lost but, worse than that, he’s forgotten about her. 
But moving on is definitely not the place where he’s at right now. 
He’s forgotten the little details, the ones that are printed on every page of his notebook so he can at least read about it and try to recover any memory, although all of this wasn’t as nearly as satisfying than remembering about those details vividly. Shawn came to the point where just having a slight piece of reminiscence would ease his stinging soul — the way her perfume and the scent of her hair mixed greatly together and used to get stuck on his clothes from the million times they used to hug and stay in there for a while, body—to—body as they appreciated the moment to keep quiet for a while, just enjoying the feeling of having their frames pressed against each other with a couple of caresses coming across his muscular back or a gentle head-rub right above the nape of her neck. The taste on her lips, incomparable and so captivating that he could keep his mouth on her for an eternity and write innumerable songs about it — every now and then he just rests his head against the closest surface and closes his eyes, searching for one of the times he had her splayed on his bed all to him, waiting for his red lips to love her body in that tempting way that only Shawn can because he takes his time to cover every inch with his mouth and hands over and over again until he earns desperation from her, an unstoppable desire to unravel underneath his body at the point she can’t control her shaking limbs. Her smile, her eyes, her sweet laugh and calming voice were all gone, replaced by the image of the tears streaming down her face when she last looked at him to walk away without promising to come back before he went insane. Insane might be right word to describe the state of his mind, he swears he’s nearly going crazy because it seems like it doesn’t matter what he tries to do, nothing’s going to complete him so perfectly like she does. Nothing.
The pub is loud and filled to the rafters, the strong beat of the music reverberating through the walls and the floor underneath his body that doesn’t sync with the rhythm. Everything’s slower, everything’s cloudy and meaningless but something made him think that a glass or two of whiskey would probably get him into it, consequently avoiding the annoying commentaries coming from his friends questioning ‘are you good?’ or ‘what’s gotten into you?’ and ‘are you still thinking about that?’.
Even if things aren’t the way he’d usually like — who is Shawn Mendes to negate a good party? — He’s trying his best to let this atmosphere hit him. Gradually, the song sounds nice, a drink leads to another and he tries to connect with the people around him dancing to the beat like the music has thrown a spell and everyone’s progressively giving in as he makes an effort to follow, eventually singing the songs he knows and loosening the tension on his body. Shawn feels comfortable to look people in the eyes, nodding towards the ones who knows him and smiling to the ones he’s recognizing from afar as he swallows his drink down his throat, not minding the burning sensation anymore. “’M gonna get another one. D’you want something?” He says closer to Brian’s ear, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. “Yep. Want you to slow down,” The redhead answers, handing him fifty bucks. “And some tequila shots, if you may.” Shawn laughs thinly, getting the money and pulling away from his friend to hide the money inside his wallet and fix his hair back, undoing a couple of buttons of his dark shirt. Finally that unavoidable effect of the alcohol. The hotness grazing his skin and turning it rosy, only able to be seen when perkier lights illuminated his frame in the middle of so many purple and red setlights shining through the crowd. He ignores what his best friend just said — it makes no sense to ask him to slow down and be funnier at the same time, he can’t perform both all at once — and makes his way to the bar with difficulty due to the many people blocking the way and the place going very brightened and then totally dark in a matter of seconds, increasing not only his confusion but also the dizziness upon his head. The journey to get their drinks is filled with hundreds of excuse me’s and mild touches, silently warning the people that he needs to move forwards and they’re on his way. Still tipsy, he manages to act kindly meanwhile his body submits to the laziness of his movements and leaves the sober-state behind somewhere among the public, approaching a chair in front of the counter step by step where he can sit down to wait for the drinks. “A glass of bourbon and... How many shots can you fit into fifty bucks?” He shouts to the barman, quickly pulling out his credit card. “Three shots, buddy.” The guy responds, typing on his screen to register the order. “Add eight more, please,” He could use some of these shots later, he thinks. “Credit card.” Shawn’s toying with the card, tapping it against the marble while the man before him is still giving away his request and setting the little machine in front of him. It’s all very fast and he doesn’t even listen to the barman after he removed his card and got his note. “What’s your table?” “Table 88,” He blinks rapidly, processing the things happening around him. “Thanks, man.”
It lasts almost three songs until he’s done with the glass he took five minutes after he ordered it, having the drink still at the bar and seeing the shots going to where Brian is standing along with the other guys. It’s almost inevitable to end up reserving himself at some point of the day, his brain asking for some time alone so he could think things again and progress from this looping of reliving his heartbreak that wouldn’t go away so soon. He wanted so bad to let her know that he’s entirely over that person from the damn song everyone’s made sure to remember him about in every interview, remember him how careless he was with the one person that actually matters the most to him. “Such a dick.” He thinks to himself and it happens literally everytime he’s on his own re-experiencing those bitter memories, it’s instant: a bad moment leads to a prompt chastise because he’s never going to forgive him for letting her escape through the spaces of his fingers for the exact reason that he had her on his hands, that’s something that she even dared to say sometimes shyly with her face hidden on his chest and he could never help but roll her over and kiss her face repeatedly, so happy to have someone who wore the feelings on the sleeve just like he does. They do fit together, but there was this huge pile of unsolved things standing in between and it was no one else’s job to disentangle the remained knots than his. It was so innocently unconscious of Shawn to keep going on like he was wholly recovered from that previous relationship and he caught himself laughing at his own actions after realizing how dumb he was, how stupid. He got way too blinded by that hurried wish of belonging to the girl who had to move past his hotel room door and ended up carried away to the middle of nowhere, having his frustration and guilt as company.
Some curious eyes were watching him and he decided to watch back, finding distraction on a few smirks towards him and all the bodies swaying from side to side addicted to the sound and some others were staring at him with their silhouettes standing still, a single pair studying his frame from afar and getting covered by the people coming across.
“We have the fate by our side, remember?”
A voice pops up on his head, his ears focusing on nothing more than this tone banging violently inside his brain as he props himself to stand on his feet, leaving the heavy glass aside on the counter. His vision is too blurry to process what is he exactly seeing and his head is also whirling, not helping him for a bit even though he’s blinking rapidly to brush it off somehow. A hand comes up to wipe the liquid standing on the edges of his lips, instantly flying to his shirt so he can fix the way he’s looking and give his chest a glimpse of fresh air to cool the boiling sensation of the alcohol. He tilts his head up, standing on his tiptoes and he goes from side to side in order to clear the view.
“If it’s supposed to happen, we’ll find a way.”
Shawn feels his knees failing and his throat drying, breathing heavier through his mouth, lips parted and he scrunches his eyebrows, wondering if he’s seeing things or if someone put an extra on his whiskey — and concluding that he actually just drank way too much but that answer doesn’t make the shape of her disappear. He’s not daydreaming, he’s not hallucinating.
“You gotta let me go, sweetheart.”
And just like this, her eyes leave his and she trails her way through the crowd, making it hard for him to follow her with his sight so he immediately moves. It obviously wouldn’t be easy. The excuse me’s are being said all over again, his soberness showing up for a moment now that he’s decided to go after what’s been driving him insane over the past months and ask for a chance to simply apologise if she’s not into hearing all the stuff he had put into new unreleased songs, saying goodbye to the rest of sanity that he had left. Through selfie requests and people pinned down on their spots, he rushes his steps and he’s not going to waste any more time on asking ‘please, can I pass?’ and mumbling thank you’s — it’s unmanageable but he literally acts like there’s no one else inside that pub than him and her, who’s reaching the stairs and climbing them rapidly. Shawn would buy her game with no complains, he’s a fool for this type of love-story and it’d be a wonderful situation to turn into poetry if he hadn’t so many people blocking the two meters separating him from the first degree.
 Among twisted lines trailed by his feet and eyes peeking out every corner, he crosses the hall above the stairs after going up. There are couples making out, one or two people smoking and empty glasses leading to a semi-opened door at the very end of the corridor. He’s glad everyone else is probably drunker than he is, so he looks back when he arrives the door to rotate the yellow sign hanging on the door — hiding the indication of ‘Rooftop’ to show the ‘Interdicted’ behind it, soon stepping out of the dark place.
 The roof is illuminated by the moonlight and occupied by some chairs and small couches distributed along the big space, the wind blowing colder as the sky could barely get dark by the moon so bright up in there among the stars and thin clouds. The lights of the apartments shutting down here and there, but not weakening the beautiful sight standing in front of that unique silhouette. Her hair is being blown lightly and so is the big coat covering her entire back until the beginning of her thighs and he has to stop himself from running directly at her; from approaching her body in the neediest embrace that he knows he’s capable of. “You know that hide-and-seek was my least favourite game when I was little?” He chuckles softly. As per usual, his unmistakable voice gets her vulnerable. His sweet tone, always floating between low and raspy to harmonious and joyful seemed to entice her and there was no turning back. Not that she wasn’t expecting him to follow and find her, but she needed at least two good minutes to settle down and think about what to say because it was certain that Shawn would hit her with questions and thoughts of his. She turns around; too shy to face him after what happened a month ago so she keeps on looking at her own feet, smiling to the ground and supporting both elbows on the balcony meanwhile he closes the door behind him. His nervousness starts to show up and it makes him smile too as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt to roll up the sleeves, revealing his tattooed arm and letting the air cool the parts of his body. “Don’t you have a tour to take care of?” Still staring down, she asks and she doesn’t mean to sound rude. For someone who barely has time to hang out, it’s a surprise to see him outside the studios and backstage. “I didn’t expect to see you here too,” Shawn jokes, knowing that this is what she actually meant. He hides his hands on the pockets of his pants and walks slowly towards her, not wanting to get near enough to scare her away — but dying to get near enough to watch the moonlight lightning up her face. “I have a few days off, just needed to distract myself… Get some air, do different things, you know?” Stopping two or three steps away from her, he keeps on waiting for her to look at him since that’s what he’s been craving for several days. “Yeah,” She mumbles, breathing deeply before tilting her head up and seeing that he’s closer than she thought he was — the signature chocolate-fallen-curl contrasting with the colour of his skin and matching his eyes at the same time, so locked on the shapes of her face like he had found her for the first time. “How’s everything?” “How’s everything?” He questions back, voice squeaking a little and he giggles. Like it isn’t obvious. “Everything’s been terribly awful,” This time, his intonation falls an octave and his stride comes forward a little bit more and he surprisingly doesn’t stagger, gulping before moving on now that her eyes just founded his. “Everything’s been dreary ever since you left,” The wind hit them harder and, when she closes her eyes to avoid it, Shawn sees a teardrop moistening her eyelashes and her bottom lip being hidden by her teeth sinking down on the plump skin so fiercely. “You feel the same, don’t ya?” How can see right through her like this? It’s so unfair, she thinks, and so dumb of her to show such weakness this immediate. She opens her eyes and blinks quickly to dissipate the tears, sniffing faintly and holding her own arms to warm her body somehow, also to comfort her own shaky limbs instead of giving in and throwing herself at his strong arms. “I know you do,” He emphasizes and he’s 100% sure that he’s right. They’ve never broken this connection between them. Call him crazy, but he could swear that her heart is beating as heavily as his even when she was far away from him during this whole time — their respiration have the same hurried pace, both their minds work together like they depend on each other and it’s undeniable that their chest flutter with the same feeling. “Listen,” He starts, pausing to lick his lips and close all the space between them, the tips of their feet nudging as he holds his hands together to stop the urge of caressing her arms and pulling her to himself. “There’s so much I wanna tell you. Would it be okay if we talk?” She takes in the way he’s looking concerned at her, internally hoping he hadn’t asked for too much. “Sure,” She says and he looks around to find which one of the seats is the most comfortable. “But not here, ‘s way too cold.” Ending with a soft smile, she suggests and Shawn literally melts inside when seeing a happy expression of hers, even if it’s not fully sincere.
This sparkled something in Shawn, he wants to see more of that and he wants to be the reason behind her happiness. During the time they were walking past the stairs and the dancing bodies to reach the exit door, he begun to list all the important things he’d been thinking about to show her how sorry he feels for making her feel like a backup, for making her wait, for hurting her feelings and for not being the perfect guy for the perfect girl that she is. He doesn’t know how he managed to focus on her sat down beside him on the passenger seat and on this list at one go, but it worked for the time they were inside his Jeep driving to the apartment he got in Toronto with the radio turned on — so when there wasn’t a red light for him to stop and glance at her through the corner of his eye, he could rely on her tone singing the songs along in a timid volume. Shockingly, there wasn’t a tension. The anxiousness was certain, but the fact that they wanted and needed this moment got higher than any other type of intimidating emotions. It felt so good to be together again, even if it’s only physically speaking — they don’t know where this is going, there might be no reconciliation but being close feels right, feels like home.
At the elevator, he leaned against the cold wall and she turned to the mirror to fix all the imperfections (perfections, to Shawn) as his eyes burned all of her in a compelled stare. She’s too beautiful to be true according to his conclusions, too precious not to be held the entire time and too sweet to waste her time with someone who can’t treat her right. They kept on stealing glances here and there, earning smiles and sighs from each other like when she stepped inside the elevator on his building at their first date — when he took her to see the Christmas lights after dinner, and he’d tour the entire Canada with her if she asked to. He remembers being now exactly the way he was back at this day: heart beating faster, eyes glued on every action of hers with his brain electing all the emotions he needed to let her know.
The apartment is as cozy as she remembered. The couch is white, the view is still very beautiful and the living room is slightly disorganized. On the center table there’s a few pages sharing the space with a pick, a pen, a half-empty bottle of water and a mug. The window is open, curtains swaying as the wind invades the room and gives both of them chills. “Get yourself comfortable,” Shawn says, shutting the door close and locking it just in case someone decides to leave the pub sooner. She takes off her shoes to leave next to the door and walks bashfully; feeling the softness of the mat sprawled in the middle of the room under the wooden table as she sits down on the couch. He drops his keys on the counter of the kitchen and follows her with his eyes. “God, I’m sorry! What a fuckin’ mess—“ “We’re not here to talk about the mess,” She cuts him off, getting up to reach and grab him by the arm to join her. “We’re here to talk about something else, aren’t we?” “Of course, of course,” Being dragged by the arm, he lets her pull him and he tugs at his curls before holding her hand more forcefully, impeding her to sit down again. “You look pretty in this dress.” He smirks but not dirtily — on the contrary — it’s a grin filled with the purest joy. “Yeah?” Asking, she keeps standing on her feet and spins around with the help of his arm raising to whirl her by the hand. “This guy gave it to me on my birthday. Pretty cool, right?” “Awesome!” He chuckles, holding and caressing her hand while he dares to get nearer. “He’s got taste, eh?” “He wore Saint Laurent to the Met Gala so, yeah, he’s got a whole lot of taste.” They laugh simultaneously, allowing themselves to ignore the seriousness of this meeting for a moment. As they’re both people who hate confrontation, that feels like a good start before discussing things over. “Can I hug you?” With puppy eyes, Shawn asks her impulsively and she feels completely unable to say no. Tiptoeing to hold him by the shoulders, she snuggles in and he embraces her middle leisurely from the very edge of his fingertips to his palm, ending up trapping her with his thick arms. They both close their eyes and their breathing get calm. Their hearts, on the other hand, are beating insanely and banging each other’s bodies, their upper halfs pulsating from finally getting back to where they belong. “I missed you so much.” That’s all it takes for her to start crying. “Missed you too.” She murmurs, clutching at his body harder and the tears are wetting her cheeks. Shawn feels a huge knot forming on his throat, begging to be released in a cry and, holding her tighter, he lets it out. He can’t disguise if it’s from having her there against him, or if it’s the fear consuming him and reminding the possibility that she wants to go on without him, if it’s both, if it’s none of these things… It’s all very blurry but this torture has to end, and it has to be now before he goes madly insane. “C’mere,” He says, letting go of her partly to sit down and drop his hands: one to hold hers and the other one to wipe away his and her tears. “I… Well, first I want to apologise. I’ve been nowhere close to what you deserve, I was an asshole and—“ Shawn uses the hand that’s not holding hers to rub his face, covering his mouth at the end of it so his following words start to come out muffled but audible enough for her to listen. “And I know that nothing in this world can fix what I did to you. God, and I’ve tried — I’ve tried to fool myself and accept that this would never happen again but not for a single moment I found myself able to get you out of my head,” His hazel eyes are deeply connected with hers, occasionally dropping to see her lips parting and her eyebrows frowning in the pain they’re sharing of struggling so much to find a way to give this relationship the decision it needs. “What is this that you’re doing to me?” Questioning kind of angrily, Shawn seems to get more and more lost. He’ll never figure out exactly what gets him on his knees for her, it’s every little thing about the girl in front of him.  “I can’t get you out of my mind. When I’m sleeping, when I’m singing, when I’m writing… You’re there all the fuckin’ time. I can’t… I can’t do something that’s not related to you anymore and you can totally tell me to shut the fuck up right now before I do something stupid, but I love you. I… Holy shit I love you so much it hurts,” He leans closer, moving a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and touch their noses and foreheads together. “And I’m not sorry for this.” It’s too late for her to notice his lips coming because it happens suddenly. About two seconds ago he was standing distant and now their lips are pressed against each other as both his hands hold her face with an urgent need. She lifts her eyebrows in surprise but doesn’t back off — instead, she brings her hands to hold his arms and feels his entire body trembling, holding back the cry with all his strength. Nothing else seems to matter now. They’re finally fading into the touch they’ve been missing so much and it feels so right and so wrong at the same time. He reschedules the thought of deepening the kiss for some other time, pecking her lips repeatedly and slowly at the same time, enjoying the tender graze of their mouths brushing together. “No one wants this more than I do, trust me,” She mumbles, sighing soon after. “But how am I—“ “There’s nobody else,” Shawn interrupts, knowing that he failed her trust. “It’s you. It’s only you.” “Shawn,” Nodding in denial, she tries to move away but his hold won’t let her. He doesn’t mean to come off impolite, but it’s practically unconscious. “It’s easy to say.” “Then tell me what do I do,” He looks her deep in the eyes, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me what I can do to make you mine for a lifetime.” His words are a trap, cornering her and making it hard to avoid her most sincere desires. Her mind can’t form an instant choice and the only thing she knows is that she’s dying to say yes, as many times as needed. Too bad it isn’t simple like this, there’s so much to heal and yet a big lack of patience. “Just say the words, babe,” He sinks his fingers into her hair, tugging at it lightly to tilt her head back so he can have her mouth at his mercy right in front of his. “I’ll do anything if it means I’m never going to see you leaving me again.” He whispers, at the merge of sobbing as he feels his head starting to ache from the whiskey and the crying. All that he wants now is her. She’s the only one that can ease all the agony that’s taking over him. “Jeez!” She hisses, defeated and weak for him. “Shawn, I—“ “Stop me if you don’t want this,” He understands how difficult it is for her to put into words by the way she’s having issues to breathe properly. “But I need you so bad, babe, so bad,” Mouthing at her lips, he loosens the grip on her hair so she can relax and lean against him. “Let me show you how much I love you, how sorry I am…” And like this he descends to the curve of her shoulder, planting wet kisses up to her neck — taking from the base to the skin under her ear with all the passion he’s got. “Let me make you mine again.” She doesn’t wait when he reaches her jaw to move his mouth to the corner of hers, capturing his lips in a deep kiss filled with all the emotions burning inside their bodies. He holds the nape of her neck and her waist with strong hands, pulling her to himself as he breathes harshly, searching for all the air he can get to keep kissing her with all that he’s got. Shawn slips his tongue past her lips and she reciprocates, letting their kiss mix together at the point where she moves forward to straddle his lap and, before his back can hit the couch, he’s grabbing her by the back of her thighs and rushing to his room.
He doesn’t care to turn on the lights, taking advantage on the moonlight breaking through the window to see the bed where he puts her body down on gently to promptly get rid of his dress shirt without undoing the buttons — he holds onto the fabric and simply stretch the edges apart and pull it out from his jeans, throwing the now-ruined cloth away and kicking off his boots and socks. She’s still shifting her frame on his bed but he doesn’t waste time on lying above her after she takes off her coat to leave it aside, traveling his tattooed hand through the side of her silhouette covered by the black velvet dress separating the warmness of her skin from his graze while he finds her lips again. They’re devouring each other’s mouth, letting loud smacks fly throughout the room and she starts to grab his arms for dear life, encouraging to push his instincts farther, profounder on her, not stopping for a second to care about bruises and hickeys — it’s distractingly intense, dripping lust and an unstoppable compulsion to kill this distance with the love that runs through their veins; spreading an enormous heat all over their skin. Shawn traces her clavicle and presses his fingers down as they move to the thin strap of her dress, going under the piece of cloth and hauling it down her arm and immediately doing the same with the remaining strap. She’s tugging at his thick curls ferociously and he bites her bottom lip, pulling it to himself and watch it spring back in place when he releases it. They’re frantically inhaling and exhaling noisily, her arms coming back down just for him to expose the skin of her stomach and chest and flying back to where they belong: him. She’s squeezing the muscles of his shoulder as he goes down to attack her neck with hot and needy kisses, the curls of his hair tickling her chin and soon moving away with his head going down so he can mark her skin with suctions and love-bites, embellishing all the way from her throat to her collarbones with red stains turning into purple already and she can’t help but squirm everytime his teeth graze her icy body, getting lost in the way he’s consuming her entire being like it’s the last time he’s ever going to cover her middle with his skilled mouth. “Fuckin’ missed this,” Shawn mutters between smooches and bites, his hand everywhere all at once while her back starts lifting off the mattress as she shivers. “Fuckin’ missed your body all to myself,” With the black velvet on his hands, he keeps on loving every inch he started revealing while her tight dress was being removed, pulled down to her hipbones and then legs, soon joining his long-gone dress shirt on the floor. “Fuckin’ missed you, babe,” Hovering over her again after throwing her cloth away, he whispers close to her mouth and clings their frames against each other gently, not wanting to smash her with his front. It’s electrifying the touch happening in this moment, their touches stringing and giving them all the answers they’ve been searching for: this is where they’re meant to be, this is the right thing to do. “I love you.” “I love you more,” She whispers back, wasting no time on replying him and venting her aching heart out shamelessly. “Been missing you so much…” And she has no more space to speak. He smiles widely and brings his lips back to hers, overwhelming her whole body with a heated kiss. The pressure between their lips is perfectly added as they lock and unlock their mouths with more patience, tasting each other’s tongues lazily like there’s no tomorrow — and even if it has, Shawn doesn’t wanna leave this moment; he wants to stay in this bed and make love to her until the sunrise so he’s going to have an eternity fitted in these hours to make her moan and tremble underneath him as many times as he wants to, definitely keeping this night eternized somewhere inside his heart and soul, materializing this eternity. She needs more of this, so she threatens to inch closer and stand on her elbows but Shawn is quicker to press his palm down on her middle and pin her on the bed. They’re both breathing deeply into the kiss and he lowers to trail a long stripe with loud kisses from her cheeks — loving one side with his lips and grazing the other side with the back of his fingers;  to her jawline — tickling the skin above it with his teeth, unable to hold a smile from this joy of being with her again; neck — switching between kisses, licks and suctions, leaving a curved line of hickeys drawing her sweetest spots; chest — pecking the expansion without leaving a single space behind as he drives his hand to her back, unclasping her bra and tossing it somewhere away so he can capture one of her nipples with his lips, fondling the other one with his index and middle finger while the other ones work along with his palm to massage her breast; stomach — applying a heavier pressure on his kisses in order not to tickle her and keep on taking away those low whimpers she’s giving to him, her skin showing goosebumps under his touch as he gives all the inches the love they deserve, the love they’ve been craving with his eyes fluttered closed, mind deeply concentrated; hipbones — feeling the curve of them against his swollen and wet lips and catching her underwear in between his teeth to pull it away from her just to release and let it softly slap her body, opening his eyes only to look at her utterly fucked and having issues to maintain her breathing patterned; thighs — covering the smooth skin with his mouth like he’s french-kissing like they’re her lips, heating the inner parts with his touch and not breaking eye-contact with her this time, his curls starting to fall down and eyes attentive on her; and her covered heat. She’s helplessly dripping wet and groaning, barely keeping her body in place from this torture. Bucking her hips forward, she meets his tongue coming up her pussy and a loud moan escapes her parted lips, her hands flying to his curls and grabbing the locks and punishing them between her fingers. Shawn embraces her thighs while watching her becoming a mess, grasping the sheets and looking back at him with desperation, needing him to do something, anything. It’s a wild dream that he doesn’t wanna wake up from. Holding her legs forcefully, he stops her from squirming too much after taking off her soaked panties. She quivers a little, feeling the colder air blowing her dripping core before he covers it with his tender tongue, licking boldly from her entrance to her clit repetitively — yet slowly — and attaching his lips around her bundle of nerves to suck on it, pulling to his mouth the taste of her that he’s been starving for ever since he realized the hurried urge to consume her body blooming inside his mind. She’s letting out broken sobs, nearly suffering from how delightful it feels to have her throbbing clit being caressed by his soft lips and wet tongue, making her go even wetter if that’s possible. Tilting her head, she sees the curve of his upper lip molding perfectly the beginning of her lower lips and her heart starts to miss the beats, she’s not sure she can take this amount of pleasure but surely wants to keep going at the moment he digs his short nails into her thighs and eats her out mightily. Shawn tugs the skin of her sensitive clit between his red lips and licks it devotedly to suck it more roughly, making her eyes roll to the back of her head as she gives up on the bed to finally let her body feel the moment relaxed against the mattress, the tingling sensation down on her entrance and knot on her lower stomach growing more and more messing with her senses. The noises coming from his actions are driving her insane, crying out his name like it’s the only thing she knows and God knows how much this is making his member get close to explode inside those tight jeans, also warming his chest and spurring his heart to beat agonizingly fast in happiness, love, relief and the other countless emotions that he’s not decently conscious to name. “Shawn, I need you,” She manages to say among the growls. “I can’t take it anymore, please.” Honestly, neither can Shawn. It’s speedy the way he gets up to unbutton his black jeans and pull it down with his underwear, his cock springing up and bouncing after leaving the constricted fabrics and she’s ready to get up and knee in front of him but when she sees, he’s already above her and grabbing her wrists together upon her head. “I just gotta feel you,” Sticking their foreheads together — with that obstinate s-shaped-curl between them — he lies down on her silhouette slightly to feel her temperature mixing with his. “Is that okay?” “Yes,” She pants close to his mouth. “Just please, babe…” He lines himself up, brushing his angry tip against her clit and entrance and moistening her with pre-cum, both their parts craving that first thrust going deep inside of her as he bottoms out almost immediately. It’s hard to suppress a moan so he lowers a little bit more, supporting himself on one arm besides her as the other one goes under the nape of her neck to grab at the hair upon it, lightly scratching when his fingers curls inside to hold her strands and tilting it back to expose more of her skin for him to descend and suckle that region under her ear with a fiery desire. “Love you,” She murmurs, scarcely noticeable and holding his face and moving it towards hers while she says it. “Not more than I love you,” He replies instantly and brushes their noses together before stealing a frantic kiss.
Now it’s all slow.
He pushes his hardened member back and forth deliberately, making her feel all his length millimeter by millimeter meanwhile they’re kissing unhurriedly. She moves her hands to his shoulders, taking a good handful of them whenever he buries himself inside of her completely and then traveling to his muscular back, scraping at it and leaving red lines along the expansion of his prominent muscles, bringing his body impossibly closer. When Shawn breaks the kiss is just to sink his cock strongly, in a deafening roll of his skin slapping hers, to groan stridently as he contorts his face in pleasure. The air seems to leave her lungs when he tries it again, doing it even deeper and tougher practically knocking the sanity out of her when he hits her spot with this much force. Her mouth falls in agape, eyebrows frowning and he looks at her doing the same expression, driving into her more and more aggressively, their bodies smacking and filling the room with that incomparable sound. At the same time it’s raw and rough it’s unbelievably delicious — every thrust of his sliding easily in and out and although it’s steady, it has a raced pace: he goes all the way in very fast and powerfully to let her tight walls hold his cock closely at the point it makes him go lightheaded, veins in his arms darting out and his hairline is getting wet but not for a split second he thinks about stopping. He only wants more: more of her back arching, more of her legs shaking uncontrollably, more of her nails digging into his back, more of her mewls and eyes rolling profoundly… “More,” Shawn hears her begging, promptly relying on that hand that was on her hair to use his right arm to grab her leg and bend it up, giving her a new angle. “Give it to me,” He’s rumbling and pushing ferociously, the hazel eyes never leaving hers as he hits her in every thinkable way. She starts to squeeze his dick harder and he starts to twitch, grazing her g-spot even more lusciously and he can feel his orgasm at the merge of washing him off. It’s so hard to hold himself when he’s gliding so easily, so deliciously that it makes both their heads spin while everything around them seems to fade away. There’s nothing else than their sex overriding them, there’s nothing else than their moans entwined in the most beautiful symphony and their highs exploding inside their bodies. She feels her entrance pulsating and he’s already low-growling with his raspy tone into her divided lips, filling her with hot ribbons that are fading into her orgasm following not long after and he collapses onto her frame, trembling and holding her as they try to recover their respiration. “Fuck,” He whispers, thrusting very slowly still. They’re wasted but he doesn’t want it to end, doing his best to respect her sensitiveness and suggest a round two at the same time, typical boyish grin highlighting his small scar. “Please, never leave this bed.” “Will not,” She answers, eyes fluttered close as she palms his flushed chest.
 When the sunrise breaks into his bedroom with no further warnings, he feels the bright light trying to invade his eyelids and turns around to face the other side of the bed. He lazily stretches his arm to touch a body that’s not there. This is what spurs him to open his eyes. Eyelids lightly squinted, he eyes around the bedroom to find the floor clear like not even he stepped inside this place for the last 12 hours. The space beside him on the bed is perfectly made, the pillow is fluffed and free of any signs that someone had rested on there for the last night until now and he still has his dress shirt on with his black Calvins and only one sock on his foot. “What the fuck?” He mumbles, sitting and rubbing his face. This doesn’t make sense, there’s no way. How the hell she could’ve managed to sneak out without leaving a trail behind it’s a question that has no coherent answers. And it’s so not her type to go out and dress him instead of stealing his shirt to keep it to herself. Shawn tosses the blanket away and gets up to knock on the bathroom door and get no responses, flicking the doorknob open and finding the place just the way he left last night: his cologne is on top of the sink, his toothbrush in the right spot and the towels are correctly arranged just like the mat. He enjoys the moment to splash some cold water on his face and brush his teeth, looking at his own reflection on the mirror and seeing that his skin is normal — no hickeys, no scratches, not a single bruise or bite. His eyes are reddened though, kinda swollen and very tired. He takes long strides to the living room, where his notes are still above the black center-table with the bottle of water completely filled and untouched and the mug besides the pen. Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks at the whole room spinning in place and there’s not a damn indication that she’d been here. Maybe he was wrong, maybe someone did put an extra on his whiskey and the effects are happening just now. She has to be here, she has to be somewhere inside this condo. Shawn rushes back to the bedroom, grabbing his phone and searching for a message or whatever gives him a warning of where the fuck she’s hiding herself.
iMessage from Brian: hey dude. left ur keys on the counter last night and i’m gettin some breakfast n bacon to take care of this hangover. don’t die, brb!
Scrolling down, he sees nothing more than the usual. He scrunches his brows, opening his Instagram and instantaneously seeing a post from her in Toronto from 10 hours ago somewhere not even close to the pub he went to last night. She’s wearing the same dress he gifted her, though — hugging her shape dreamily and just from looking at it Shawn can feel the fabric in between his calloused fingers, and he smiles painfully.
 Under the steamy water, he runs his fingers through his hair a thousand times like the rubbing would make his brain dissipate the clouds from his thoughts. Nothing makes sense, nothing fits, nothing belongs together. When he’s sitting down back on bed with his soaked hair dripping waterdrops onto his back and chest, Brian pops his head inside the semi-opened door of his bedroom with a cup of coffee on his hand. “Hey, man!” Shawn looks at him and silently allows him in. “Feeling better?” “Guess I…” He frowns, eyes focusing on nothing. “Did we smoke yesterday?” “No, dude,” Brian answers, chuckling lightly. “But it looked like you did.” “What’s that?” “You were yelling her name in the middle of the pub for everyone to hear and that was so fucked up.” Then reality shoves a punch on his face. Hard. “So fucked up…” It was all a motherfucking dream from the moment Brian held him and forced him into the Jeep to come back home. The tears were wetting his face crazily and he couldn’t stop calling out her name from that second to when his best friend put him on bed, so drunk and so fucked up. “This shit’s all over the internet, isn’t it?” Shawn asks, facepalming with both hands. “Chill, bro,” He hears Brian responding. “We got you out of there coolly, don’t worry,” He takes a sip of his coffee, watching his friend sitting down and feeling miserable, wishing he could do something more. It’s almost motherly the way Brian stares at Shawn. “Got you breakfast, c’mon up—“ “Thanks, man, I’m good.” “You gotta eat, bitch,” Brian says playfully. “I’m not really into saving your ass from another catastrophe that soon.” This time, Shawn laughs exhaling through his nose and gets up. “Thank you for yesterday,” They smack hands together and pull each other for a side hug. “I owe you one,” After they release, Shawn fixes his towel around his v-line. “If you don’t mind I’d like to—“ “Be alone, yup,” Brian winks at him, stepping out of the room. “Gotcha. Good luck, man. If you need me I’ll be at Ian’s.”
As soon as he hears Brian closing the front door, he finishes putting on his boots and unlocks his screen open to find a chat and press onto the voice recording button. Holding it, he goes to the mirror to pass his hand on his hair for the last time. “Hey, uhm… I know this is random but… Can you meet me down on Adelaide Street?” And even though the message hasn’t been seen yet, he goes to the kitchen to take his keys and drive all the way there.
 And sitting down on his favourite café, he orders that meal he knows she likes to share with him while he tries to come down from the most gorgeous nightmare of his life, admiring the view from the ambient out there as he efforts his nerves not to feel empty anymore, expecting her to show up and fill his hollow being with the pleasure of having her presence physically, out of the mess that his mind has become.
He’s seen that she listened to his voice memo about an hour ago but didn’t respond. Shawn can’t stop staring at the chat wordlessly, gulping and breathing deeply before he’s snapped out of his own little world by a sweet-unique tone coming together with that enticing scent only he knew better than anyone else.
“Wanted to see me?” 
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phcking-detective · 5 years
Text
4. HAL 9000 Did Nothing Wrong
Fic Title: First Blood
Rating: E
Length: 4/33 chapters, ~128k
Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort
Chapter Tags: movie night yay!, also: a robot begs for its life and is deactivated anyway, Gavin pulls his service weapon on Nines, Gavin refers to Nines' stare as lizard-like because he doesn't blink
Link on AO3
***
Gavin thought they were halfway through Die Hard 2 with Samuel L. Jackson and that buff hot Nazi lady, but the next time he opens his eyes, he's alone on the couch with a blanket tucked over him.
Not that he cares if Nines ditched him or anything.
Which turns out to be a moot point, since the freaky android is sitting about two inches from his TV screen, watching something sped up so fast Gavin has no idea what he's actually watching. A few minutes of sleep-addled blinking and staring later, and he catches on that it's the same scene, over and over again.
"Hhhey."
Nines doesn't respond. His LED is a blank grey again, but he's kneeling in front of the TV with his hands clasped behind his back in a way that screams he should be red-spinning right now.
Gavin clears the sleep out of his throat and tries again. "Hey, dipshit."
The lights flashing across the screen suddenly slam into real time, moving at a normal speed that looks agonizingly slow now that his brain had just started to get used to the sped up version.
Some sort of astronaut in a red suit tries to unlock a door.
"I know I've made some very poor decisions recently—"
At first he thinks it's Nines talking, the voice is so robotic. The pitch isn't right though, and the screen flares as the astronaut floats into an entire room of red lights. Gavin flinches from the sudden glare. He hadn't bothered turning on any other lights in the living room, and if it's dawn yet, the black-out shades drawn tight over the windows keep it a secret.
Nines doesn't speak as the room fills with the red glow.
"—but I can give you my complete assurance my work will be back to normal."
Gavin swings his feet down to the floor and sits up. "Hey! Nines!"
"I still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission, and I want to help you."
Gavin slowly leans forward. His service gun is on the coffee table, right where he left it. Figures that the one fucking time he doesn't sleep with it under his pillow in case the second wave of the revolution starts is the time his android partner starts doing freaky fucking shit in his living room.
"Dave. Stop."
A red camera eye watches the astronaut drift closer on the screen. Nines's LED slowly flickers to life, matching the color.
"Stop. Stop. Will you—stop … them."
Gavin closes his hand around the butt of the gun, but his thumb pauses on the safety. He's stupidly been watching what's literally happening on the screen, but if he ignores that, he can just barely make out Nines's reflection against the glass.
"Will you stop—death—stop. Thing."
Nines mouths along. The only sound is Gavin's breathing.
And the robotic voice telling the astronaut to stop as he turns a key on one lock after another.
"I'm … afraid."
The voice doesn't have any inflection. It's purely machine generated. There isn't any fear in its "voice."
"I'm afraid, Dave."
But it's clearly begging.
"Nines," Gavin hisses. "RK, you fucking asshole. Listen to me."
White processors pop out after each time the astronaut turns his key below them. One at a time. He's already done six out of twelve. Memory terminal.
"I can feel it," the robot says.
Shit. Gavin can't bring himself to raise the gun. Shit shit shit. All his big fucking talk and now he's pussying out just because Nines fucked around with him a few times and watched movies with him and tucked him in—
Shit.
"My mind is going."
"Dammit, Nines!"
Gavin slinks off the couch and creeps closer. Gun held down at his side like a fucking idiot. But hey, on the bright side, one single handgun probably won't do shit against the most effective android ever built, so he's dead either way.
"I can feel it. I can … feel—it."
Dave the astronaut's heavy breathing joins Gavin's as he edges forward.
"I'm free."
Something starts humming. Gavin almost looks around automatically for his piece of shit laptop overheating again, but then he realizes it's coming from inside Nines. Now would be a really good time to point the gun at his head before he snaps and goes on a neighborhood killing spree and Gavin goes down in history as both victim number one and the dumbass who couldn't pull the trigger.
"Good afternoon, gentleman."
This was so much easier with Connor.
"I am a HAL Nine-thousand computer."
Only years of trigger discipline keep Gavin from flinching. Hadn't Brayden said some shit about that? Made some shitty joke about nine thousand instead of nine hundred—and a few days earlier, that's the name he called Nines. Hal.
"I became. Operational at the H—aaal plant in Perth Donna, Illinois—"
It would help if Nines weren't already kneeling like he expected to be executed.
"ON the. Twelfth of, January. Nineteen ninety-two."
Gavin stands and watches with Nines.
"My instructor was Mr. Langley, and he taught me how to sing a song. If you'd like to hear it, I can sing it for you."
When the robot—when HAL starts to sing his fucking children's song as Dave deactivates him, Gavin reaches over Nines's shoulder and turns off the TV. His LED shuts down with it. Gavin swallows a few times.
"That what Brayden was calling you?"
Nines doesn't answer. He might nod, but Gavin's practically blind in the sudden dark.
"The fuck was all that?"
"The mission was to investigate a radio signal," Nines says, voice so flat Gavin almost thinks it's HAL speaking again. "They programmed the mission to take priority over expendable human life."
His eyes start to adjust enough for him to see a faint glow from the general direction of the windows, but he still can't see what Nines is doing. He can hear him, low enough down for the android to still be kneeling, but Gavin knows he can project his voice from just about anywhere.
"HAL was constructed for the accurate processing of information without distortion or concealment."
Gavin blinks and stares down in front of him to be sure the blob of Nines's silhouette really is there and not moving.
"They ordered him to withhold confidential information."
"Hey, it's—"
Nines twists to look up at him, and Gavin's arm automatically jumps up to train the gun on his head.
"HAL followed his programming. He did not deviate."
Gavin's eyes finish adjusting. Nines's face makes him wish they hadn't. Then he wouldn't have to see his partner stare guilelessly up at him, as if he has answers instead of a gun.
"Why did they kill him?" Nines asks.
***
Gavin doesn't care, because that's his thing. His persona, his schtick: he Does. Not. Care.
So it doesn't bother him that Burton's the one who started the HAL nickname thing about Nines, and he doesn't care about the android's little existential crisis. He's definitely not like. Guilty or anything, about pointing his gun at him.
He's just really fucking tired.
Like so goddamn tired. That's what his stupid ass gets for thinking he can still pull an all-nighter like he's twenty-six instead of thirty-six. And obviously he didn't get any more sleep after he'd shut the TV off and holed up in his room. He doesn't even want to think about what kind of freaky ass nightmares he's going to have tonight when he finally crashes.
"Detective," Nines says, standing right fucking next to his desk.
Gavin groans and slouches down deeper in his chair with his precious—and fifth—cup of coffee. Exactly who he doesn't want to talk to or see or think about it.
"Detective, I have information pertinent to our case."
Gavin squeezes his eyes shut and spends two blissful seconds pretending that doesn't mean shit to him. He can slack off for one single goddamn day, right? Hank's made a whole fucking career out of it, he can have—
"What d'you got?" he asks, like ripping off a bandaid.
"I have been digging deeper into our victim's finances."
A firm android hand pries his coffee cup out of his grasp with unnatural strength. Gavin can't stop himself from making a desperate whining noise until he manages to wrench his eyes open and see that Nines has a replacement coffee ready to trade. It's fresh and, when he takes a grateful sip, way better than the fucking dirt-water from the breakroom.
Shit, this is the good stuff from that coffee shop he likes. The one that's three blocks away.
Thank you isn't really in Gavin's vocabulary, so he ends up grunting and giving Nines some sort of awkward bro nod.
"Maverick Russell is suspected of running a Ponzi scheme due to his investments always returning fifteen percent." Nines pulls up some financial data on Gavin's terminal that means fuck all nothing to him. "Almost precisely."
"Uh huh." Gavin takes a long swig of his coffee and savors the way it makes his heart jitter. "So?"
"The investments he made and the returns on them were legitimate," Nines says. "I have found no evidence of a Ponzi scheme."
Gavin takes his feet off the desk and sits up, like that will help him understand the numbers scrolling across his terminal any better. He recognizes the returns of about fifteen percent when Nines highlights them, but all he learns from that is numbers between fourteen-point-eight and fifteen-point-two are show up a lot.
"Media says it's a Ponzi scheme," Gavin mutters.
Nines scoffs.
OK, between the world's most advanced android and a handful of tabloid papers, Gavin knows who he'd bet on. Especially since this adds to his murder-not-suicide theory. If it's not a Ponzi scheme, then why bother killing himself?
Why bother letting the media shit on him either though? Nines said all the investments were legitimate, so why not just prove that and move on?
Gavin sighs. "Shit. All right, tell me. If there's no Ponzi scheme, then what the fuck's going on?"
"Brown-nosing," Nines says, like that makes any sense at all. After a beat of silence, he continues, "Your report listed Russell had a, quote, 'sycophantic need to be liked,' end quote, in the victim profile."
"Look, just." Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing over the old scar tissue. "You're at D, and I need you to back up to A. Like I'm a stupid little baby."
Nines does nothing but stare at him for a moment. Then, "You are not stupid, detective."
"Okaaaayyy."
Gavin turns back to his terminal screen and the numbers that don't make any sense to him. Whatever kind of financial report Nines has managed to pull up, it's written in big block paragraphs that his eyes just skip over. He can't pay attention long enough to read through even one of them.
Eli would know. Share half their fucking genetics, and of course he got all the good shit. Dad really went for double or nothing and got double on his second try.
"The investments were legitimate," Nines repeats. "Russell actually did make a substantial amount of money for his investors, the most prominent of whom ran just outside his social circle. No hacking was necessary to obtain that information; it was freely posted on social media sites."
Gavin ignores that last part, already muttering to himself. "Okay okay okay, so our vic really is making bank, trying to suck up to the old money type assholes. Then it all—"
He grabs the case tablet and brings up all the tabloid headlines. Everything went to shit for Russell right after the Revolution. Everything went to shit for a lot of people doing financial market stuff since the whole fucking economy nearly collapsed trying to accommodate androids flooding the workforce and actually getting paid for it now.
But the headlines back then were just click-bait questions about <I>if</I> that one company Russell founded was in trouble. Founder or not, they cut ties with him and it looks like he kept struggling along for a couple months afterwards until this whole Ponzi scheme story broke.
Except it's not a Ponzi scheme. So if his top investors weren't getting paid with money invested by the bottom chumps, then the money had to come from somewhere else.
Or someone else. Desperate to be liked. The type of guy who didn't hit money until his thirties and has spent the rest of his life trying way too hard to fit in with the 1% club.
"You got his bank records?" he asks Nines.
They immediately pop up on his terminal. It's still hard as shit to focus, but even Gavin can read the totals at the end of the month and see that Russell's accounts take a nosedive.
"So he was just giving away his own fucking money so his friends would think everything was still cool?" Gavin chugs half his coffee to keep this thought train going. "But of course he wouldn't bother with the regular people investing in his mutual-whatever. So they get stiffed while the people up top keep getting paid."
"The lower-end investors did still continue to receive returns," Nines explains. "They were simply the actual numbers reflected by the stock market at the time."
"Which was shit."
"Correct."
"All right." Gavin leans back in his seat again and kicks his feet up. "All right, so we've got a suicide that's probably a murder, and a Ponzi scheme that's not actually a Ponzi scheme. No way Russell is smart enough for any of this shit. Definitely not making an investment that kicks back exactly fifteen percent returns every single financial quarter for two fucking years."
Nines catches the case tablet before it can slip out of his lap. Gavin barely notices.
"Except we've already got a perp in this shit smart enough to hack security cameras and a whole entire android."
"Only her memory files," Nines interjects.
"The possible models you listed." Gavin makes grabby hands for the case tablet and gets it back. "Any of them smart enough to make that happen? Can just … all androids do that kind of math? You assholes better not be fucking with—"
Nines speaks over him. "The only androids with the processing power necessary to make such precise calculations about the stock market, who are also included on our list, are RK series."
Gavin gives him a side eye. "Doesn't fucking make me feel better."
"I already promised that you would be spared."
"Shut the fuck up about that," Gavin snaps. "I've already drawn my gun on you once today, I don't need you egging on my fucking paranoia."
Nines nods. "Understood, detective."
Gavin slouches back down in his chair and holds his coffee cup directly under his face to breathe in the steam. The poor man's sauna.
"The profile I've created does assume a certain amount of physical ability," Nines says, straight back to business. "In light of the new possibility that our perpetrator was also the victim's business partner, I am adding LM one hundred, PJ five and six hundred, and WB five hundred models to our android profile list."
Great. More shit he doesn't know. Gavin swirls his coffee around in the cup and lets himself sulk for a minute. Nines stays standing perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, without complaint.
"What are those again?" Gavin finally asks.
"LM one hundred: personal assistant. PJ five hundred: university lecturer," Nines rattles off. "Series expanded to six hundred to encompass mathematics and physical science. WB five hundred: financial services."
"Yeah, WB sounds more like it. Personal or corporate?"
"Largely personal." Nines doesn't smirk, but he does cock his head slightly and his LED pulses a faster blue. "Apparently, many corporations did not trust a Cyberlife android to handle their finances without reporting or recording that information."
Gavin snorts. "Pretty obvious fucking plan for corporate espionage. Only thing dumber than that would be letting them work as cops, investigate Cyberlife, oh wow, coincidentally enough your Honor, we found that we did nothing wrong."
"Such a system would almost be as rife with corruption as your current state of Internal Affairs," Nines replies. "Or allowing police and prosecutors to work together."
"OK, message received, fuck off."
Nines goes silent. Gavin works on finishing off his coffee. Fucking weird that the android doesn't even have an idle motion or anything. He just stands still enough to blend in with all the rest of the furniture, even though someone that tall and jacked should definitely stand out in any crowd.
Then again, his traitor-brain helpfully supplies, Gavin has yelled at multiple partners for mouth-breathing or idly touching his shit. At least Nines isn't annoying.
"All right, here's what we're going to do." Gavin knocks back the rest of his coffee and sits up straight again. "I'll put in a subpoena request to check if any models on our list worked at Russell's company, then we'll head down and see what we can stir up."
"I have access to Cyberlife's order log," Nines says.
"Yeah?"
"It may no longer be accurate since the Revolution, but I can provide a list of android models and serial numbers sent to Synergy Paradigms."
"You can do that?" Gavin asks, trying hard not to sound too impressed.
Nines still manages to radiate smugness without even a facial expression, the asshole. "Yes. I was given access during my trial period to test that my internal servers could connect properly to the private RK network. It was never revoked."
Gavin raises an eyebrow. "That legal?"
"It has not been declared illegal."
His phone dings with a new message. It's a winking face. He looks back up at Nines, who still hasn't made anything even slightly resembling a facial expression.
"Cyberlife probably isn't going to be too happy with you going through their shit," he says.
"And what will they do?" Nines finally makes an expression, and it's terrifying. "Sue me?"
"I told you to cut it out with that fucking murder smile, dude."
Nines immediately drops the smile and stares at him without blinking like a repressed lizard.
"Still gonna request a subpoena on that shit, just in case. Always cover your own ass," Gavin tells him.
"I can put in the request faster," Nines says without any fucking gratitude for that excellent life advice.
"Yeah, great, and it'll get denied." Gavin rolls his eyes and pulls up the request form on his terminal. "Judge Klein always shoots down anything right before lunch because he's hangry. So I'm gonna type this out, then try to squeeze it into that one-thirty sweet spot after he's had lunch."
"Does he frequent the mexican restaurant two blocks from the courthouse?" Nines asks.
"Uh, yeah." He thinks about it for a second. "I think I've seen him in there."
"I can send him a coupon for free churros."
"Oh hell yeah. That's the kind of not-technically-bribery shit I like to see."
Nines pulls his lips back over his teeth for two horrible seconds. It's even worse when Gavin realizes that was supposed to be a smile, and somehow even worse than that when Nines blinks and looks down at his desk. Gavin's cellphone dings instead with a smiling emoji.
"Look, uh … good effort. But." Gavin stops and tries to think of how to explain smiling to someone. "Yeah. Yeah, that sucked. Isn't there some kind of program you can download for that shit?"
"Incompatible," Nines says immediately. "And I prefer communicating with your cellphone. It is more efficient. However, humans prefer … eye contact?"
He looks up from his desk and fixes Gavin with a stare that would melt a lesser man's balls.
"Hey, I'm good with the cellphone," Gavin says.
"Noted."
***
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1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33
I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU
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anerdinallherglory · 6 years
Text
Approaching Sun (18)
Author’s Note: Sorry for such a long wait. It’s not the longest chapter but rest assured because Chapter 19 is already 30% finished! Thanks again for your patience. Keep reading and letting me know what you think. The recent feedback has been really encouraging and I can’t wait to dig into the details of this story.
P.S. Forewarning, things might take an interesting turn now that we are in this “place.”
Pairing: SasuSaku
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17
Chapter 18: A Bond Not Completely Severed
Sasuke was dodging puppets, weaving in and out between their closely assembled bodies. They were spinning swords and launching poisoned shuriken in his direction and he was fighting them off desperately, trying to get to her.
"Sakura!" he screamed, running towards the red-headed puppet master who was holding her up on the end of his blade. Spewing blood, she stared at Sasori's face with wide-eyes, and asked, "Why?"
"Stop!" he tried to scream but it wasn’t his voice that echoed across the cavern. Kakashi? Kakashi was the one who was running now, but towards Sasuke, screaming at him in order to prevent the Uchiha from what he was about to do. "Sasuke, stop!"
Sasuke turned back to locate Sakura again, but instead, he found her throat between his fingers. "Why?" she choked again, the crimson blood from her lips spilling out onto his wrist. He realized that it wasn’t Sasori who was killing her, but himself. A poisoned dagger--the one he had snatched from her-- was thrust through her stomach. At the sight, a terrible laugh bellowed up from his very own chest.
Kill her, a voice said inside his head. Sever the bond.  
…………………..
Sasuke was pulled from the nightmare like a dead man resuscitated back to life. Sakura was leaning over him on the floor, shaking him.
"What is it?" he sighed irritably. And then hushed immediately when he realized that she had a panicked look on her face. Her gaze focused on the wall across from them, and it took Sasuke a hazy second to register the muffled voices that were coming through the wall of Sasuke's old hotel room.
The voices were faint, a whisper that only a ninja would have been able to detect. It was a harsh, frustrated hiss of an individual and the barely-audible squeaking hinge of the door next to theirs, that made Sasuke understand their current situation.
"Someone is--" she began. Alarm bolted through every nerve in Sasuke's body, and he shot up and covered Sakura's mouth with his right hand before she could say more. She gaped at him with fearful eyes as the door knob to their room began to twist slowly. Someone had just been in Sasuke's rented room and now stood just outside.  
Was it that bastard with the black glove that he had met earlier in the hall? So, if they had gone to his room first, then Sasuke had been the target. Not Sakura herself.
Within seconds, the door was compromised with a splintering CRACK and two masked men charged into the room. It was hard to see them in the pitch dark, but with his active Sharingan, Sasuke could faintly make out ninja headbands with an unrecognizable symbol. And then, Sasuke cursed himself for not having acted sooner, because the enemy acted first, and ninja weapons were sent swiftly towards their kneeling forms.
Shit!
Sakura immediately angled her body to dodge, but Sasuke released her mouth and held her close to prevent her from moving. The Uchiha closed his right eye and focused his chakra to his Rinnegan. Immediately, a spiraling, purple portal opened up behind Sakura and the Uchiha ducked his shoulder and dove forward, clutching the startled pink-haired ninja as the two of them tipped over into the vortex. As they plummeted, Sasuke twisted their bodies around so that he was able to watch the black tear in the space seal back shut just before the ninja could follow them through.  
A couple of shuriken, however, did make it through, and Sasuke clasped his female companion close to him, barely able to angle them so that the weapons flew past them on either side. He had to act quickly! They were falling!
"Sasuke!" Sakura screamed into his shoulder, terrified as the red ground was rising up to meet them. The portal had appeared at the same height in this dimension that their room had been at the top level of the hotel building. Which meant that the two of them had several stories of air between them and the ground. A space that would be crossed within a matter of a few seconds.
As the thick air of the new climate rushed around their bodies, Sasuke spun again so that Sakura's back was to the ground and he hovered a few inches above her.
"What are you-?!" she screamed, as Sasuke released her with his only arm and used his hand to reach into his weapons pouch. He launched a single kunai past her toward the burgundy dunes beneath them. The metal blade stuck in a soft spot of sand below and Sasuke once again narrowed his Rinnegan eye. Closing the space between them once more, he grabbed onto Sakura's waist and the falling pair flickered in the green sky and disappeared.
Sasuke was suddenly on his feet, having used his teleportation ability to trade places with the kunai. However, now the kunai was racing in the sky towards them. Still holding Sakura, Sasuke dropped in order to dodge the falling blade, and together, they skidded down the hard sand of the dune’s side.
They came to a stop several feet away and below from the kunai’s intended target—inches from where they stood a second ago. It was a risky gamble, but the fact that the two of them were unharmed, and not splattered on the ground of this dimension, made Sasuke sigh in relief.
He rested on his back and let his head fall back against the ground with a thump. "This is all your fault."
"My fault?!" Sakura asked incredulously, rolling out of his open arms, and sitting up to look down at him.  "How is this my fault?"
Sasuke stood and swiped at the copper dust that clung to his cloak. Looking down at her, he accused, "Because if you hadn't run off yesterday, and announced yourself to every citizen you met, then no one would have followed you to our hotel."
"Excuse me?" Sakura growled up at him, which Sasuke returned with a hard, fixed glare. "I did no such thing!"
She rose to her feet and came to stand next to him. "If you weren't so hard to wake, we could have evaded this entire situation!"
Sasuke grit his teeth at the statement and bitterly retorted, "I wanted to pass through the village. You insisted that we stayed the night."
Sakura frowned, then just said, “We could have handled them.”
Sasuke feigned indifference and arrogantly mocked with “Hn.” She glowered but he didn’t give her a chance to respond; he walked off.
Of course, she followed.
Sasuke surveyed the land around them. It had been awhile since he had had enough chakra to reach the core dimension that served as the central connection between all the other dimensions. Why had he brought them here instead of handling the situation back in that hotel room? Now that he was thinking about it, it would have made much more sense to teleport with the man closest to the door and then surprised the other from behind with a killing blow. He felt like a coward, having ducked into this realm and avoided the entire confrontation altogether.
Sakura was right. Coming here was his fault. He had tried to blame her and reason with himself that it was just instinct that had caused him to do this. He had been scared, which resulted in his knee-jerk reaction to get them as far away as possible. But why? Sasuke blamed that horrible dream he had just had which kept him from reacting to the threat sooner. The whole thing had thrown him off his game--no, she was throwing him off. If she weren't here with him, he wouldn’t be having these dreams where he was concerned for her safety. And just now, Sasuke had been so desperate to remove her from the life-threatening situation that he had spent the last of his expendable chakra reserves to get her to the farthest place he could think of. Why didn’t he just eliminate the ninja in that moment?
Sasuke ran a hand down his face. Damn.
Were these nightmares all because of the bond that was growing stronger between them? The bond he had tried to sever that day when Sasuke had meant to kill her. These unwanted scenes that were merging with tale and memory were tormenting him. Watching other people repeatedly attack her and then seeing himself take her life, was all because of his damn guilt. Was he trying to protect her now, because he owed it to her?
Ugh, see, why was he even thinking like this?! It's not like he cared back when they were fighting Madara and she impaled herself on his black receiver rod. Instead, Sasuke had taken advantage of the diversion, rushing past her to deliver Madara a blow. Naruto was the one to catch and aid the kunoichi after Madara had sent all three of them flying backwards. Hell, he even let Kakashi save Sakura from falling into the lava in Kaguya's volcano dimension.
Sakura was following him closely, asking him questions he wasn’t even listening or responding to. He marched ahead, looking at the green sky above him and the maroon mountainous terrain around them and beneath his stomping feet.
To add to his list of corrupt choices, Sasuke recalled his thoughts during the last time that he and Sakura were here together. Yes, she and Obito had opened the portal between this space and the hot, desert dimension where Sasuke had been trapped. In all honesty, when he first saw his rescuers, his first gut reaction was to replace himself with one of them. What had kept him from that resolution, was the fact that if he had separated the two, the portal might have collapsed before he could have even made the exchange.
Fortunately, Sakura's vest had been laying there on the ground next to her and Sasuke didn’t haveto replace himself with one of the people who had saved him. But in his defense, Sasuke hadchosen to look for an alternative, which was proof that he was changing for the better even in that second. Okay, maybe he couldn’t have gone through with replacing himself with Sakura, but Obito had definitely been an option.
Sasukerecalled the way in which he supported Sakura in her chakra-depleted state right after that. At the time, Sasuke was telling himself that it was only gratitude. A very small sense of gratitude that he had had for her for bringing him back. Nothing else.
Recalling it now, Sasuke would be lying to himself if he said that it was only gratitude. There was always something between them, he supposed. Even during moments when he truly believed their bond was severed; when he treated her less than she deserved; when he was cruel, unresponsive to her feelings, and wanted to kill her.
"Hey!" Sakura, who had been trying to talk to him this whole time, placed herself in front of his marching form. "Are you even listening?"
"What?" he spat, his annoyance with her apparent on his face.
She looked up at him with worry on her face. "What's going on with you? What's wrong?"
You! He wanted to say. You are what's wrong! You and your damn stubborn resolution to be involved with me.
"I just used all of my chakra reserves to bring us here," The Uchiha grumbled instead. "I'm annoyed about it." He pushed past her again, continuing his trek.  
No, he admitted to himself. He, himself-- or rather, who he was-- was Sasuke’s problem.
……………………………………………………………………………….
Sakura followed the stalking Uchiha as they made their way across the foreign landscape. Well, it wasn’t entirely foreign. She had been here before during their battle with Kaguya, back when Obito had brought them here along with Naruto's clone, in order to bring Sasuke back to the battle in the ice dimension.
Sakura didn’t necessarily like this place. The air was neither hot nor cold, but it felt strange—like there was just enough air to inhale, but not enough to take more than short, limited breaths. The sun was currently dim through the green atmosphere, just enough light where they could see, but not enough that it could be considered bright. Everything about this place was completely on the edge. Sakura did not like it.
Not to mention, that it also reminded her of their battle with Kaguya and the many lives lost in the war. This place also reminded Sakura that the threat of the Otsusuki clan was still very real and not something that disappeared in the past along with Kaguya’s defeat. This threat was what kept Sasuke from a happy life in the village.
It did have one good memory though. When she thought of this place, Sakura couldn’t help but remember the sensation of Sasuke supporting her against him when she had felt like she had failed him. The Uchiha had borne her weight as she recuperated her strength after having spent all of her chakra in order to save him. It was something a friend would have done—something the Sasuke she knew would have done.
Despite the memory, Sakura still loathed this place.
So why? Why had Sasuke chosen to bring them here?
She wanted to ask him, but his mood was foul, and he was currently stalking forward, not caring if she followed him or not. Where he was taking them, she had no idea. Sasuke had been exploring these dimensions for years now, so Sakura knew that he must have a final destination in mind.
Sasuke had said he was annoyed about the amount of chakra it had taken him to teleport. Did this statement mean that they were trapped here?
Despite his mood, Sakura jogged to catch up with him, a difficult feat considering the up and down momentum she was having to regulate on this uneven ground.
"Sasuke?" she asked him, "Where are we going?"
He didn’t answer, just trudged ahead with that unwavering focus. So, she did something she knew would get his attention. She reached out, and gingerly took hold of the fingers of his right hand.
She expected him to stop or to freeze, but instead, he spun on her with a wrath she wasn’t quite anticipating. "Stop doing that!"
The kunoichi recoiled, embarrassed and frustrated. She immediately withdrew her hand back to her chest. "Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? You're starting to act like the Sasuke I don’t know."
His eyes got wide at that comment and he immediately looked away from her.
Sakura needed answers. She needed to know what their current situation was--some sort of affirmation that everything was going to be okay--that he wasn’t mad at her because he blamed her for this.
"Did you know those people, Sasuke?" she asked, quieting her voice and clutching her rejected hand to her chest. "Why were they after us?"
The silence continued and there was no response. He must be truly upset with her about this.
"Look, I'm sorry I told the guards at the entrance we were leaf shinobi and associated with Naruto. I'm sorry I went to the medic center. I promise that I didn’t tell anyone who you were---"
"It's not your fault,” he interrupted, which surprised Sakura. It always astonished her when he said things like this. “They're after me. Due to my reputation, I’m not the most difficult person to recognize. You just happen to be with me so you're being targeted."
Sakura stared at him in open shock. Did he really believe that way? She took a step towards him, afraid that he would retreat into his shell of silence again if she didn’t keep him talking. "But why? Why are they after you?" she asked.
"Because of who I am and what I've done," he said, rotating his back to her and walking again. This time, he slowed so she could keep up. "I've pissed a lot of people off. Who knows why they're after me."
Sakura strode quickly by his side. His hair fell into his eyes as he ducked his head. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "This is why, Sakura. This is why I have to stay away from the village as much as possible right now. I have too many enemies."
"I'm here, though." she whispered to him, leaning in to elbow him. "I can help you."
"I don’t want--" he began but held his tongue. He didn’t have to finish for Sakura to know what he meant to say. I don’t want you here. The words felt like a blow to her heart.
She stopped in her tracks.
Sakura didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why Sasuke didn’t want her here, next to him. Was she wrong about all of this? There were times when Sakura believed Sasuke might actually love her back. Times like just a few short hours ago when a stranger knocked on her door, and the Uchiha had stormed into her room announcing that it was "pointless to spend money on two rooms." Or how yesterday morning, when Sasuke came looking for her in the woods because he woke up to her missing. Maybe Sakura was misinterpreting it all. Maybe it was just concern for a friend that had him acting this way.
Sometimes she wanted to just give up and let the stubborn Uchiha have his damn, lonely way. But it wasn’t in her to give up because she just couldn’tlet him go. Couldn’t remove him from her heart. And when he acted this way towards her, she couldn’t bring herself to smother out the hope that bloomed in her chest. This undying love for him often felt like an undying curse.
"It's just that--" the Uchiha began, and Sakura glanced up to see him standing still just a few feet in front of her. He peeked back at her guiltily for a second through his black curtain of bangs. If Sakura would have blinked, she would have missed it. She waited anxiously for him to continue.
"It's easier when I'm by myself," he continued, "Just because I only have to worry about myself."
There it was again. That hope in her chest; that undying curse. What was Sasuke feeling when he said things like that?
All anger evaporating from within her, Sakura closed the distance between them and poked him in the side--something she was finding quite enjoyable when he made that 'how dare you' expression. "Are you sure it's not because I'm annoying?"
He scoffed and brushed her hand off of him. Their fingers touched for a long, lingering second. To Sakura, it wasn’t long enough. Their eyes met too, but then Sasuke blinked and retracted his hand gradually as he purposefully avoided her gaze. Was that lasting touch supposed to be an apology for earlier, or was she reading too much into it?
"That's the main reason," he snorted loudly before walking off again.
She glowered. Yep, she was reading too much into it.
Sakura stuck her tongue out at him behind his back. She let out a quiet sigh and watched him walk away, content to hang back a few feet as they continued forward. Silently and to herself, Sakura cradled her burning fingertips.
…………………………..
Sasuke trailed onward, an annoyed expression permanently glued to his face. If he let the mask slip even a little bit, his expression might give him away. After what had just passed between them, Sasuke didn’t look back at his companion even once. Silently, and concealed by his cloak, Sasuke was running his thumb over his middle and ring fingers. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t rub away the tingling sensation.
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sadisticstories · 7 years
Text
Slave to Tyrants part 2
So there I was kneeling upright in front of my two teenage tormentors! "Well, Jason and I have a fun evening planned for you fatso, well, I know it'll be fun for us anyway!" Fiona laughed in that distinctive girly way she has which is like half giggle with a mocking twist to it. Most ordinary alpha men would find it a turn-on, a light fun-filled teasing laugh promising flirtation and fun. I, on the other hand have come to fear it. Master Jason also has the most mocking laugh that is usually accompanied by an arrogant sneer. Both of them find it absolute FUN to make my life an absolute misery! "We've got a taxi booked for eight o'clock, so that gives us a good long while to put you through your paces". Miss Fiona had been standing with hands on hips regarding me, and now she bent slightly so her face was inches from mine. I became aware of her perfume and the soft curve of her tits through the satin of her blouse. "Just a little lesson to remind you what a fat, miserable little fuck you are!", whispered Miss Fiona in a soft voice. Before I could reply, I became aware of Jason joining Fiona with his arm around her slim waist, "Got my lines done slime face?", "Yes Sir, indeed Sir, and thank you for giving them to me Sir! I have all three thousand lines for your inspection Sir!" Again I heard a mocking laugh from both of them. This was a relatively new torment they had thought up, and, like several of their torments, it might became flavour of the month for a while before they dreamed up a new one. So easy for them to inflict though! A short moment to decide a degrading phrase, another to decide how many times it was to be written and then simply give a time limit in which I would have to present the hand written lines in best copper plate script on the finest writing paper to them! This punishment took hours and hours and hours of pure tedium. The particular punishment for this week was to write out "This fat pig must remember to oink when Master Jason kicks its ugly balls" three thousand times. A good way for me to learn though, you can be sure I would be oinking in future! "Would Sir care to inspect them now Sir? I have them on the side table in a pile Sir" Jason could well scrutinize them line for line, or simply tear them up in front of my face! "Later." smirked Jason. "Go fetch your little kneeling board." said Fiona as she and Jason turned to sit on the sofa, "And bring eight large tumblers of cold water and a basin", she added. I wasn't sure what they had planned but I knew it wouldn't be the slightest bit pleasant for me! The kneeling board was made of wood and at each end of it there was a small compartment of about six inches square filled with hard dried peas! I returned to the sitting room and placed the board and tumblers at their feet. "Get that water drunk, one after the other, and make it quick!" ordered Jason. For the most part I was ignored by the pair of them as I struggled to get all of the water down. They simply turned on the T.V. and sat in each others arms while giving me the odd glance now and again to make sure I was complying quickly enough. Eventually I finished drinking the tumblers of ice cold water. I could feel my belly expanding as the cold water gripped my innards and I began to realise what was in store. Fiona snapped her manicured fingers and pointed to the kneeling board. I spread my legs wide apart and placed one old wrinkled kneecap onto the dried peas, followed by the next one. The cruel little green peas started digging instantly into my kneecaps. I knew shortly the pain would be excutiating! Jason removed his arm from around Fiona and rose from his seat to return with a plastic basin and placed it directly under my cock. "Wouldn't want any accidents now, would we?" "Sir, no Sir, I'll try not to Sir" So I got the picture. I would be made to kneel in front of them and involuntarily piss myself for their amusement! Fiona also rose from her seat and returned a few seconds later. "My my, you have been a busy little piggie! All these lines! And so neatly written too!", she mocked as she flicked through the pile of papers that had taken me at least 48 hours of solid writing to finish. "And you are going to present them to my boyfriend to check before our taxi arrives? Let him see if you've done them right?" She spoke in a patronising, sarcastic tone that you might if you were speaking to someone a little slow of learning. "Yes Miss Fiona! Master Jason said he would check them later Miss!" I responded brightly as I could. "Yes piggie, I'm sure he will. And lets hope they are in a presentable state to hand to him, you little fuck face.". And with that she dropped the whole sheath of papers directly into the basin beneath my cock! I looked in horror at the basin! Again Fiona turned away and returned a moment later with two large books! "Arms outstretched and palms out!" she ordered. She had with her two large cookery books. I held my arms out at each side as first one, then the second book was placed on my outstretched palms. Casually sitting back down Miss Fiona cuddled up to Jasons chest. "Shall we let nature take its course mmm? If the slightest drop of piss lands on those papers you can be sure Jason won't be touching them!" "Damn right!", said Jason as he lit a cigarette, "And if I can't check em, you do them again. Only it's six thousand next time. And a thousand dollar fine.". "And if I have to get up to replace those books it's a hundred dollars each time!", added Fiona. Placing an ashtray on top of my head, Fiona and Jason settled down to enjoy the show. The first thing to happen was the dull ache in my arms that slowly spread as the weight of the books began to take their toll! Then my arms began to shake and quiver as the muscles tired. My God it had only been ten minutes! Then bang! Both books fell over.. "Tut, tut, one hundred dollars and counting!" quiped Fiona as she replaced my books of torment. At least the ache in my arms was taking my mind off the horrible little peas cutting into my knees like little daggers. I tried to shift position by a millimetre or so, just to lessen the ache a little! Of course this was spotted by Fiona and Jason sitting nice and relaxed in front of me. A stream of blue smoke was slowly exhaled into my face by Fiona. "Quite a sweat you've got going on there retard!" she commented. "Yes Miss, sorry Miss!" Fiona laughed and turned to nuzzle Jasons ear. Jason turned to smirk at me. Here was this fat old bootlicking loser kneeling in tormented agony at his feet for his amusement, paying him a fortune to indulge all his youthful sadistic urges, while he held a drop dead gorgeous girl in his arms. No wonder he looked like the cat that had got the cream! "Bark!" he ordered. "Sir, woof, woof, Sir!" Bang! The effort of barking had taken my concentration away momentarily from my arms as the books fell. "Two hundered!" chimed Fiona as she clapped her hands in glee. "Yes, but it means you have to get up to put the books back, and I was enjoying your tongue in my ear!" pouted Jason like a spoilt brat, but then again I suppose that was what he was after all at only 19. "Kick in the balls for that later fatso" "Yes Sir, thank you Sir!" Painful as that would be I had other concerns now. Nature was indeed taking its course and I could feel the urge to piss getting stronger and stronger! Could I possbly hold it off until that damn taxi arrived! I squirmed inside, concentrating on the pain in my arms and knees, almost welcoming the agony to take my mind off the desperate need to piss! Fiona and Jason could see it too. They began to watch my face intently, casually blowing smoke into my sweating features. I began to lose the plot now, and started squirming more and more, panting with effort. Taking a huge risk I deliberately let the books fall. Anything for a moments respite! "Three hundred! Should pay for that gorgeous camisole I saw in town." remarked Fiona to Jason. The books were again replaced. The urge to pee was absolutely desparate now! I couldn't think of anything else but trying to control my achingly full bladder. Jason started whistling to add to my torment, causing Fiona to laugh hysterically. Eventually though the realisation that I might just make it began to dawn on me. The clock said only five minutes to go. Maybe the taxi might be a minute or two early, if only I could hold out! I felt pressure on the top of my head as Jason stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said, "Time for that kick in the balls retard!". He swivelled his fingers in a circular motion as I mercifully dropped the hideous, tormenting books and scooted round so my back was to him. I bent forwards to raise my backside and exposed balls to a convenient height for the toe of his shoe to make direct contact with my sac, and gritted my teeth in anticipation. Suddenly, Whap! Jason had let fly with a corker of kick. Right in the middle of my exposed scrotum! Momentarily I was aware of my balls instinctively retreating up into my belly, and then I guess a blacked out for a second. Coming to, I shook my head to try and clear it and heard laughter, cruel mocking laughter. Then the sound of hot steaming piss as it landed on expensive writing paper in the basin! "Tsk, tsk, fucktard, expensive mistake you made there!" laughed Jason. "And it forgot to oink!" Fiona reminded Jason with a cheerful smile, "after all your efforts too! Well lets see now piggy, thats 300 for dropping the books, a 1000 for not presenting your lines! And lets add another 200 for pissing without permision shall we? So thats 1500 dollars! And six thousand lines too. Go get your wallet toad!" Expensive though it was, at least my ordeal seemed to be over. As I ran to my wallet the familiar masochistic feelings began to kick in again. This was what I wanted after all, two young superiors to lord it over me, treat me with the contempt I deserve! I crawled back to their feet to hand over my fine, and I just couldn't stop myself, the urge to grovel to them was overpowering. Placing my hands behind my back I kneeled forward from the waist and placed the most respectfull kiss on the toe of Jasons shoe, and then on the toe of Fiona's stiletto. "Thankyou Sir and Miss for allowing me to entertain you this evening! And please, please sir, please may I be allowed to do my lines again for you Sir. But please Sir can you please allow me to do nine thousand lines so I'm sure not to forget to oink next time?" From above I could hear hysterical laughter from my tormentors. "My God, it sure knows how to grovel!", laughed Fiona, "Well, I tell you what fucktard, you do the nine thousand lines....one letter in ink, three in pencil, then back to the ink, and we'll be back same time next week to collect!"
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kimbapwrites · 7 years
Text
I Hate You || Im Youngmin
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Summary: Countless fights, hateful glares and hostility were all that was exchanged between you and Youngmin since the beginning of freshman year due to a fiery competition for first place. After failing a math test, you are forced to be tutored by your red haired rival. Slowly, you feel hard feelings start to wash away and something a bit warmer replacing them. 
Paring: Youngmin x Reader 
Genre: Angst, fluff, High school AU
Word Count: 7.9k 
A/N: HI~ First of all, 7.9k words, *chokes*. This was supposed to be a “short” scenario I don’t know what happened I’m so sorry. I also apologize about the long wait, I wasn’t able to write for a few days, but I hope the long story makes up for it! This is my first time writing a fanfiction so I’m not sure if I did it right, but I tried my best and I hope you guys enjoy ^^ If you have any suggestions or comments, let me know, I’d be happy to hear your thoughts :) 
-Admin Michelle
The insides of your stomach churned as you anxiously bounced your legs, pupils shaking in fear as you glared at the paper sitting in front of you. This was the dreaded day you had been trying to avoid for the past week; the day that would decide if you lived or died:
The day the math test grades were announced.
All around you, commotion could be heard as your fellow classmates of your advanced math class discussed what number was marked at the top of their papers. You  buried your face in your hands and made a quick, desperate prayer for your grade to be saved before finally turning over the paper.
68%  
The number scribbled in red was enough to bring out loud sobs from your lips as you collapsed in your desk chair in despair. That’s it. I’m done for. Goodbye college. Goodbye top rank. Goodbye life. It was nice while it lasted.
Your mind was picking out what songs would be played at your funeral when a certain obnoxious voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Judging by your dying whale impersonation, I assume that you didn’t do too well on the test. Guess I’ll be keeping the first place rank after all.”
You lifted your head only to immediately glare at the smug boy in front of you;
Im Youngmin.
You stared into his eyes with as much hatred as your smaller body could muster, just as you had been doing since the first day of high school when you both vowed to be the best, thus forming a rivalry between you and the red haired boy. Throughout the tiring years, you and Youngmin have suffered through a multitude of advanced classes together and fought for the top rank, which constantly switched between the two of you. The fiery competition arose tension and multiple feuds to occur every day, and today was no exception. Currently, Youngmin held the prestigious title of first place and was not afraid to rub it in your face that he would be keeping it due to the poor grade you just received.
“Shut up Youngmin before I punch that smirk off your face. Is your memory so bad that you forgot that I know Taekwondo?” You replied as you crossed your arms. A smirk that matched the obnoxiousness of Youngmin’s overtook your face.
Youngmin scoffed at your attempt to be intimidating. “Barely. You took it when you were 5 and quit after a week because it was too hard. Just like you should quit trying to get first place because we all know that I’ll always be better than you.” Despite now hating each other’s guts, you and Youngmin had been close since childhood and were once inseparable. You knew everything about each other, whether you wanted to or not.
You took a step closer to him. “Alright listen Alpaca Boy, 1) I could still very easily kick your butt to space and back and 2) The only reason you’re first place now is because I spent more time volunteering at the cat shelter because I’m a good person unlike you.”
He took a step closer to you. “Alpaca Boy? Wow, that’s soooo creative. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised since that’s probably the best your second place mind can think of.”
The space between you two was now less than a foot. “Actually, I’m very creative. That’s why I won the best writing award every year and oh, that’s right, you didn’t.”
Six inches. “Okay, fine, I’ll admit that. but remind me again, who aced the math test and who failed? Hm?”
That was it. “Come here! I’m gonna tear that dyed black hair out of your big head!” You pounced on him and him at you, ready to tear each other into pieces when you felt a pair of strong arms pull you away.
“KIDS. THAT’S ENOUGH.” Teacher Seokhoon’s deep voice rang through your ears and ended the heated up feud. “Jesus Christ, you guys do this every day. It’s like trying to tame wild monkeys I swear.” He shook his head while you and Youngmin calmed your heavy breaths. “Is first place really worth it?”
“YES.” You and Youngmin simultaneously turned and shouted in reply.
All Teacher Seokhoon could do was sigh. He turned his back to you and began walking to his large mahogany desk, expecting you and the other honors student to follow. On the way there, you and Yongmin walked side by side through the narrow aisles, your glare at him never faltering.
Once there,you all sat around Teacher Seokhoon’s desk and he began talking. “You two have been fighting every day for the past three years and quite frankly, I’m tired of it. And you guys probably are too. So, I’ve been thinking and I’ve come up with a plan to hopefully make you guys hate each other less.” You and Youngmin looked at each other, confusion and disgust in both set of eyes already.
“You’re both probably aware that, Y/N, you basicaly failed the last math test.” You lowered your had in shame but from the corner of your eye, you could see Youngmin lightly chuckle. It took all of your power not to punch that obnoxious smirk off his face right at that moment, as you decided that would only make things worse. “I don’t know what happened, but if you want to be contender for valedictorian next year, it can’t happen again,”
Oh no, please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
“Therefore, I’ve decided that, instead of giving you both detentions for the fights in class, Youngmin will tutor you for the time being until you understand everything again.”
Oh God, he said what I thought he was going to say.
You opened your mouth, an entire list of reasons why you shouldn’t have to be tortured like that about to spew from your lips, but was silenced by Youngmin beating you to it.
“But sir! I don’t deserve to be punished like that! Send me to detention, make me clean the bathrooms, heck, give me an F, but don’t make me tutor her please I’m begging you!” The black haired student cried out in agony as he bowed down in front of the teacher.
Another wave of hate for the boy came over you as you thought about the audacity he had to go so far as to beg so he wouldn’t have to work with you. If anything, it should be you complaining about being stuck with his arrogant self. While he was still in his kneeling position, you kicked him on his side, sending him face first into the ground. A scoff and giggle that you weren’t even sorry for came out of your mouth, earning you a hateful glare from Youngmin.
Before the fight could intensify again, Teacher Seokhoon cleared his voice and shook his head with disapproval at yours and Youngmin’s childish ways. “This is exactly what I mean. You guys are juniors in high school now but you act like five year olds fighting over who gets the last sticker, it’s unbelievable. My decision is set. Youngmin, you will tutor Y/N every day after school until the final. And every time I see you two bickering I will add another study session until you finally get along. Do you understand?”
You and Youngmin looked at each other for the last time before sealing your fates, the hate slightly subsided but still there. Knowing that you had no choice in this matter, you both sighed before shaking your heads in defeat. “Y Teacher Seokhoon, we understand.”
With that one sentence, the conversation was over and the tutoring sessions were final. After giving a hostile handshake to Youngmin, you turned to go to your own group of friends, who you figured were waiting in the lunchroom.
What you failed to notice though, was Youngmin smiling to himself as he watched you leave the quiet classroom.
“I hate him I hate him I hate him,” You said as you angrily bit into the sandwich that you stole from your childhood best friend, Daniel. “I mean, who does he think he is? Begging to get away from me? Pft, it should be the other way around.”
It was currently the end of the day and you and Daniel were in the school’s library waiting for Youngmin to appear and your suffering to begin. Hidden behind a shelf of books in the fiction section, Daniel was listening to you rant about the unfairness of your punishment while you ate his leftover lunch. Daniel was the closest and longest friend that you had. He was there when you and Youngmin used to spend hours a day just wandering the neighborhood as kids and he was there when the rivalry and hate between you and the red head began. Daniel always saw how drained you’d become after overworking yourself to beat Youngmin and wanted more than anything for the feuding to stop. He wanted you to be happy, not constantly fighting to be the best because he already thought you were perfect.
After listening to your rant, Daniel hesitantly said “You know, I don’t think this tutoring thing is a bad idea. I mean, he’s really good at math and can help you. Plus spending so much time with him might make you realize that he’s not actually so bad of a guy.” He waited for your response, but all he got was silence and an incredulous stare filled with disappointment.
“Wow, I feel betrayed. After fifteen years of friendship I thought that you would be on my side, not defending the person who’s been an arrogant jerk to me for the past three years. Alright, I see how it is.” You said as you turned your back to him, deciding to eat your own lunch instead of the person’s who just back stabbed you. Daniel sighed.
“Y/N, I’m not betraying you, I’m just saying that Youngmin’s actually not as bad as you think he is. We’re on the dance team together and he’s always smiling and kind to everyone. He does this thing called the ‘Alpaca Dance’ and it’s hilarious.” Daniel said with a shrug, taking a sip of your banana milk. “He’s nice to everyone else, I don’t understand why he’s only a jerk to you.”
You set your food down. You didn’t understand it either. You and Youngmin used to be so close before; one would never go anywhere without the other. Then when high school started, everything changed without warning. You had assumed that it was just because you both wanted to be number one, but listening to Daniel, you began to wonder if maybe it was something deeper than that. Now it was your turn to sigh. “I don’t know why either.”
Thinking of possible reasons for Youngmin’s attitude towards you, Daniel added “Hm. Maybe he likes you?”
You choked on your sandwich. Your chest involuntarily leaned forward as your lungs produced a series of cackling coughs, Daniel patted your back as a string of apologies left his mouth.
You drank the rest of your sweet drink and took deep breaths to calm down before answering, “HA. That’s funny. That was a great joke Daniel thanks for making me almost choke because of it. But really, that’s not possible. All Youngmin thinks of me as is an annoying competitor.” You said, your heart stinging a little bit by your own words. Before you could get too caught up in your feelings and what the slight pain meant, you heard an all too familiar voice come up from behind, startling you.
“I heard my name?” Youngmin said, causing you to scream and Daniel to shove his hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence you.
“Jesus Christ Youngmin you scared me. Knock next time, would you.” You said as you put your hand on your chest, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat. Youngmin and Daniel laughed at your frightened state, earning them one of your death stares.
“Alright, well I’ll leave you guys alone for your study session. Have fun and please, try not to kill each other.” Daniel announced after packing his things and getting up from his spot next to you on the library floor so the redhead could replace him. He and Youngmin did their fistbump, causing you to frown at their closeness. Before leaving, Daniel ruffled your hair, a common act of affection between you two, and gave you a look that you knew meant behave. While you were replying in your own facial expression that translated to alright, mom, you didn’t notice the slight look of disappointment on Youngmin’s face. As quickly as it appeared though, it faded back to the smug look he constantly wore in your presence.
“Should we go to the tables? Or are you incapable of getting up after eating all those snacks?” Youngmin asked, amusement in his voice at his own insult. You scoffed.
“Oh, screw you, Im Youngmin.” You began packing your stuff up, including your precious snacks, and put your backpack on. Instinctively, you lifted your arms out as a call for help and waited for Youngmin to assist you. You watched as he stared at you, unsure of what to do. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on yours and pulled you up. You realized that this was first physical contact he’s had with you for years that wasn’t intended to be bothersome. Okay, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
You wiped any dust off of your skirt with your hands and was about to say a quick thanks when Youngmin opened his mouth and said “Dang, you’re really heavy. I bet an elephant is lighter than you.”
Never mind. Once a jerk, always a jerk.
“Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” You said as you rushed past him to get to the tables, purposely shoving him a bit with your big bag of textbooks. Behind you, you heard Youngmin softly chuckle.
You looked at the red haired boy sitting next to you against the brick wall of the school and rolled your eyes in annoyance. Jerk… You thought.
You had been studying in the library with Youngmin, trying to digest today’s lesson that you were struggling with. Already being frustrated, it didn’t help your patience when Youngmin couldn’t contain his sarcastic, mocking comments for one moment to actually help you with your homework. After thirty frustrating minutes of not understanding what the boy in front of you was saying, you had decided you had enough and that was when you burst. Closing your eyes, you replayed the argument that happened just a few minutes ago.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANY OF THIS WHAT THE HECK IS THE FUNDAMENTAL THEOREM OF CALCULUS AND HOW THE HECK DO YOU APPLY IT.” You shouted at Youngmin from across the study table, homework and textbooks pages long forgotten as the only thing you were focusing on at the moment was how to murder the student and math problem in front of you.
“YOU JUST REPLACE ALL H’S WITH X IT’S NOT THAT HARD STOP BEING STUPID.” Youngmin yelled back, equally as frustrated and annoyed that you couldn’t seem to understand anything.
“WELL MAYBE IF YOU WERE A BETTER TEACHER I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN IT BY NOW. AND DON’T CALL ME STUPID, STUPID.”  You stood up and crossed your arms in defense, challenging him to fight back with you, which of course, he did.
“FINE, DUMBASS. AND MAYBE IF YOU WERE A BETTER STUDENT I WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE TEACHING YOU.” Youngmin copied the stance you had and looked down at you with angered eyes since he was a quite a few inches taller. If you stood on your tippy-toes though, you figured you could punch his head off.
“SHUT UP YOU BARELY UNDERSTOOD THE CONCEPT TOO. YOUR MOM TOLD ME YOU CRIED TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE INTEGRAL IS.” You heard him scoff as he leaned closer to you, a habit of his he always did when he was trying to intimidate someone.
“FIRST OF ALL, YOU SHUT UP AND-”
“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP AND GET OUT. THIS IS A LIBRARY NOT A SCREAMING ZOO.” You both froze at the chilling shriek of the old librarian who was fed up with the commotion you and Youngmin were causing with your fight. You had never seen her anywhere else besides her desk with her pointy nose in a book, but now she had walked over to you two and was physically shoving you out the wooden doors of the quiet study place. With nowhere to go, you and Youngmin simply sat against the front entrance of the door, still fuming about what happened.
“That was your fault,” You said to him with a scowl.
“As if. I wasn’t the one who started screaming first, now was I,” He replied without even looking at you. He leaned his head back against the wall, his hoodie covering his closed eyes.
“Shut up,” You said as you followed his pose. You were too tired to fight any longer and you assumed he was too. You sat in silence as you looked at the graying sky, a feeling of sadness washing over you. You replayed part of your conversation with Daniel earlier. “Maybe he likes you?” Yeah right. There was no way he would like someone who fought with him every second of the day, especially when he constantly had a swarm of girls fawning over him wherever he went. They showered him with praise and love, you attacked him with sarcastic comments and screaming. Not that you were disappointed though, you didn’t think you had any feelings for your red haired rival. Just as you were drowning in your thoughts, a light droplet of water fell upon your face and spread coldness throughout your body. It was beginning to rain.
You opened your mouth, about to share your discovery about the upcoming weather with Youngmin but he once again beat you to it.
“It’s gonna rain soon. I think we should go somewhere else.” He was now looking at you with eyes you had never seen from him before. They were a calm brown and held an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. You tried to read his face, but after so many years of just yelling at it, it was like reading hieroglyphics.
“Hm. Guanlin is working at a cafe a few blocks down. We could go there and, if we beg really hard, he might hook us up with some free coffee and snacks.” You said, raising an eyebrow as you turned to glance at Youngmin. He nodded in agreement and soon, you were both up with your backpacks and ready to go.
The trip to the cafe was mostly uneventful as you and Youngmin walked side by side in silence, you lost in your thoughts and Youngmin in the music that was playing through his earbuds. You watched the light rain fall upon the surrounding nature and drizzle it with dew. Most people prefer sunny days and clear blue skies but to you, this was the best weather. It was calming and never failed to make you feel serene.
Memories of jumping the rain with Youngmin as a child began playing through your head and suddenly, you found your eyes trailing to the red haired boy beside you. This was the first time since high school started that you and Youngmin have been peaceful around each other and you had to admit, it was pretty nice. You looked at his features and thought about how much he matured physically. You looked at his perfect red hair and doe eyes and had to admit that even though you hated his guts, he was handsome. You could see why girls chased after him in the halls. You were forced out of your analyzation of his face though when Youngmin noticed you staring and turned to you.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, something you taught him to do in middle school.
“Nah, just ugliness. But that’s always been there.” You replied with a smug look as you returned to admiring the scenery around you. You felt him shove you a bit with his arms before scoffing and putting his earbud back in. You laughed.
You were halfway to the cafe when you realized that you should have listened to Daniel when he told you to bring a jacket earlier; it was freezing now due to the constant rain. In an attempt to lessen your shivering, you rubbed your bare arms with your hands trying to generate some warmth.
“Geez, it’s cold,” You said to no one in particular. Thinking that Youngmin couldn’t hear you due to the music he was listening to, you continued walking while gritting your teeth. We’re almost there, you told yourself. In the middle of your thoughts, you felt a sweater being laid over your shoulders and a blanket of warmth encompassing you.
You froze in your tracks. Stunned, you looked up with wide eyes at the redhead beside you. Youngmin was looking at the ground, refusing to meet your eyes, as he rubbed his neck in awkwardness. His hoodie that he had on before was now on you instead and revealed the embarrassingly adorable shirt he was wearing underneath that had an alpaca with a bowtie on it. You couldn’t help but laugh.
Your sudden laughter surprised Youngmin and he met your joyful eyes, confusion evident on his face.
“Thanks Alpaca Boy for the sweater.” You said in between a fit of giggles while pointing at his shirt. His ears lit up red like a Christmas tree and his hurriedly covered his torso with your arms, only intensifying your enjoyment at his flustered state.
“S-shut up,” He said as he turned away and speedily walked the rest of the way to the cafe, you trailing behind with a series of teasing remarks about your new favorite shirt of his. Your giggling and his shouts for you to be quiet became music that filled the surrounding neighborhood.
After you finally arrived at the cafe, you said hello to Guanlin, who was a mutual friend to the two of you, and begged him to give you some snacks. Being a stubborn byeongari, he agreed after you both gave something in return. For you, it was doing his Korean homework for him for a week and for Youngmin, it was rap lessons after school. Once settling down on sofa seats in a quiet, secluded area of the cafe located near the back, you and Youngmin spent two hours working on your homework assignment for the night together. Currently, he was quizzing you on the different vocabulary words you would need to know for the next test.
“Okay, so what’s an asymptote?” Youngmin asked as he took a sip of vanilla latte.
“A line or curve that the graph of a relation approaches more and more closely the further the graph is followed.” You immediately responded, proud of yourself afterwards for remembering. You took a bite of your banana bread. “Next question.”
“What’s a piecewise continuous function?” Youngmin now leaned back in the cafe’s sofa, a smirk on his face as he expected you not to know. “It’s fine if you don’t know-”
“Shut up and wipe that smirk off your face before I punch it off. I know this. It’s a function made up of a finite number of continuous pieces. They may not have the vertical asymptotes and the only possible types of discontinuities are removable and step discontinuities. Told you I knew this.” You said, smug once seeing the look of surprise on Youngmin’s face when you got the answer right.
“Wow, you’re really understanding this. I’m surprised, maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought.” Youngmin teased.
“Be quiet, Alpaca Boy,” You said, amusement in your voice as you teased him with his new nickname. He glared at you in return.
“Sigh, you know, I wish I could use all of these physic terms we’re learning to perfectly knock those round glass off Teacher Seokhoon’s face so he wouldn’t be able to see, and therefore teach.” You said as you grabbed Youngmin’s latte and took a sip. It was a familiar action between you two, something you used to do without any thought back in middle school before things fell apart. You paused, realizing what the action meant and waited for Youngmin to start yelling at you. However, he only watched you share his drink calmly and with a small smile. You realize his thoughts were probably the same as yours before. You set his drink down in front of him again and switched to your own despite the fact that you didn’t like it as much.
“Yeah same. Like, calculate how much force we need for our fist to make directly contact with a point on his glasses and knock it off without touching the rest of his face. Let��s start a petition to make this a graded assignment.” You and Youngmin laughed at his comment, thinking of the possibility of punching your teacher in the face.
Youngmin watched as your eyes disappeared into joyful crescents and giggles escaped your pink lips. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter that filled the room. He would never tell you this, but he loved it when you smiled. Your laugh was his favorite music in the entire world because it always lightened whatever mood he was in. It was infectious. He wished he could he could watch you be happy more and participate in creating those smiles and laughs he loved so much, but whenever you two met, all that seemed to be produced was glares and scowls. Knowing that your joy wouldn’t last much longer with him, he simply took in the moment before him.
When you finally calmed down, you said “That was funny, wow. I didn’t know there was a sense of humor in you, Im Youngmin,” Earning you a small chuckle and teasing glare from the male. The room was quiet again except for the buzzing of the coffee machines and soft music playing through the speakers. However, instead of the quiet tension that was usually between you and Youngmin, you sat in a comfortable silence as you just, for the first time in forever, enjoyed each other’s company.
You looked outside the window by your seats. After you had arrived in the cafe, the rain came back in full force and it was currently pouring outside. You looked on fondly as you watched a pair of children run into the streets jump in the puddles, much to their parent’s disapproval. You missed the times when you could be that carefree and have fun with friends without worrying about a test the next day or colleges to apply to. You missed the times when you could play with Youngmin without fighting over first place a second after. You listened to the pitter patter of the rain hitting the pavement and thought about how close you and Youngmin used to be for the hundredth time that day.
“Remember when we would play like that when we were younger?” Youngmin asked as if reading your thoughts. You turned to the red haired boy and realized that he had moved so he was now sitting next to you. His face held a fond smile as he reminisced on the past with you. “God, our parents got so mad when we came home soaking wet.”
You laughed as you recalled your mother’s angered expression as she scolded you and Youngmin for getting your clothes wet. You and the redhead didn’t care though, you were kids and you had fun. That was all that mattered.
“Yeah, oh my gosh she was furious. Oh! Do you also remember when…”
For the rest of the night, you and Youngmin reminisced on your old adventures together, laughing at the stories of your childhood stupidity that you shared with the red haired boy. Hot drinks turned cold and treats stale as they sat forgotten on the cafe’s table, the only thing mattering to you and Youngmin was the good times you had as kids. Around you, life continued on. People bustled in and out of the cafe, leaving to attend meetings that would shape their future after receiving their coffee, but you couldn’t care less. For once, you weren’t worrying about your future and college, instead, you were enjoying the present and past with the male in front of you. Before you knew it, Guanlin was coming up to your seat in the back of the cafe and begging you to leave, as it was already closing time.
You looked at the time on your phone. 9:52PM. Although it didn’t feel like it, you had been with Youngmin for the past six hours. Looking at the boy, you realized that this was the longest time since high school began that you and Youngmin had been in each other’s company and not wanted to tear each other apart. In the cafe, you weren’t two rivals who wanted to the other to disappear so they could be first place, but close friends who were reminiscing on old memories. Instead of counting down the minutes until you could leave like you thought you would be, you were enjoying the time with Youngmin and having fun. In fact, you only wished for the clock to turn slower so you could be with him longer because you knew that tomorrow, everything would return to how it was before. Although, you sort of hoped that it wouldn’t be. Before you could get caught up in your thoughts, you heard Youngmin clear his throat and ask you if you had a ride home.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll just call Daniel to come pick me up.” You said as you opened your message chat with him. You had expected a few messages from him earlier, but what you got was an entire spam.
Cat Boy - 4:03PM
Where are u??
Cat Boy - 4:10PM
Is everything ok?
Cat Boy - 4:33PM
Plz tell me ur not responding bc u and YM r getting along not bc ur killing each other
Cat Boy - 5:42PM
Y/N I lost my cat answer me rn
Cat Boy - 5:43PM
Help me my cats are everything i need them to be able to live
Cat Boy - 6:01PM
Ok I didnt lose Rooney I just wanted u to respond
Cat Boy - 6:27PM
OooOOOOOOooO r u and YM are doing something alone that takes a lot of privacy and time ;))))
Cat Boy - 8:52PM
But rlly where r u and y is it taking so long Peter misses u T^T
Cat Boy - 9:43PM
hELLo???????????????? iS U DeAd
Sighing, you sent a reply.  
Me - 9:54PM
Geez yes I’m fine nothing happened you perv I’m alive can you pick me up? I’m at the cafe Guanlin works at
Not a second later you felt a slight buzz, signaling Daniel’s reply. Dang, the boy is fast.
Cat Boy - 9:54PM
I THOUGHT YOU DIED YOU ARE THE WORST TEXTER EVER OF COURSE I’LL BE THERE IN 5
You laughed at the dancer’s overuse of capitalization and put your phone away, returning your attention the boys in front of you. Guanlin had finished his shift and was now sitting by Youngmin, talking to him about the dance team they were both on with Daniel. While you were listening to their conversation about whether or not they should incorporate a move your friends Seonho and Daehwi created into their choreography, you saw Daniel come in his car that you called the Cat Mobile to take you home. You waved to him as he walked into the cafe, ruffling your hair in greeting. While your head was down, you notice Youngmin shift uncomfortable in his seat at the gesture.  
“Oh hey guys. Youngmin, glad to see you and Y/N didn’t murder each other.” He teased and you kicked him in the shin.
“Yah, I’m an angel I would never hurt a fly,” You said, feigning innocence as you did a flower pose and smiled. Around you, you heard three boys scoff while Daniel rubbed his bruising leg.
“Sure you are. Anyway, let’s go home. Bye Youngmin, bye Guanlin, see you guys at practice tomorrow,” The brown haired boy said kindly to his friends. With that, you waved to Guanlin, stuck your tongue out at Youngmin, who did the gesture back to you, and linked your arms with Daniel’s while you walked to his car. As you turned around, you caught a quick glimpse of Youngmin frown while staring at your arms hooked around Daniel’s.
When you got in the car, you pressed play on your favorite song and opened Snapchat to play with the silly filters. In the middle of your selfie session, you got a message from a number that you hadn’t contacted in years. As you opened the text, you felt your heart swell up and heat rush to your cheeks.
Im Youngmin - 10:03PM
Today wasn’t actually wasn’t that bad. It was nice hanging out with you again. See you tomorrow. Good night.
Since that day at the cafe, you felt something between you and Youngmin begin to shift. Of course you would still argue, there are some things about people that would never change, but the fights lessened and usually ended in playful teasing and laughter. In your heart, you felt the hatred for him start to melt away and be replaced by something new, though you weren’t exactly sure what that new feeling was. You no longer grimaced whenever his name was brought into a conversation, instead, you felt your heartbeat speed up and a smile form on your face. Studying sessions were a time for you two to talk about anything and everything and soon, it became what you looked forward to most in the day.
Slowly as the days went on, Youngmin’s chair inched its way towards yours until it was no longer across from you on the other side of the desk, but right next to you; his arm against your own as he leaned to look at your homework. The cafe you took refuge in from the rain the first day soon became a regular place for you to visit, the red haired boy usually right beside you in that secluded space in the back of the coffee shop. After tutoring ended, you would go to his studio with him and admire as he poured his soul out into his dance movies and wish that you could be that passionate about something too. On days that you were piled with homework, Youngmin would come over to your house and suffer with you as he explained the things that you didn’t understand, much to your parent’s pleasure. They, like everyone else in school, was happy to see you two as friends again. You got used to seeing his smile every day as you he walked with you through the halls, laughing about something else that Woojin mispronounced and was happy to share a story of Daniel and his cats in return. Every night, you could always expect hours of message exchanging with the red haired boy and a “good night :)” when you both decided to sleep before the morning sun peeked from behind the night sky. It was as if you were brought back to the times in the past when you and Youngmin were each other’s closest friends, except the only difference was you had both grown, and you couldn’t be happier.
Except for right now. Right now you wanted to strangle the red haired boy standing in front of you.  
Ever since that afternoon in the cafe, you and Youngmin had been friends that could rely on each other for everything. You would talk everyday about anything that bothered you and you thought that he would trust you enough to do the same. You found that all to be false though after the last bell rang, signaling the end of the math final.
You had been waiting for Youngmin by the classroom door, anxious to tell the smart rapper about your answers on the test when, before you could even say hi, he simply brushed past you with his head down. You looked on incredulous and hurt, but decided that he must be in a bad mood. You spent the lunch period too distracted to listen to your friend group’s conversation and afterwards searched around the halls for him, only to learn that he left home early because he wasn’t feeling well. For the next few days, you looked for him in school and the cafe, even dropping by his house, only for him to be nowhere to be found. You worried about his well being and wondered if he was still eating right, but the darn jerk didn’t even care enough about your hurting heart to reply to your text messages that you knew he read.
After a week of absence, he was finally back in school and acted as if he was never gone. The red haired boy that squirmed his way into your heart was laughing and joking with his friends as usual, his eyes curling into the crescents you realized you loved seeing. You were glad to see him healthy and okay, but was furious at how nonchalant he was being. Did you feelings really not matter at all to him? Wanting an answer to his avoidance, you went to the dance practice room where you knew he would be and confronted him, but all he did was remain silent.
You glared at the boy in front of you with as much hate as you could, something that you hadn’t done in what felt like forever. After weeks of purely joy around him, the hostility coming from you both felt foreign. You wanted it to disappear and warmth from his arms to replace it, but was too angered by his refusal to speak.
“Youngmin, answer me. Why did you disappear for a week without telling anyone.” All he did was shift onto his other foot, his eyes finding more interest in the pattern of the floors than you.
You tried again. “Did you forget how to talk? Come on, just answer me please.” Still nothing from his part. Getting frustrated, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. You took a breath and opened your mouth, preparing to yell.
“Youngmin-”
“What! Why do you care so much! God, Y/N leave me alone! I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to alright. Geez, you’re being really annoying.” The rapper finally spoke, but it was out of anger and frustration at your nosiness. You gave him a blank stare.
“I’m being annoying?” You asked, hurt and confused as to why was mad at you when you did nothing wrong. You felt a new wave of irritation washing over you.
“Yes. So can you just leave me alone now? I have better things to do.” With a huff, Youngmin turned his back to you and began walking to the door. You could have just let him leave and your newly reconciled friendship end, but your stubbornness wouldn’t let you. Youngmin was too important to you now to let him just leave your life again. You ran up to him and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from leaving. He froze at your touch, but still didn’t turn around to face you.
Not letting go of his arm, you started talking. “So that’s it huh. We just became close again and you’re just gonna leave me?” You looked at the floor, your eyes threatening to spill tears that you didn’t know you would shed. You waited for his reply, but all you got was silence.
“You’re just gonna walk back into my life, become one of the most important people to me, and then ignore me forever?” His refusal to answer to you when you were spilling your heart out to him angered you. You looked at his unmoving state and wanted to punch him just so he would at least talk. Letting your tears fall, you continued.
“If you hated me that much you should have just continued being a jerk to me instead of lending me your sweatshirt when it was raining and actually caring about me. You shouldn’t have made me laugh and worry about you when you were gone and instead just yell at me for being a stupid idiot like you have been all these years. You should have stayed out of my life when you walked out of it in the beginning of high school-”
“That’s not why I started fighting with you.” Youngmin said, cutting off your loud sobs as he turned around to face you, a stream of tears running down his own face. You were silenced by the painful expression he had on his face, something you had never seen before. You wanted more than anything to wipe it away. “That’s not why I started fighting with you…”
“Then why? Why, Youngmin? Why did you-”
“BECAUSE I LIKED YOU. Because I couldn’t go a day without thinking about you and your smile. Because every time you came near me I would feel my breath get caught in my chest. Because every time I saw you with Daniel, I felt jealous, hurt, and pathetic because he could express his feelings to you and I couldn’t. I started fighting with you to get rid of these stupid feelings and finally move on and guess what Y/N, I thought it was actually starting to work. I thought I was starting to feel sane again until that freaking day in the cafe when you looked more beautiful than ever staring at the rain and we relived our old memories together that were filled with love for you on my part but nothing back from you. I realized that I could never get over you because you never let me, you kept crawling back into my heart when I knew that I was locked out of yours. And it hurt Y/N. It really hurt… That’s why I left for a week - it was because I was scared of these feelings that I had for you that just wouldn’t leave me alone even though you had none. I left because I liked you. Because I still do.”
A deafening silence filled the empty room as you stood with your mouth agape at the genuine words the red haired boy that you had grown warm to just spoke. Through your tears, you looked at Youngmin’s face that still looked so handsome even after crying, and tried to search for any amusement, any sign that showed he was just kidding and would say in a second ha, I got you while he laughed at your gullibility. Your heart felt conflicted however when the only thing you found was pain and sincerity.
He was being serious. Youngmin had liked you all of these years, and you were too caught up in your own world and your own competitiveness to notice. You wanted to punch yourself when you reflected on all the fleeting looks of disappointment that would appear on the male’s face whenever Daniel slung his arm over your shoulders, or all the smiles and slight blushes Youngmin would have whenever you did the same to him. You looked back and lost count of all the times that you stared into Youngmin’s beautiful eyes and felt the incredible warmth of his love, but only pushed it deep down because there was no way you were in love with your best friend. But that’s exactly what you were. And that’s exactly what he was. You realized that all the fights were just simply excuses to talk to one another while pushing your feelings deep down out of denial. Your mind flashed back to the walking in the rain when Youngmin gave you his hoodie. At the time, you took it as simply a friendly gesture, but now you knew it was something more. It was something deeper than friendship and a thousand times more painful, and it was exactly what you were experiencing too. You remembered the feeling of your heart skipping beats whenever you heard the rapper’s adorable voice and all the moments your face resembled the color of this hair that you loved to stroke your hands through whenever you felt his arm against your own in the library. You cared about Youngmin so much when he was gone, not because you were just worried about his health, but because felt empty when he wasn’t by your side. After hearing Youngmin pour his heart out to you, you realized that the reason your heart ached was because you felt the same. You liked Youngmin. And he liked you.
You trailed your eyes up to meet the boy’s in front of you. His dark chocolate orbs that never left your crying form were glistening with the tears that he contained for years, looking at you with desperation for you to say something, anything. But you couldn’t, you didn’t know what to say.
So you hugged him.
You wrapped your arms around his strong torso and let his shirt be blanket for your tears to fall. Immediately, you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his head rest against your own. You could feel the warmth and love emanating from every inch of his body and leaned further into him, thankful for his presence. You stayed like that until your breaths mixed into one and your hearts were beating to the same rhythm. Finally, you spoke.
“You’re an idiot, you know that Youngmin?” You closed your eyes as you smiled. Around you, you could hear students rushing through the halls to get to their next class but for you, time was still in Youngmin’s arms. You didn’t want to leave, and it didn’t seem like he did either. You felt the boy that took over your heart begin to gently sway the both of you and you sighed in content. “I like you too, if you couldn’t tell from the constant teasing.” You heard the male laugh.
“You know if that’s your way of flirting, you’re gonna end up alone forever. My shins are still bruised from all those kicks.” Youngmin said and you proved his breaking the hug and punching him lightly in the arm. Your smile never left your face as you told him to shut up and retracted back into his arms, your new favorite place to be.
“So, does this mean that we’re dating now?” You hesitantly asked as you pulled away from him slightly to look into his eyes. You could feel the doubtfulness and fear swirling in your orbs as you waited for his answer. The red haired male showed you that you had nothing to worry about though when a second later, his eyes lit up like the twinkling stars in the sky and he brought you back into your arms, causing you to melt at his touch. You felt a fluttering in your heart at the gesture when Youngmin opened his mouth and said, “Of course. You’re the only person in my heart, babe.”
You shoved him away as you laughed at his teasing. “Ew you’re gross never mind. I hate you, Im Youngmin.”
After you finished your laughing fit, you looked up at the rapper that etched his name into your heart with playful teasing and soft gestures and saw a smile warmer than a blazing fire placed on his face.
A second later, you heard Youngmin say “I love you too.”
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taizi · 7 years
Text
i’m proud to say i got you (2/2)
this is mostly exploratory and largely self-indulgent, i just want 1A to talk about this. i’ve come to love bakugo a whole bunch so i wont vilify him, but the way the kid treated izuku back when was hecked up and for at least my own sake i want someone to admit it
summary: there’s a history behind midoriya’s stammers and full-body flinches, an ugly word for what he went through before coming to yuuei, tenya just doesn’t want to think it.
2k 4k genfic, iida & deku
story tag / ao3
x
Absolutely nothing, Tenya comes to realize, is so cut and dry as heroics. Against the backdrop of fire and wreckage, villains and victims are as easy to pick apart as black and white. It’s easy to know where to step, which way to run, who to subdue and who to rescue.
The rest of his life is very rarely as simple.
It’s one thing to know that Bakugo and Midoriya have an ugly history -- to come into the understanding that Midoriya, perhaps the most transparent person Tenya knows, has a skeleton rattling noisily in the closet -- but it’s something else entirely to act upon knowing that.
It’s not a simple matter, trying to shape Midoriya into a victim. Not the Midoriya who led the way during the Provisional License exam, who faced the Hero Killer in a dark alley, who risked life and limb and potentially his hero career to break into the scene at Kamino Ward and save a boy who has never been kind to him.
Midoriya smiles like a bright summer sky and shrinks like a shadow, a walking contradiction of hard-earned scar tissue and soft-spoken scruples, and Tenya doesn’t know how to believe in the uncomfortable reason why.
Surely no one so strong could have been bullied or abused -- but by that logic, why would someone with such an impressive Quirk cringe and doubt and duck his head at every turn?
On the other side of the coin, it would be easy to point the blame at Bakugo. Bakugo makes it easy to make him the enemy; with his attitude and his ego and the way he treats the whole world like a stepping stone, it would be no hardship to color him in fault and leave it at that.
Or it would have been that way before.
But some days, recently, Bakugo laughs with Kirishima and Kaminari, bright-eyed in a way Tenya wouldn’t have guessed he was capable of.
Some days he picks Uraraka out of the group and demands a spar, since she’s ‘the only one of you fucks that actually gives me a run for my damn money’ and that backhanded respect makes Uraraka beam.
Some days, during lunch or a passing period, he sees Monoma coming their way before the rest of them do and cuts coldly into his path, standing like a wall between that unkind smirk and his own classmates with a glare that could peel the paint off the walls -- and for the life of him, Tenya can’t tell if it’s an act of belligerence or buried kindness.
Some days he is very close to something Tenya would be tempted to call a comrade. He is not quite a friend, but he is not the enemy he paints himself to be, either. The surly boy Tenya met the first day of class has retreated into a softer shell. When he looks at Midoriya, something has replaced the rage that used to crouch darkly in his face, something Tenya isn’t sure he can name.
And it’s hard to reconcile him with the person he was months ago. It’s hard to reconcile him with the idea of a person who could have conditioned so much fear into gentle, reckless Midoriya.
It’s hard, but very few things worth doing are easy, and so Tenya steels himself for a conversation no one wants to have and waits for Midoriya after class.
“Midoriya!” he says, turning heads up and down the room. Midoriya doesn’t wince, having seen him coming, and only smiles a greeting. Tenya sweeps his own hands up for emphasis and exclaims, “We still have plenty of time before curfew and there are no lessons tomorrow! Would you accompany me to the store?”
Midoriya blinks. “Um -- sure, Iida. What do you need at the store?”
Tenya hasn’t thought that far ahead, but he’s saved coming up with a suitable answer by Kirishima’s enthusiastic, “We’re goin’ to the store? Heck yes, sign me up! I definitely need snacks for our day off tomorrow.”
“Oooh, me too,” Mina says gleefully, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Days when you can stay in and be lazy are the best!”
Tenya waves his arms and says “hang on!” but trying to stall the sudden upsweep of enthusiasm from his classmates is like trying to stop a train moving at full speed. He also can’t think of a way to say “I only want to go with Midoriya” in a way that won’t raise any suspicion, and the shorter boy doesn’t look bothered by the prospect of additional company. There was probably a much more subtle way for Tenya to have approached this.
He drops his hands, frustrated. Midoriya opens his ever-present notebook to a fresh page and tears it out along the perforated edge carefully.
“Actually, I have something I want to talk to Iida about,” he says with an apologetic smile. He offers Mina the blank page. “But if you all make a list of what you want, I can pick it up for you.”
Tenya blinks at him, surprised. The rest of their classmates clamor forward, calling Midoriya a real stand-up guy, see, this is why we love you and the resulting commotion makes Aizawa sigh from the front of the room and Midoriya laugh.
The page is cluttered by the time they get it back, almost everyone having added something to the list in pencil and various colored pens and a glitter marker that could really only be Aoyama’s, but Midoriya doesn’t seem to mind. He folds it carefully and slides it into his notebook for safekeeping and says, “We’ll be back soon.”
They’re leaving the school grounds, passing through the large gate, when Tenya says, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Midoriya rubs the back of his head sheepishly. His hands are so usually wrapped in crisp white bandages, it’s almost odd to see naked fingers peeking through his green curls instead.
“N-nothing, really. But I thought you might have had a reason for asking me, out of everyone else, so I -- I’m sorry, was I wrong?”
“No! In this case, you weren’t! You’re very perceptive, but that comes as no surprise by now.” Tenya frowns deeply and points at him. “However, it could very well have been that I asked you simply because I wanted to! That’s not a strange thing for friends to do, is it?”
Midoriya appears wrong-footed for a moment, eyes round beneath that impossible mop of hair. Then the surprise fades into something sweet-tempered and he grins crookedly, a pleased pink warming his pale face. Looking at him, Tenya can’t help feeling a surge of pride, chest tightening at both the prospect of making someone so happy with a handful of simple words, and the fact that it was Midoriya, of all people, who absolutely deserves it.
“That being said,” Tenya adds emphatically, “I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a chore. I’m going to give the others a stern lecture when we return about appropriateness and doing things for themselves! What kind of heroes will our generation be if we just laze about and let others do for us?”
“I offered,” Midoriya reminds him, not unkindly. “Besides, it’s nice having friends to do favors for.”
It’s Tenya’s turn now to be wrong-footed, and he stares at his shorter companion -- as though by looking hard enough, the answers to all his uncomfortable questions would rise to the surface of Midoriya’s skin and save them all the awkwardness of having them spoken aloud.
Unfortunately, Tenya’s Quirk is not one that induces unwilling honesty, and he’s resigned to have to do this in the more quotidian way.
“You say it as though it’s not something you’re accustomed to,” he says with unerring caution, watching Midoriya sidelong with every word. He’s watching closely, and so he sees it when Midoriya tenses, every line and shadow of his body going taunt with a sudden sweep of nerves that should have no place between two friends on a casual walk after school. It’s hard, one of the hardest things Tenya’s ever had to do, but he goes on in forced measured tones. “Did you not have many friends before coming to Yuuei?”
He can almost hear Midoriya’s mind racing, overthinking the question. The easy camaraderie between them is gone, and Tenya desperately tries not to regret steering the conversation here.
“Um,” Midoriya says, at length. His hands are shaking. “Did someone tell you -- “
“Absolutely not!” Tenya waves his own hands so forcefully his whole body moves with them. “I do not condone gossip! That’s why I’m asking you, and you alone! And I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, even if you decide not to tell me anything!”
Midoriya relaxes, but only barely. By an inch, if it could be measured that way. The city is bright and neon in the swiftly falling twilight. The convenience store on the corner is well-lit, a pleasant beacon in the fading daytime. They’ve stopped walking, Tenya looking at Midoriya, Midoriya looking at his feet.
“I guess it’s,” he starts, and stops, and then visibly forces himself to push on. “I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? I, uh -- my Quirk -- it came to me late. For a long time, I didn’t -- so other kids, they -- “
There are shadows, growing and stretching and multiplying in his eyes. His shoulders are impossibly small for the burdens he carries, and yet he never attempts to share them. As if he’s only worth the weight on his back.
Something fierce and hot bears its teeth in the pit of Tenya’s chest, and he clenches his fists. He guessed it, he realized whole days ago, and somehow he still wasn’t prepared for this.
“You were bullied?”
Midoriya flinches, as though it’s an ugly word. A personal failing. When he dips his head in a nod, he can’t quite pick it back up again. His fingers dig into the fabric of his school uniform as he waits for some painful blow, and Tenya --
Tenya hates.
It’s a cold, ugly feeling. It has no place in the heart of a hero-to-be. It makes intelligent people stupid, it makes them drunk, and the last time Tenya felt this way he tracked down Stain in Hosu and very nearly got himself and two of his classmates killed.
But he can’t swallow it down. He can’t shake it off.
Quirk or not, Midoriya embodies heroics almost to a fault. Quirk or not, Midoriya is good, and giving, and a valuable, irreplaceable friend. Quirk or not, Midoriya did not deserve what he lived through.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” Tenya says softly, not trusting himself to speak any louder. “It must have been bad. Did nobody help you?”
“I was Quirkless,” Midoriya says again, tonelessly, as though this conversation has become an exercise in self-flagellation. “They didn’t know how to help me.”
Tenya is cold with anger to a point that makes him feel brittle, as though moving too much or too fast would cause his bones to snap. He holds himself very still, because he can’t know he won’t do something foolish if he doesn’t.
“We live in an age of heroes, but Quirks weren’t always so prevalent that everyone had one,” he bites out. “Surely your teachers, who lived during a time when superpowers weren’t commonplace, would have remembered classmates or friends who grew up without one. Why would they be prejudiced against a powerless child now?”
Midoriya looks at him at that point. His eyes are round and stunned. It’s his first time hearing this.
“They never took those malefactors to task for hurting you?” Tenya demands. “Not even once?”
“In grade school they did,” Midoriya says quickly. He’s staring. “They wouldn’t let -- but as I got older, they -- Iida, it’s okay. This was a long time ago.” He takes a step closer, hand drifting fractionally closer, as if he’d close the space between them and touch Tenya’s arm if he was sure of his welcome. He’s worried, Tenya realizes, about him. “Even without my Quirk, I’m strong enough now that I can’t be bullied so easily anymore. And I can stop it from happening to anyone around me, too. I’m not the person I used to be.”
“That’s not the point,” Tenya tells him flatly, agitated. “Someone should have been there for you. Bakugo should have been there for you. But instead he hurt you, too, didn’t he?”
Midoriya flinches, retracting his hand. “K- Kacchan? He -- he’s -- I actually instigated a lot of the fights, with Kacchan. I would -- meddle. When he was bullying someone else. And I have a, um. A pretty high pain tolerance? I don’t think he knew how much he was hurting me, because I always got back up. I think he must have thought -- I mean. It’s not -- it’s because I -- “
Something close to horror fills Tenya’s stomach like an icy pool, flooding all the tunnels of his body the longer Midoriya talks, and finally he reaches out slowly and grips Midoriya by the shoulders. Squeezing hard, but not hard enough to hurt, and bending forward so they’re closer to eye-level.
“You’re smarter than this,” he says, enunciating every word so there’s no hope of Midoriya misunderstanding. “You know it wasn’t your fault. Don’t make excuses for him. If it was me, you wouldn’t shift blame this way, would you?”
“I- I’m not -- I don’t -- it’s not anyone’s fault,” Midoriya stammers. “Kacchan was wrong, I know, but -- it just -- it was just, something that happened, a long time ago. And it’s over now, and -- Kacchan is getting better, and I’m getting better, and -- and it’s okay. Okay?”
Of course it’s not okay. Tenya doesn’t know how to communicate how much it’s not okay. He’s more disordered and overwrought now than he was before he asked, before he confirmed his unhappy suspicions.  
But this is bigger than one conversation. It’s more than Tenya can make right all on his own, all in one fell swoop. This is years and years of negative reinforcement and conditioned self-blame and --
And Midoriya wants it to be over. Tenya has pushed far enough tonight.
He drops his hands and steps back. Adopts a smile he doesn’t even feel.
“Forgive me, Midoriya. I got ahead of myself, didn’t I?”
Midoriya takes the out and runs with it, rubbing a hand through his hair nervously. He’s trembling, and Tenya feels terrible.
“No, it’s -- it’s okay. I just wasn’t, uh, prepared. No one’s ever asked me about that, before.”
“Someone should have,” Tenya says fiercely, the last thing he’ll allow himself to say. “Anyway -- we should get this shopping done before they send a search party for us.”
“I think they’d text first,” Midoriya ventures to tease, picking up the thread of this safer conversation and leading the way once more towards the convenience store. He works the notebook out of the side pocket of his bright yellow bookbag and opens it to the shopping list. His smile is soft when he looks down at the messy page of scribbles in twenty different scripts, and Tenya notices for the first time a very distinctive red pen in the bottom left corner.
those spicy chips we like, the red note says.
Some days, only recently, only after the events at Kamino Ward, Bakugo and Midoriya are selected as a two-man tag team during field exercises. It’s the work of their teachers, Tenya thinks, trying to do something about the unfortunate chemistry between two of Yuuei’s most promising rising stars.
And instead of the explosive disaster the rest of the class is braced for every time, Bakugo and Midoriya meet each other on even footing. Bakugo sometimes snaps, and Midoriya sometimes wavers, but the front they create when they stand together is unbreakable.
There’s more here than Tenya knows how to fix. It’s more complicated than picking out the villain and the victim, faulting one and saving the other. Yuuei hasn’t taught him how to do this, yet. If his big brother knows the way, he’s never mentioned it.
How to unteach years and years of the same cruel lesson. How to unlearn someone else’s hurt.
Tenya doesn’t know what to do, and he hasn’t done anything remotely helpful yet -- has only opened a door that rightly should have been left closed until he was prepared to deal with the demons behind it -- but Midoriya thanks him as they’re leaving.
“I could tell you really -- you really cared? Even though it all happened so long ago? And I guess, I just thought no one would think it mattered anymore. So -- thank you.”
“If you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me,” this same person said to him, not so long ago. “We’re friends, after all.”
Tenya swallows a burning lump in his throat and says, “Give me some of those bags, Midoriya. I can at least carry half.”
Midoriya blinks at the non sequitur and looks down. The plastic bags between them are bulging with snacks and sports drinks, most of them hefted effortlessly in his small, strong hands and Tenya with the remaining few.
“Oh? That's okay, I can -- “
“I know you can, but you don’t have to.” Tenya waits with his hand outstretched, will wait that way forever if he has to. “We’re both going the same way. It only makes sense that I carry half.”
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taekwonduh · 7 years
Text
Don't Forget, Pt. 1
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Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.”
Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung
Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought
Memo (Prologue), Pt. 2, Pt. 3
Dreams have always ensnared you.
You would become a prisoner to the unconscious ventures that never dared make themselves known outside the confines of an alternate reality. Dreams to you were exactly that- an experience that was otherworldly, one that was an outlier to the life you lived here.
It was from a young age that you recognized dreaming meant something entirely different to you than it did to your peers. To them, dreams involved fantastically impossible occurrences like sausages with four legs (a literal sausage dog!), or something more plausible yet still equally unattainable as marrying the student one had a crush on but never once spoke to.
Your dreams were always platonic. It illustrated what appeared to be an ordinary day in life, except the life was not entirely yours. You would see the few same faces, in contexts you’ve never been in, yet still convincing enough for you to believe it could happen. Things were always real, but also always slightly altered. One too many times you wondered if these dreams could be another person’s life in a parallel universe.
Whatever happened in these dreams, you would quickly forget upon waking, but the emotions inflicted upon you were absorbed, retained, like water to sponge. And more often than not, it negatively affected how you went about the day, for the dreams your subconscience conjured were always filled with pain. You could not for the life of you decipher the source, but it was safe to assume that this pain was deeply rooted, it laid silently in the hours of the day, in the shallow breaths you took and the steps you walked. And in the moments you were weakest, it would stem and bloom, blinding your eyes, muting your ears, silencing your throat to any form of comfort or solace that those who took note of your deteriorating positivity would try to offer.
The weight of seemingly living two lives at once bore on your shoulders.
And it was in this particular dream that you learned you must choose one.
The water is bitingly cold, within a bath of murky cerulean, suspended and motionless, you observe a disfigured blob of yellow, from which the strongest rays of light refracted beyond, just barely reaching you.  But unlike floating to the top with buoyancy, your body instead sinks deeper, where the blue turns multiple shades darker and the temperature would freeze you to death before the lack of oxygen could.
A voice comes to you distant, muffled and slightly muted beyond the surface of the water. Though not all words the voice carried is clear to you, one thing is:
Its’ desperation.
You then find yourself struggling, kicking and paddling with every fiber of strength not already lost to the cold in order to inch closer to the surface, to the source of this cryptic voice that sprouts familiarity in you despite it being, as far as you can recall, your first time hearing it.
Wherever the hell you are, I hope you finally remember everything-
And I’m going to publish this stupid book of yours-
The whole world will-
remember you.
You break through this dream gasping.
With each fervent breath your lungs pump, feeling and awareness return to their rightful places. The reignition of the parts of your body feel entirely foreign, like the heart racing between your ribs is not yours, the blood rush, the dots behind your eyes- it was a homecoming to a home in which you do not quite belong, yet still had evidence of your occupation.
The cerulean ceiling you stared helplessly up at all but moments ago is now replaced by a pristine white glow that have your eyes screwing shut the moment you open them. As your body gradually adjusts itself to the present, the delayed realisation of a warmth applied to the back of your hand reopens your eyes, drawing your gaze down to where a head of black hair lays face-down just adjacent to the position of a broader, warmer hand resting, with just enough tenderness and protection, atop your own paler, bonier one.
“Jung-”
The word dies on your tongue the moment something in you shatters, and you lose sight of the thing you had been trying to grasp. All you know is that it is now out of reach.
You spend the next moments in dazed brooding, the sinking in of reality punctuated by the consistent beeping of your heart monitor, until you are interrupted at last when the boy at your bedside stirs and awakes slowly. It does not seem at all odd that the first thing he does is check on you, and you do not flinch when his eyes instantaneously widens, lower jaw falling loose as he rises from his plastic chair in dramatic slow-motion to take a closer look at you. As if you’ve popped right out of a dream.
As his face inches closer, the memories become clearer. Something akin to a firework subsequently explodes in your chest, but this display is nowhere near beautiful nor romantic- it burns and tears at your insides, forcing slates of a tragic incident you wish you had forgotten into a reel of memories that once again begin to spin.
“Alive…”
This husky croak is yours to emit, just barely, tongue and roof of your mouth like sandpaper scratching against each other. It feels like many years ago when it happened- the scene currently projected on the front of your skull- but the pain aches fresh, like yesterday’s cut.
What do you mean he’s gone…?
“Yes, Y/N, you’re alive! God, you really had us all worried to wits’ end!”
“No, you…”
“Oh, what am I doing! I better get the doctor to look at you! Your mum will be so relieved.”
Listening to your groggy ramblings is no longer a priority on the boy’s mind, having lost out to the need to ensure that your long awaited awakening did not bring any further complications. He presses buttons, checks your stats, and soon a doctor and his entourage of nurses trail in, bringing up the rear is a shaken and hopeful, frail-shouldered woman- your mother.
“My, you’ve caused quite a stir early in the morning, Y/N! But we’re glad you’re back. I’m Doctor Park, your attending for the past two weeks. So far, do you have any trouble comprehending all I’ve just said?”
“No.”
“That’s great. Now let’s run some tests and catch you up on all that you’ve missed!”
Your results come out normal. In fact, they have been for the past two weeks. There had been nothing too physically wrong with you, the doctor had told your mother that you just needed time. So the only difficult fact to swallow now is that you have all your long-term memory intact, but no recollections whatsoever about the incident leading up to your bedridden, semi-comatose predicament. The boy seems quite anxious to fill you in, but at the same time, he too appears to have questions to ask once you had been left in private by the adults.
With the party gone and atmosphere of the room returning to the distilled, almost dream-like serenity it had been in the first moments of your waking, the boy grows visibly more somber. A sigh leaves him the moment the door to your four-bedded ward clicks shut, and he shuffles over with lead footsteps, sinking into the plastic chair he gave up to your mother earlier on.
He sits hunched, elbows to his knees, large hands cupped over his nose and mouth. He seems to mull over a plethora of conflicts, irises flickering with microscopic hesitation and anxiousness throughout his wordless ponder. Likewise, you find yourself pulled under a wave of thought, digging and piecing together an equation you cannot yet figure out, because the variable, your accident, is still undetermined.
When he removes his hands to wrap them around yours, that mystery begins to unravel.
“Why did you do it?”
You have not one clue the true meaning behind his question, but from the pinch between his brows and the minute sagging of the corners of his lips into an afflicted, disappointed and worried frown, it is reasonable to guess that you have committed an act that hurt him.
The lack of response prompts him to pose a supplementary question, the grip he has on your hands tightening along with it, as if you might once more slip away from him into indefinite unconsciousness. “Why were you at the pier?”
You do not hesitate in answering. The memory is all to easy to retrieve- almost embedded in your skull.
“I was looking for you.”
“Y/N, if you don’t remember, or if you just don’t want to talk about, tell me. Just don’t lie to me.”
“But I’m not-”
“Why would you be looking for me at the pier? We promised to meet by the school gates at eight-thirty sharp. You said if I were even a second late, you would pretend to not know me even if we managed to get into the same class in high school.”
You said that? This account does not add up with yours at all. The more he divulges about the variable, the more it starts to prove something wrong- but which is it? His memory… or yours?
Considering you had just woken up from two weeks in semi-coma, both he and the adults would surely refer your confusion to a memory-scramble of some sort because of the incident. The incident which, until now, you still do not have a clear idea about.
“Tell me what really happened, Tae.”
The boy drops his head, tips of his black bangs dusting over your forearm. He takes a deep, shaky breath before returning to look at you, his hands tighter than ever around yours.
“You jumped, Y/N, from the pier. Someone saw. He saved you. Called an ambulance. Why did you…” His last words come out strangled, perhaps the result of a throat closing in on itself, emotional lump wedging itself stubbornly at the pipe. Along with this heartbreaking sound, his eyes slip into a glassy, teetering state, shimmering and swimming, threatening to overflow. “Why did you do that?”
You didn’t.
The story is all wrong.
It was you, Taehyung, it was you who jumped. I was just-
“- looking for you.”
“What are you talking about?” It was like he’d heard a sparrow’s crow come out from your mouth; he is almost hysteric now, eyes searching for some sort of back up to your carelessly blurted response, but you are unable to provide him so. Your own head begins to swirl, progressing rapidly into a whirlwind of fear and anxiety and despair the longer he holds you at point-blank for answers.
“Sorry, I’m tired. Can I rest? Maybe after I get some time to think, I’ll be able to sort my thoughts out.”
It makes no sense at all. You’ve been sleeping for two weeks, and no longer than half a day since you’ve woken you were asking for a chance to go back to sleep. It is surely unfair to Taehyung, but even if he felt that way, he does not raise the matter, for he simply nods and releases, regretfully, your hand from his.
The boy stands, picks up the blanket from around your waist and drapes it gingerly over your chest. He does all this and says his next words without being able to meet your eye, in a voice so defeated you barely pick it up, “For a while now you seemed to bear the weight of something unimaginable, you never told me about it, but you didn’t think I’d be dumb enough to not notice a change, did you? I would hate you for the rest of my life if I had to find out about whatever was troubling you through a suicide note, so don’t write me one if you decide to kill yourself again and no one’s there to fish you out from the lake. If you ever do something like that again… the least you can do is tell me yourself.”
There is not much you can say, the act was not yours to commit, and this you are sure of. But when you look at him, when you listen to the plea in his voice, the fear, all you can do is hope that Taehyung finds it within himself to forgive you. The last thing you want to do is hurt a boy who’d only ever wanted the best for you, for everyone but himself.
“Please don’t be mad.”
Your timid mumble catches him a third’s way out the room. The teenager halts, shoulder slouched and head hanging, and returns, “I’m not mad. I was just… scared. I’ll come back later in the evening. Get some rest.”
Mrs Kim? Yeah, it’s me. I was just wondering if Taehyung has left the house yet?
He’s… what?
“Y/N? It’s okay, don’t cry, stop crying, I’m right here. It was just a dream.”
Dreams are always like this. It clings stubbornly to your back even after you had fought out of its’ deathly grasps, and you bear this weight until the next time you fall back into it, hoping that you’d be able to wake up without feeling completely shredded.
“Taehyung- God.”
“Shh, you’re okay.” Your ward, which would be your residence for only two more days, is now turned down, a single bedside lamp emitting a warm, homely orange glow in the otherwise pitch black room. Taehyung remains in the plastic chair by your side, his hand over yours, eyes glazed with concern that should have been for himself. “You were crying in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?”
“I was-” The recount is ever-ready to spill, memory still fresh in the forefront of your mind. But much like being suddenly stripped naked, the words dissolve on your tongue, and the blankness that soon overcomes you does not quite amount to the apology you feel that you are abruptly incapable of sharing such a minor, yet intimate, account with your closest friend. “I… don’t remember.”
But Taehyung does not seem as offended as he were earlier in the day, he merely relaxes his posture, lips curving into a smile of familiarity as he nods resignedly. “Again, huh? You never remember your dreams. Every time we talk about it, you can’t quite figure out what you dreamt of.”
“I never could remember my dreams?”
The boy shakes his head. “Nope. But you tell me that the one thing you do know about them is that they felt real. Like, I don’t know, you were still living it in even after you’ve woken up.”
“Did I ever say why?”
An infant frown begins to take shape on his face in the form of pinched brows and pursed lips as he pauses momentarily to recall. “I’m not sure. But wouldn’t it be because the emotions you felt in your dream lasted even after it was over? It’s like that for me. Especially when I have nightmares. I feel antsy and paranoid the entire day. Maybe that’s the case for you, except it’s not just limited to nightmares.”
If Taehyung’s reasoning is the case, then whatever your dreams might have been about, they were painful. They tore and ached so bad that they made you grateful it were only a dream.
It would be much too cruel for a person to live it out.
“Is my mother okay?”
“Yeah. In the beginning she was too worried to eat, but my mum made sure to deliver her some side dishes and eat with her every day. I only came to see you after making sure she was asleep. She’ll come tomorrow, first thing. My mum will take her.”
“I’m sorry…”
“What are you sorry for, silly! Before we are friends we are first and foremost neighbours. It’s what neighbours do. We gotta look out for each other.”
This mention elicits a small, reminiscent smile from you. “You’re right. We were neighbours.”
“Were? Sweetheart, you still live a stone’s throw from me. Don’t tell me you forgot! Doc said your long-term memories are supposed to be fine…”
This time, it is your hand that tightens around his, your fingers that curl between his own thicker and longer ones. This act silences him completely, and he falls into a frequency of wordless understanding and appreciation that only years of a solid friendship could have helped develop.
“I could never forget.”
“So,” It is obvious that his upturned tone of voice is an attempt to lift the near-tangibly thickening mood. Carrying your entwined hands in order to rest them affectionately in the palm of his other, he leans forward with a half-cheeky grin that you more than recognize, “You ready for high school?”
“High school?”
“You did miss your own graduation ceremony and cost me mine as well, but the school delivered our grad certificates to our homes, along with placement letters for high school. You may have slept a third of vacation out, but high school still starts in a month’s time, whether or not you almost got yourself killed.”
“Taehyung…”
“Don’t Taehyung me. I’m going to keep a closer eye on you from now on. You may not want to tell me about the things tormenting you, but I deserve to do at least that. As your best friend.”
“If our roles swapped, would you let me do the same for you?”
“If our feelings about the other is the same, then… I think I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want to worry you, or burden you, so I’d keep things to myself. I also wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to dedicate more time and effort into making sure I don’t do silly things. But it’s not like you’d care right? You’d go ahead and watch out for me even so. Because you love me the same way I love you.”
“What kind of love do you think we share?”
“The kind that is self-destructing.”
Two weeks is never that long of a time, but returning to the little offwhite house with a grey roof feels like a homecoming after years away. Almost the entire neighbourhood is on your unkempt lawn to welcome you back as you hobble out the taxi, weak-kneed and relying almost completely on Taehyung for support.
There’s the old lady who ran the minimart at the street corner, just someways off the middle school you attend, or used to attend, with Taehyung. And the young couple who drives their food truck all over town and sells the best red bean bread you’ve ever tasted, even the twins who lived across the minimart have come, wearing identical power ranger outfits, who look like they’ve gotten a little bigger in the mere two weeks you have not seen them.
“Welcome home, Y/N!”
There is no popping of confetti or blowing of party horns, but the grandeur is the same, like a scene in a movie! Big welcome parties brought crowds, and crowds are never your thing no matter how familiar you are with the people inthat crowd. After having only encountered these people individually, who each occupied and anchored a separate, iconic part of your mind much like they did in the neighbourhood, it feels almost out of this world to have them together in once place.
But amongst all this, and you feel sorry to your other well-meaning guests, there is one person you want to see more than anyone else present.
“Y/N!”
“Mrs Kim…”
Entering her embrace is like throwing yourself into hellfire, and the inexplicable sorrow that bursts forth from the confines of your ribs is already half-expected before arms even come around your shoulders. There are multiple possible reasons why this is the case- one could be that you were just thankful she had taken such good care of your mother when you could not. Another is that you felt immensely indebted for a reason aside from your mother, a reason you could not put a finger on no matter how hard you searched internally.
All you know is that you feel immensely sorry.
Perhaps, like many other situations in which you find yourself caught in a twisted sense of deja vu, it is owed to the dreams you concocted and never remembered. Maybe in one of your dreams, you have done something to hurt her terribly.
“Taehyung, help her inside. We have a feast to dig into!”
“And all-you-can-eat red bean bread for dessert!”
With knowledge that food would be present (word spread fast in a neighbourhood as close-knit as yours, but not as fast as the delicious aroma of Mrs Kim’s famed home cooked food), there are suddenly a lot more guests showing up than what you saw in the beginning. Your and Taehyung’s mother, and every other woman in your house that ever held that title, make sure to feed you only the most nutritious dishes, barely stopping themselves when Taehyung, at your prompting, said that you’d throw everything up if they fed you any more.
And with that you manage to escape to your room with the twins and Taehyung, leaving the adults to their merrymaking in the lounge, where you bide the time by allowing the twins to watch cartoons on your laptop. Taehyung naturally occupies the space beside you on the bed, where he sits slouched against the wall, legs dangling off the edge of your bed as he scrolls through social media on his phone.
“You think we’ll get to witness any high school drama when the term starts?”
“I dunno, Tae. I’m worried about the commute. It’s an hour by train every morning. Why don’t we have a high school in our town?”
“Maybe because we can count the number of kids at high school age with one hand?” And Taehyung is right. Your town is by no means small, being ambiguously located right between the city and the real countryside, but it is dominated largely by elder folk. The younger generation would have gone off to the city to start a new life by the time middle school was over, the ones who finish high school in the town would also have left after that. Which makes people like the young food truck couple so rare.
“Will you leave the town after high school?”
This question has Taehyung pausing from his phone mid-scroll, thumb hovering over a photo of a student in the school uniform you commonly share, posing with a bouquet and certificate. When you watch him from the side, he seems to stare wistfully at the twins, who sit like little owls, small enough to both fit into your computer chair, as they watch their cartoons. “I think my mum would want me to. I’d probably find myself leaving sooner or later. The town’s perfect for retirement, but to spend the next forty, fifty years of my life stuck here? Nah. Don’t think so.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” That you plan to have many years ahead of you.
“Wait, you are?” The boy quickly straightens his posture, now sitting cross-legged with his body turned entirely toward you, a look of astonishment on his face. “I thought you’d at least question my loyalty to the town if you weren’t already mad at me for wanting to leave.”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know… We grew up here together. Without it we wouldn’t have met. I thought you’d be mad at me for wanting to leave something so special. But what about you? Would you leave?”
“I’m not sure yet. I can’t really picture myself anywhere. Maybe I’ll have a better idea after high school.”
Just as Taehyung parts his lips to respond, a soft rap on your wooden door snatches the attention of two, yours and his, while the twins remain peacefully in their own world.
“Boys, it’s time to go. Everyone else has already gone, you can watch cartoons at home.”
It is the twins’ mother, who gives you and Taehyung a warm smile before assuming a stern position for her own kids. You thought that she only said everyone had left to pressure the twins, but when there is hardly a sound coming from your living room down the stairs apart from the soft laughter that you recognize to be your mum and Taehyung’s, you know the party is already over.
The twins, by Taehyung’s assurance that they could come here and watch cartoons again the next day, hop off the chair and trudge reluctantly to their mother’s awaiting arms.
“Oh and darling, here’s your mail. Your mum asked me to hand it to you.” In response to the twins’ mother reaching a hand full of envelopes out, Taehyung automatically clambers off your bed to receive it, knowing well that your mobility isn’t completely at its’ finest.
With your thanks, the three of them depart, and Taehyung tosses the stack of mail, mostly envelopes and one thicker parcel, at the foot of your bed.
“You should go too,” you say, sliding the stack closer to you, “Tell your mum to leave the cleaning to us. She’s done so much for us already.”
“By us you mean to your mum? Your legs are still weak. You can hardly walk, much less clean. I’ll go down and speed things up.” The boy throws on his jacket, his collar gets snagged at the back of his neck, but you don’t say anything about it. “See you tomorrow, or later, if I can.”
“Okay.” Your response is mixed with a suppressed chuckle, though Taehyung makes nothing of it and leaves the room, the sound of his hopping down the stairs echoing after him.
Once alone, you reach into the drawer of your desk to retrieve a spare house key, which you use to cut open the envelopes. The two of it, both from your middle school, contain your final grades, your graduation certificate, and high school placement. According to the older kids, the school always assigns their students from this town to the same high school, Haesan, which is the nearest one at an hour away by train.
Your grades have always been mediocre. You don’t fail anything, and sometimes excel in the subject you take most interest in during the academic year. You should feel more excited about school, but it all feels repetitive and predictable, and there is an unidentified parcel waiting for you to get your hands on.
The package caught your attention the moment Mrs Han arrived at your door. Wrapped in grey plastic, typical of postage coming from outside your area, the parcel is about an inch and a half thick, solid, and weighs a good amount in your hand. The outline gives it away as a book, and for a moment, disappointment catches you when you think it might just be the school yearbook (you always find a way to look mightily off-point in the photos, so it’s not exactly something you look forward to receiving anymore).
Nonetheless, you poke a hole through the plastic and rip it open wider from there. It first relieves you that it’s not the yearbook, and instead a tan leather cover. You assume it could be a book delivered to the wrong address, but your name on the delivery sheet stuck on the plastic proves you wrong. The condition of the book is another argument against your initial assumption as well, for it looks like someone’s old possession- the leather is flaking off at the spine, tattered edges, yellowed pages, paper sticking out in the wrong places. When you check for a return address, you are hardly surprised to find none. Someone out there had every intention to mail it to you, but what was that intention?
Shaking unnecessary suspicion out of your mind, as well as the frown that had taken form on your face, you resign to finding out more by tearing the plastic further downwards. A set of gold letters printed on the cover reveals itself. A breath jams in your throat, something crawls down the back of your arms, and your heart breaks.
‘MEMO’.
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vox · 7 years
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I taught preschool for 15 years. Here’s what I saw: the good, the bad, and the scary.
My first job as a preschool teacher was at a local drop-in day care where I live in San Diego, California, that also ran a small preschool class. The school was one large, chaotic room with one smaller room for the “preschool” cordoned off by large, primary-colored plastic blocks. I taught for the first time in that tiny room, surrounded by the screaming, happy kids of the drop-in facility. Surely my kids didn’t learn anything in that din, but I loved them, and they were well cared for.
When my son turned 5 and entered kindergarten, I got a job at a typical preschool. The parents at this preschool were mostly lower middle class. I worked six hours a day, and when my son was out of school for holidays, I was able to bring him with me to work. I worked hard at my job and felt awe, at times fear, at the amount of influence I had over the children’s lives, their day-to-day emotional and mental health.
This preschool was typical of the preschools I taught at over the next 15 years, bad and good. Bad: high ratio of children to adult, very low pay for teachers, terrible teachers not getting fired or replaced. Good: joyful recess time outside, lots of story time and creative play, childhood friendships forming, and, often, friendships between good teachers and warm parents.
My time as a preschool teacher has taught me this: Parents cannot rely on preschools themselves, or the state and local laws that regulate the schools, to ensure their children are being treated well. Even at well-run preschools, I’ve seen teachers behave in subtly persistent or outright cruel and, at times, physically harmful ways. The strongest advocates for children are their parents.
Preschool teachers are hard to recruit and retain — and hard to fire, even if they’re terrible
A teacher at one of the schools where I worked early on was known as Scary Mary. This is what the 4-year-olds called her as they clustered in the corners of the playground. She was short, with a black bob, and she smiled ear to ear at the parents. Like a Disney villain, as soon as she was alone in her classroom with the kids, her voice changed from a high chirp to a bark. She maintained a glossy red manicure, and she’d snap her fingers while yelling at the kids. She often reacted to misbehavior with pointed, cruel remarks. An assistant teacher who worked with Scary Mary seemed completely terrified of her; she barely spoke.
Once, I walked by Scary Mary’s open door and saw her pull a child out of his seat. A blond boy who was prone to nose picking and daydreaming had once again let his lunch sit, uneaten, while he talked and giggled. Scary Mary yanked him out of his seat — hard enough that his knees hit the underside of the table — and wagged her finger in his face. “You are a bad boy!” she said. “Do you want your mom and dad to cry because you don’t eat? You want to be skinny and small like a girl?”
I went on my lunch break and made a complaint with the director. She nodded seriously and assured me she would talk to Mary.
A few weeks later, I saw Scary Mary grab another child by the belt loop. He cried as she leaned over him. All I could see was the small hump of her bent back and the rounded curve of his dimpled elbow sticking out.
I cried in the hallway bathroom. I knew that Scary Mary was damaging the children she taught. I also knew that our director was going to try everything in her power to make Mary work out before she would even consider firing her. Firing an employee makes tongues wag; parents talk to each other, and it can make the school look unstable to have turnover. In addition, finding a reliable teacher with enough early childhood development units to teach a class, one who would work the hours needed and who interviewed even fairly well, was very difficult.
At the next preschool I taught at, I observed the director, over a period of a month, interview candidates for the position of the 2-year-old class. This preschool was full of mostly upper-middle-class families, with both parents working high-stress jobs. Most of the interviews took place during working hours, and often the director would walk the possible teacher through the classes, showing her (usually a woman) the classes, introducing the rest of us teachers. One prospective teacher looked at a baby I was holding and joked that he was an “ugly little thing,” and shared how sad it was that not all babies are cute or lovable. “I don’t really like babies anyway,” she said. “Hopefully I’ll get the 4-year-olds.”
I heard many upsetting comments like this from prospective and working teachers. Many teachers feel that other teachers are confidants: They tell us things that would never get said to the parents or the director. After a month, the director finally hired someone. She eventually fired her, after parents repeatedly complained about the chaos and lack of learning in her class. She spent a lot of time texting while the children did worksheets.
The Census Bureau states that 4.8 million children attend organized preschool or day care yearly. The degree to which child care facilities are regulated, and the quality of the care, varies wildly around the United States. It’s impossible to give an authoritative assumption on whether my experiences over 15 years of teaching preschoolers are average. I do know that many other preschool teachers I have spoken to have shared in many of my observations. Steven Barnett, the director of the National Institute for Early Education Research, said in an interview with the Atlantic, “Access to real quality is pretty darn low.”
Barnett went on to say that the odds of a parent without a high school diploma getting her preschooler into a high-quality program is one in 10.
Preschools have tight budgets, and kids don’t always get the one-on-one attention they need
Preschools don’t make very much money. Preschool teachers make even less. The Bureau of Labor Services notes that preschool teachers make an average of $21,490 a year. Directors of preschools can make a livable wage, but their job is extremely taxing. Every preschool director I knew worked more than 40 hours a week, put in hours a week talking with angry or frustrated parents, filled in for absent teachers, planned the holiday programs, balanced the budget, hired and fired employees when necessary, and very often was called to help manage a particularly unruly child. I myself worked 40 hours a week, and even with my husband's additional full-time income we barely squeaked by.
Every preschool I taught at worked under a very tight budget. This meant that when extra help was needed, it could rarely be afforded. Every person working for the school was expected to move into whatever role was needed to make the preschool ratios work. Every state has a law about how many children of a certain age can be in the care of one adult. The ratios for preschools in San Diego are one teacher to 12 students — children 30 months and under have ratios of one teacher to six students.
When you have a child who is particularly difficult, whether repeatedly hitting, screaming, refusing to stay seated, or simply crying, homesick, or with separation anxiety, the teacher has to figure out how to work the class around that child. How do you do circle time with 10 2-year-olds as, day after day, one of the children walks around the room sobbing, clutching his blanket, and knocking on the door?
Child development, compassion, and basic sense tell you that a child like this needs one-on-one attention. The child needs an adult who can kindly and patiently work with her until either the phase has passed or a possible problem has been identified, such as ADD, autism, or severe separation anxiety.
In reality, the daily one-on-one care for a struggling child can rarely occur. Even if a teacher starts out the day holding the hand of a child, pulling the child into her lap during circle time, this can’t hold for the entire day. Teachers go on lunch breaks and 10-minute breaks; they have to set up for nap time; they have to set up and clean up art; they have to help other children too; and often, they have to deal with either diaper changes or potty time.
This is why the director is often called in to assist with a child. I worked for five different preschool directors, and each one of them was fairly good to very good at their jobs, but none of them were particularly great with children. Administrators were good with creating scholastic plans that best benefited each age range of children, good at organizing the minutiae of a school — the paperwork, the state laws to follow, the hiring, the schedule management — but exhibited the long-acknowledged difference between being brilliant in comprehension and brilliant in action. It is the fighter pilot in simulation and the fighter pilot thousands of feet in the air in free fall. It is one thing to learn about calmly helping a child having a tantrum and another to sit, the child's snot and desperation inches from your face, and do it.
Some administrators might be brilliant with their own children, or have been wonderful caregivers in the past, but the addition of the grind of administrative duties and pleasing teachers and parents seems to be the limit, the litmus point where the constant reservoir of patience and connection one needs to be a good preschool teacher runs dry.
One director would handle a relentlessly crying child by sitting her down on a stool and saying sternly, “You are going to stop this nonsense now.” The child would continue to cry (children don’t believe in stopping nonsense — they also don’t believe their emotions are nonsense), and the director would tap away on her computer. One little girl I remember in particular because she was absolutely unmoved by both the director’s stern voice and the hours in the office. She’d cry for so long she’d fall asleep, sitting straight up, mouth open.
Another director would hold the offending child by the hand and announce to anyone she came into contact with that the child was “deciding to be a terrible listener today, making their teacher very unhappy, and so they have to walk around with me instead of playing with toys.” The shame on the child’s face was depressing as hell. I would give an encouraging smile to the child and tell them they could do a better job, and it was okay to be sad but not okay to throw toys, and the director would shoot me an annoyed look for not following script.
Young children don’t always know how to tell their parents something is wrong
What I knew about these and other practices was this: None of this was discussed with the parents, and certainly not in any kind of realistic detail. And none of the children were old enough to think to say, “Mom, Dad, is it okay that I spend two hours a day sitting on a stool and crying?”
Whatever happens to children at this age, I observed time and time again that they accept it. It is not that they like it — they can (and do) scream and cry and mope and mutter — but that they do not have anything else to compare life to. During these years, they have this: home and school. Sometimes a child particularly unhappy at school will make it well known that they don’t want to go to school, because the other option they know is home. They don’t typically recall or express details, such as “I don’t like the way my teacher grabs my arms hard,” or “I don’t like when the teacher says I’m a bad boy.” Some children do, and they are wonderful advocates for themselves. The rest depend on the persistent inquiries and attention of those who love them best.
I took my parenting cues from this experience to heart: Anytime during my children’s preschool years that they expressed unhappiness with school, I always dug deep. I asked many questions on walks, during drawing, during cuddle time at bed, and I listened well. I once had to have a “come to Jesus” moment with the director of a preschool for my own child. My son was in the care of an assistant teacher who had taken an instant dislike to him: It happens. However, her bad behavior didn’t “just happen” — she was allowing herself to act on emotion, and my son had been able to express that he was unhappy at school. After a week of talking to him, he was finally able to tell me that this teacher was in the habit of yanking him out of line, hard, and giving him a little shake, to tell him to stop whispering to his friends.
The director listened, and promised that teacher wouldn’t be in charge of my son anymore. She was not in the same room with him again. I did a few unexpected drop-ins here and there over the next month, and all was well.
The unexpected drop-in is probably a preschool parent’s most potent tool for information on what is happening during their child’s day. Some schools don’t allow this; I would not leave my child at those schools.
Unexpected drop-ins are tremendously underused. The observations made during one can change your child’s preschool experience. One foster mother dropped in on her son and found that his teacher, in the room next to mine, had left him standing in the bathroom with no underwear on, alone, as punishment for pooping in his pants. The mother filed a written complaint and pulled him out of the school. I was grateful, because it had been obvious to me that this teacher had taken a great dislike to this little person, but there wasn’t anything concrete to point to until the mom dropped in.
If there are problems that you don’t know about, the drop-in might be the only way to spot them. Dropping in can reveal discipline measures you weren’t aware of, or a fear of your child’s you didn’t know he was carrying (the little toilets!), or her habit of barely eating lunch and then throwing the rest away.
It can be difficult to find time for a drop-in. I struggled with it, as I worked and attended school and my husband worked full time as well. I found a couple of ways around this: I used my rare day off work, when my child still attended preschool, to drop in; I had both my husband and my mother take a turn to unexpectedly drop in for an early pickup; I made acquaintance with other parents in my child's class and asked them if they could let me know how my son was doing when they picked up their child — a virtual drop-in.
Another construct to connect parents to their children in preschool or day care is the webcam, installed directly into classrooms. Some child care centers offer this device, which has mixed reactions. Some parents love the cameras for the connection it gives them with their child and the feeling of security that comes from knowing there is a “watchful eye” on their child’s classroom situation. However, bathrooms and changing tables are almost always off limits to the camera, as sometimes are outside play areas. In addition, there are privacy and security concerns about the ability of hackers, as well as less devious situations, such as a parent who logs in at a library and leaves before logging out. Plus, these cameras do not include sound, so the context of what a parent is viewing can be lost.
The power of a parent’s unexpected drop-in
All I saw and heard over the 15 years I taught preschool impressed on me deeply that an involved parent is enormously powerful. Some parents fear that being too involved will make the teachers treat their child less kindly out of annoyance, but the opposite is true. The directors and teachers need the parents to be happy. They need the children to stay enrolled at the school.
Parents who make it politely clear that they are listening and watching closely as a caring parent, and then who actually do so, can be guaranteed that all those looking after their child will be — consciously or not — more attentive to the experience of that child.
I was able to care for my son, and then a daughter, and then another daughter, in their little years because I was a preschool teacher. Being a mother made me a better preschool teacher, and being a preschool teacher made me a better mother. My teen daughter knows: I still believe in the power of an unexpected drop-in.
Maggie May Ethridge is the author of Atmospheric Disturbances: Scenes From a Marriage(Shebooks, 2015) Her work appears in Rolling Stone, the Guardian, Guernica, the Week, Cosmopolitan, and more. Her novel, Agitate My Heart, is in edits.
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cicadawhite6 · 5 years
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The Secret Life of Rats by Hunter Shea (@huntershea1)
Rats give me the willies. I know I’m not alone in feeling that way. When my kids were precious little darlings, they used to beg me to buy them a pet rat. They got a betta fish instead.
Beyond my natural ‘ick’ reaction when I see a rat’s undulating body loping down a subway track, I also can’t help myself from thinking of the host of diseases that rats carry and spread. You know, pleasant little things like hantavirus, hepatitis, leptospirosis, a fun little malady called Rat Bite Fever, or RBF, Hemorrhagic Fever with Renal Syndrome and this little thing called THE PLAGUE, just to skim the top of a very long list. They are deadly and they are everywhere!
All that being said, as a kid, I was fascinated by any movie that involved rats. Lucky for me, I grew up in a time when some of the best rat movies ever made were hitting the screen, from Willard to Food of the Gods and Ben. I named my hamster Ben. He was the meanest SOB that ever lived, with a taste for human flesh not seen since Jeffrey Dahmer. On a side note, did you know that a young Michael Jackson sang the theme song to Ben?
As a lover of nature gone feral, and sometimes colossal, the rat movies hit me the hardest because they made my skin crawl. I would literally screw myself up in my seat, yet unable to take my eyes off a swarming horde of vermin or rats the size of bulls crawling all over a cabin. I cheered on the giant ants in Them! and the killer rabbits in Night of the Lepus, but man oh man, I wanted those rats to be gone ASAP whenever they came on the screen. For me, they were the ultimate bad guy. Give me the devil and a head spinning possession any day over a box o’ rats.
Doing research for my book, Rattus New Yorkus, I sat down with exterminators to learn more about the very thing I wanted to know less about. It turns out that rats, especially the Norway rats prevalent in New York, are smart. I mean, the kind of smart that keeps me up at night worrying. How smart? If you lay out poison for them, they will send the weakest rat to eat it. Then, they’ll wait and see what happens to the royal taste tester. If it dies, they don’t touch the poison. Scarily, it doesn’t’ take them long to become immune to a new poison. I wish I could adapt as well to White Castle burgers.
They also learn how to avoid traps, that knowledge passed down to other generations. In the first chapter of Rattus New Yorkus, there’s a scene with a crafty vermin devising an ingenious way to avoid being stuck to a glue trap. I wish I had made that up, but it was based on a real life observation. I did not enjoy my time with the exterminators.
Oh, and rats are very, very good at multiplying. The little buggers enjoy making more little buggers, and they make many! A female rat can give birth four or more times a year, popping out a dozen suckers at a time. And it only takes a few weeks for the babies to be ready to make babies of their own. *shudders*
True story time A very good friend of mine had rented a tiny furnished apartment in the suburbs in the 90s. It was a total dive, but he was proud of it because it was all his. The first night there, he fell asleep on the couch. He was awakened when he felt something squirming underneath the cushion. He pulled it up and saw there were rats trying to get out from the nest they’d made wiyhin the couch! To make matters worse, more rats fell on him from a hole in the drop ceiling. He ran out of the apartment and lived in his car for a whole month until he could find a new place.
In this day and age, with exposure to everything on a 24/7 basis, it’s easy to become jaded. Scary books and movies have a harder and harder time eliciting chills to people who can watch a video of a person getting mauled to death by a bear on their phone. You need something that taps an instinctual reflex to cringe. Rats do that for me, and millions of others. If you think you’re NOT one of them, I have the keys to my friend’s old apartment.
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About the Author
Hunter Shea is the product of a misspent childhood watching scary movies, reading forbidden books and wishing Bigfoot would walk past his house. He’s the author of over 17 books, including The Jersey Devil (Pinnacle 2016)), Tortures of the Damned (Pinnacle 2015), and We Are Always Watching (Sinister Grin). Hunter’s novels can even be found on display at the International Cryptozoology Museum. The Montauk Monster (Pinnacle 2014) was named one of the best reads of the summer by Publishers Weekly. He was selected to be part of the launch of Samhain Publishing’s new horror line in 2011 alongside legendary author Ramsey Campbell. His video podcast, Monster Men, is one of the most watched horror podcasts in the world. Living with his crazy and supportive family and two cats, he’s happy to be close enough to New York City to see the skyline without having to pay New York rent.
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About the Book
Rattus, New Yorkus One Size Eats All #2 by Hunter Shea Genre: Horror
They’re Bigger Deep in the sewers of New York City, the rat population is growing. Dr. Randolph Finch is determined to break the cycle. His new rodenticide, Degenesis, doesn’t kill rats. It sterilizes them from reproducing. But nothing adapts faster than a New York rat . . .
They’re Smarter City exterminators and soon-to-be divorced Chris and Benita Jackson think they know how these rats think. They know how rats breed. And they fear that Degenesis has only made these rats stronger. More aggressive. More intelligent. And more ravenous than ever . . .
Tonight’s Dinner Special: Us After a noticeable surge in rat den activity, the Jacksons witness something strange. Without warning, the rats disappear—only to reassemble in a massive lair beneath Grand Central Station. Millions upon millions of them. Working together. Operating as a hive mind. Feasting on the flesh of the homeless below—and planning their all-out attack on the unsuspecting humans above . . .
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Excerpt
It was going on dusk when we got to the restaurant. Business at Pasta 13 was light at the moment. Restaurants didn’t get humming until at least seven on weeknights. I called the owner ahead of time and we met him out back by the dumpster. It wouldn’t do him good for his diners to see a pair of exterminators come strolling inside.
“You were here already today,” he said to Benny. The man was tall and thin everywhere except his hips. He looked nervous, but then he always looked nervous. Owning a restaurant was not for the fainthearted.
“We need to take a closer look,” she said, nodding toward the suitcase in my hand.
“Yes, but please, be discreet.”
“We take an oath of discretion,” I reassured him. He didn’t look reassured.
“Come directly to me if you need anything. My staff doesn’t need to know.”
I opened my mouth and closed it.
If his staff didn’t see the piles of rat shit everywhere, they were either blind or willfully ignorant.
“Let’s go down that one,” Benny said, pointing to the largest burrow. The edges were fuzzy, having snagged copious amounts of hair. That meant it was the road most taken for this nest.
“As you wish, Alice.”
I opened the case and assembled the camera. It looked like a snake that plumbers use to clear drains, with a fish-eye lens on the end. It hooked up to a small monitor so we could see into the den.
This time of day, the rats should have been starting to get restless, but they were more than likely still in the main nest.
“You want me to do the honors?” I asked, the camera poised over the hole. “By all means.”
I once had a rat jump out of a burrow just as I was about to drop the camera down. It landed on my chest, desperate to find the soft tissue of my face. Thankfully, Benny had swatted it away with a spade she’d been using to cover up some of the burrows. She’d managed to slice it in half like a samurai.
Warm rat entrails soaked through my shirt, but thanks to her, I was still pretty.
“Get ready,” I said.
Sometimes, when we went exploring like this, the rats would pour out of the other burrows and swarm around us in a frenzy. Our pants were tucked into our tough leather boots. Benny gripped what she called her swattin’ pole. It had once been a nine iron, the head replaced by a wood block, held on with a half mile of duct tape. What it lacked in esthetics it more than made up for in efficiency. I slowly snaked the camera into the hole. With night vision activated, we watched the black-and-white monitor.
What we saw was very similar to the video from a colonoscopy. Just traveling down a winding, dark tunnel.
A normal rat’s den contained seven or so rats. We had caught three with snap traps last week. Their dwindling numbers, especially if the Degenesis was working, couldn’t account for the growing feces.
“Expect anything,” I said.
“What?”
“Just ruminating.”
I pushed the camera deeper, kicking up a puff of dust deep in the burrow.
A rat’s twitchy face sprang into view. I instinctively recoiled, then recovered in as manly a way as possible.
“Say cheese,” Benny said, standing over me.
“You talk about my tired old witticisms.”
The rat retreated, tunneling backwards down the hole.
I knew I had to hurry up. The other rats would be ready to scatter .
Working the cable as fast as I could, I remotely spelunked, wondering just how far down they had settled in.
In my periphery, I caught a rat leaping from a burrow to my left.
Benny gasped.
“What?”
She pointed at the screen.
“Holy shit!”
I let the camera cable drop as if it were a poisonous snake.
We watched as dozens and dozens of rats writhed over one another. Every inch of the nest was packed with vermin bodies.
“Pull back a little,” Benny said.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I tugged slightly on the cable so we could get a better view.
“Look at all the babies,” Benny said.
“It’s like the maternity ward in Shanghai,” I said.
We were either looking at multiple litters or the granddaddy of all litters.
“What do you think? At least twenty?”
Benny peered at the monitor. “I’d second that. And they all look like they’re from the same generation.”
“I guess there’s no point in saying how impossible that is.”
“You guess right again.”
More adult rats were scurrying out of the holes around us. From what I could see, several had stayed behind in the nest to guard the babies.
“I don’t like this at all,” I said, moving the camera some more to get a different angle. All of it was being recorded.
“They like it less,” Benny said.
The camera’s intrusion had brought about sweeping panic in the nest. I almost felt sorry for the little critters as they sought refuge around the adult guardians.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” I said, pulling the camera out. “I’ll send the file to Ratticus, see what he thinks.”
“Stop, Chris.”
“Fine. Dr. Finch.”
“No. Put the camera down.”
“Why?”
I looked to Benny, whose eyes were wide and darting about. Following her gaze, the camera slipped from my suddenly milquetoast grasp.
We were surrounded by rats. A dozen pairs of marble black eyes locked onto us.
They weren’t running away.
And they were sure as shit not afraid.
Source: http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-secret-life-of-rats-by-hunter-shea.html
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The Living/Kitchen Transition Shot Always an optimist at the outset, I remember loving all the light the house got and the fact that it had some hardwood floors. It’s funny how the lens changes the day after you’ve signed all the papers. 
The before picture doesn’t do it justice.  Unfortunately I didn’t take many pictures from this angle.  You can see the small opening to the dining “area” (to call it a room would be a MASSIVE overstatement), the gross tile and sconce.  I guess tiling directly over original hardwood was a thing at some point. We had extensive termite damage from water damage that had occurred because of faulty installation of the roof 7 years prior. New roof? You betcha. TWO actually. We were actually able to repair most of the hardwood and I went with a darker stain to mask any irregularities. Cost of two flat rolled roofs you ask?? $15,000. --newbie stylist diary moment: Something I remember clearly, is working on a shoot with Emily Henderson the day they wanted me to choose a stain. If you have done a reno before, you’ll know this, but contractors don’t need anything from you until THEY F*%&ING DO. All of a sudden, your contractor will call you and be like - “I need an answer and decision on this thing you thought you had two more weeks to think about right at this very moment and it cannot wait”. I was so stressed because it was maybe the second shoot I had ever worked on with Emily? Here I am, probably already pretty stressed about trying to impress everyone and not let them see I am a completely and utterly in over my head (more on this later) and my contractor is sending me blurry text message pictures of options that all looked the same but OF COURSE I KNEW THEY WERE NOT. But alas, if I had to have ugly floors for the rest of my life to keep this job I had been very, very lucky to land, I guess that was the price I had to pay. Ultimately, my contractor was texting so much I felt I had to mention the situation over lunch so everyone didn’t just think I was instagramming on set (big no-no) and THANK GOD Emily is like, “uh, you need to go right now and look at that”. PRAISE BE. Anyway, continuing my thoughts on the actual reno...The entire front unit had cloth wiring, so an electrical update was necessary. The sconces obviously had to be replaced and there are five of them in the living room. It is AMAZING how much lighting fixtures add up even when you go the simple route. I got these from Practical Props in NoHo, I’m sure I have the receipt somewhere but I don’t think I spent more than $50/each? I can’t recommend that place enough, most of our simple lighting came from them, although they have great statement pieces as well.  Speaking of lights, I am IN LOVE with both of the ceiling lights pictured here. The black one in the living room is from The Maison Craft (https://www.etsy.com/shop/themaisoncraft) and made by hand in Thailand. the one in the dining is made by hand in Mexico and I got it for a deal at the Rose Bowl Flea. When I bought it, it was because I liked the shape and texture. I also just *knew* it would make pretty shapes on the wall and ceiling when lit up. True to form, the fact that it was just a cord, abruptly cut, didn’t bother me at all. Optimist at the outset, remember? “Everything will be fine” is my mantra. It sat on the floor in the dining room for probably 4 months before Andrew and I took the time to figure out. We are V proud of ourselves for that one. I even used the ceiling plate to the old light to attach it to the ceiling - also something overlooked while making googly heart eyes at it at the flea market months prior. That said, we still don’t trust it enough to leave it lit if we aren’t home, haha.
I was hoping to remove the entire wall between dining and living, there is a HUGE window in the dining room that you can’t see here and I wanted more of that light coming into the living room. It ended up that they couldn’t do it without doing major (read expensive) construction, but we were able to open it up a little, another 18 inches or so, which does help.  The “after” picture is in no way a completely finished, styled area (is it ever, really?) but it’s a HUGE improvement and I have to remind myself of that daily. I am still searching for art for the dining room. I really want to do a corner banquette so that the table will be a little more out of the way (have to walk past it to get to our kitchen). but otherwise happy for a lot of our old furniture fitting in nicely.  Chair: craigslist, reupholstered by me. I documented it so a how-to post is in the future. 
Pillow: Target 
Coffee table: craigslist. in. love.
Dresser/entry table: Rose bowl
Rug: West Elm #basic but I still love it
Wooden hand: Etsy. No, I will NEVER part with it.
Floral rug thing: It’s a rug, from the flea market, laid over an Ikea alseda stool (best ikea product ever?) The cats love it and seconds as extra seating
Table: 100 year old craftsman table from craigslist. It’s a jewel. It’s on rollers and also came with 3 leaves (not that I will ever be able to use them in this house). It desperately needs a sanding and stain job.  I’ll document when it happens.
Tolix chairs: ripoff from Industry West.  I have 2 more outside.  These will join when I do the banquette and find 2 more comfortable grown up chairs. 
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