#Like- a character snapping into a million pieces basically

[lilythecaattt]

Maybe I should make the most unhinged poll ever…

Sure would take the SW!AU in a direction I wouldn’t expect, if a specific outcome won the poll, but I’m sure I could work with it.

Edit: Don’t you dare ask what I’m thinking of cooking, it’s a surprise for later 🥰

[fairestwriting]

Hello 👋 could I please request headcanons for leona's fem s/o defending him everytime one of the other characters start making backhanded comments to his face (if you've seen some of the vignettes you'll know what I mean) she doesn't reveal things like he's depressed or anything (tho he is) she just tells them it's shitty of them calling him lazy/selfish constantly without even knowing him personally

[Everyone treats leona like crap and I take personal offense to it >:( ]

You know i make fun of him on a regular basis. but theres a line thats gotta be drawn when it comes to leona bullying. cause damn this guy needs a real Break he cant even have issues in peace

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Before you got closer to him, there’s a fair chance the comments didn’t even stand out to you at all. It always felt a little unfair, yes, but not in a way that was particularly shocking, they were all just rude comments like any other. Back when you weren’t quite friends yet, and maybe even at the start of your friendship, you might have interjected with a simple ”hey, he’s not that bad” or "you don’t need to be rude about it”. It was just a gesture of basic politeness then, something the people around you seemed to lack.

But obviously, your perception of those interactions, and the way you see Leona’s situation itself, soon went through a rather radical change. Possibly even before you two started dating, or even before he “told you too much” — His own words, mumbled dismissively but bitterly, the day he came back after spending a weekend with his family and then proceeded to complain for a little longer than usual — As he warmed up to you, you started to notice things about him more. You started to see the spark of actual passion he has in his eyes during his club activities, the level of detail he gets into when analyzing things, the precise way he moved his chess pieces when you two played...

Above all, though, you started to notice how he often looked actually tired when he took part in any of the “slacking” he’s so infamous for. Learning the littlest bit more about his family life just worked as the final piece of the puzzle you’d been putting together without even noticing — And then, other people’s “rudeness” started to sound like something much more cruel. It didn’t help that he never seemed to react to it whenever he overheard others gossiping, or whenever you told him about the things you heard. “Why doesn’t he care?” The thought would echo in your mind for ages, trying to understand him through the tiny slivers of vulnerability he didn’t mean to show.

Now, as his girlfriend, you feel you just can’t let people say whatever they want, and you feel it more strongly than you ever have. ”Why don’t you mind your own business instead of talking about someone you don’t really know?” You snap back on instinct when one of your classmates, who was in Savanaclaw, comments on how lazy their dorm leader is. Their mouth closes instantly, regardless if you’ve made your relationship public or not — You realize that, on top of all the negative treatment Leona got, it was also extremely rare for others to defend him in any way at all. Enough that even a response that simple elicits shock from others.

”You know, it’s crazy to see you hanging out with Leona like that. I never thought I'd see anyone get so excited to spend time with him.” You hear some other day, while spending time in Savanaclaw’s common area, sat right next to Leona, and it just makes your blood boil. He’s just half-glaring at your particularly cocky acquaintance, sighing like he’s heard it a million times before, which you know he probably has. ”Hey, make sure you don’t get too influenced, we don’t need another person who just sleeps all day—”

”Yeah, you’re right. This type of person can be such a pain. I’m so glad I don’t know anyone who’s, you know, actually like that.” You say through grit teeth, just barely holding back aggression, and in the corner of your vision, the subtle flash of surprise in Leona’s face only encourages you to continue. ”Imagine if like, the Magift team had this sort of player in it… the club would be done for.”

They stare at you with wide eyes, having very much picked up on the aggression. The entire room is silent, you refuse to break eye contact, arms firmly crossed. ”Well, I mean��” The student stammers, but then, Leona himself speaks up for once. ”Did you not get her message? You need me to tell you to shut up instead?” He snaps, and they frantically shake their head, eyes fixed on the ground. You feel pride swelling in your chest, almost unable to hold back your smile.

”You know, Herbivore, if I needed a bodyguard I’d already have one.” He tells you later, in that same day. His tone has that snarky edge that feels like his default, but it’s much less pronounced than usual. You can even see a sort of softness in his eyes while he tries to play it cool. But needing and deserving are two different things, you think. As interactions like these repeat, with you defending him every time, you hope your message fully gets through to him, one day.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[greenflowerceo]

hii im suuper late to my own week ik (i'll post the rest of the days from time to time, college applications were a pain </3 but i've got most of it down

This piece is a redraw of my very first post ! This has been a wip since the start of the year so my art style unsurprisingly changed a bunch as i tweaked the lines and colors. it's not the best but it's looking as good as it can be!

as for the zine, people are free to draw up pieces for the week up until the end of september and we can compile it all together! it's not really the usual zine format but who knows.. we can maybe try to figure out a way to formally start a more structured zine project for these two

Anyway! I've decided to dedicate my greenflower week posts to my headcanons I've made up for them from the past 4 years.. I figured you guys could take a peek into my brain since I haven't really been good at that unless you catch me in a vc :") there's a buncha hcs and old ass art i never posted finally unearthing under the cut if you wanna take a peek

So, first thing: Body headcanons..

i took super long getting what i want with this waay back when I started posting cause I was still figuring out a lot with my art. i couldn't get in good details/features that would properly differentiate them or make them fun to draw. I wasn't striving to be really innovative with the designs or anything, I just wanted them to feel like characters I like looking at and thinking about

finally, i'm somewhat able to settle on these as of right now! It will most likely update as the time passes and my art changes, but this is what I got!

basically the main idea is that i wanted Lloyd to be bulkier but sharper. grew up fast and has all these edges, but then you get to know him and he's just a big ol dork. Mostly wears loose-fitting clothes that hides his figure, but he's quite built underneath

Brad's a lil taller and pretty lanky. my art style may not be able to show that properly but lloyd can snap him in half <3 he also seems hella chill but that's probably cause he got balls of steel after living through a million ninjago invasions

This thing below is an old outfit concept I have for a project that I've been working on. does not reflect my current headcanons with his physical appearance but i do like his clothes

I think he loves his role as the green ninja, saving the world and such. it came with lots of baggage and reflection but i do promise that he enjoys it for the most part. I think him wearing green is kind of like wearing work clothes so he tends to avoid it on days when he's free to keep from being too ready to jump into ninja mode

i do tend to keep him in green though cause the fandom sure does love their color-coded ninja

anyway .. that's about most of what i've got for this that looks good enough to post, so here's a bunch of other doodles/sketches, both old and new ToT

oh and a quick comic too cause why not

one more: bonus greenflower yuri

thanks for coming to read this far :) there'll be more soon

[jessiemeows]

Lost & Found

Prologue: Waking Up in a Tadpole's Nightmare

A/N: Hello! This is just the prolouge so its sort of short, the actual first chapter I plan to post in a week or so! It depends because I'm writing a little christmas thing after the events of game so it may be the week after :). Basicly the story is how I see things went down in the game between my OC Durge Amaya and how they both fell in love 🎔

Pairing: F!Durge, OC (Amaya), Tiefling, Selunite Cleric X Spawn Astarion

Rating: 18+!!! mentions of violence, blood, corpses, death, basically durge things if you know how that character is

WC: About 900

A/N again: I've only recently gotten into creative writing again in the past 5 years, until the last 5 years I used to write 1D fandfic's when I was 14-16 lol. So if there are any grammatical issues, spelling mistakes, or more, I'm very sorry!

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

Story:

Corpses littered the landscape, a grotesque carpet stretching as far as the eye could see. The earth was saturated with blood, the grass strewn with chunks of flesh like obscene ornaments. Above, the sky loomed a deep, foreboding crimson, as if it had absorbed the lifeblood of the millions massacred below.

Each step through the sodden grass sent lightning bolts of agony through her legs, up until her arms. Fever gripped her body, and sweat beaded on her skin despite the bitter wind. A thunderous laugh rolled across the sky, its echo piercing her skull. As her gaze dropped to the blood-soaked ground, certain bodies caught her attention- strangers whose faces tugged at her memory. One in particular made her heart stutter: an elf with silver curls. Tears spilled down her cheeks unbidden.

The vision twisted, and suddenly moonlight bathed Amaya's skin as she knelt in the middle of a dark forest. Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw an ethereal figure approaching- a pale elven woman with raven-black hair, dressed in white and midnight-blue robes adorned with silver patterns and moonstones. The woman's touch on Amaya's cheeks felt like moonlight made tangible, her warmth spreading like starlight through Amaya's body.

"I know you're scared," the woman whispered, her voice as gentle as a summer breeze, "but you are so much more than what he made you. Be who you are meant to be."

Before Amaya could speak, the woman dissolved into shimmering moondust. Her eyes snapped open to harsh reality- she lay sprawled in burning sand, the merciless sun beating down on her face.

Hours had passed since she'd crashed the mindflayer ship onto the Sword Coast. Pain pulsing behind her eye where the tadpole writhed. The beach around her was rather grim: bodies strewn across the sand, the nautiloid's wreckage still smoldering. As she sat in the hot sand, she grasped at the fragments of her identity- Amaya hadn’t a clue who she really was. She knew only a few simple details: her name was Amaya Othzál, she served as a cleric of Selûne, and she had to return to some place called Baldur’s Gate urgently. A place she believed she called home.

Rising unsteadily, Amaya approached the nearest corpse. A wave of nausea struck her, retreated, then returned with savage force as she touched the body. Her blood seemed to boil, and her lips twisted into an involuntary smile. Horrified, she tried to suppress these dark impulses, but her body rebelled. Pain sliced through her wrist as if carved by an invisible blade. The nausea intensified until she retched, her skull threatening to split from the pressure building within. Time stretched like taffy as she fought for control, each second an eternity until the episode passed.

Questions plagued her: what kind of person could she have been to smile so cruelly at a person who never should have died? Why was her body rejecting her so much when she rejected these sick thoughts? Was it the tadpole? Or was it something much worse? Her hands trembled as she collected a map and a few gold pieces from the corpse. With no answers forthcoming, she turned East, leaving her questions scattered in the bloody sand behind her.

-----

Astarion huddled in the shadows, a fugitive from the sun that should have burned him to ash. Confusion clouded his thoughts- he'd lain exposed to daylight for unknown hours, yet survived without the expected agony. He remembered a human woman on the beach, her words garbled in his memory like a broken music box. His instinctive flight had saved him when the nautiloid's monstrosities claimed her life.

From his hiding place among the wreckage, he watched the brain-creatures stalk their territory. Then a woman's soft, raspy voice cut through his deliberation, the familiar cadence of a speak-with-dead spell reaching his ears. He sneered at such foolishness- until her voice rang out again: "FLAGRA!" Radiant white magic flung from her fingertips, incinerating one of the brain-creatures instantly.

He watched, transfixed, as she dispatched the remaining monsters with brutal efficiency. Despite one of the brains clawing at her, she moved like a dancer, her daggers finding their marks with deadly precision. Recognition flickered in his mind- she'd been among the three women he'd glimpsed on the tentacled freaks ship while trapped in that accursed pod.

The tiefling captivated him. Her freckled skin, though pale, held warmth; dark curls escaped her ponytail to frame a face that could command attention with a single look. Those eyes- large and expressive- could doubtless bend the strongest will. Her horns set her apart from others of her kind, dark brown with tips that glowed like embers.

"A pretty little thing," he mused, imagining how Cazador would have coveted such a prize- rare enough to turn rather than merely drain. The more he looked at her something began to stir in his dead heart, a warmth he hadn't felt in centuries. He shook off the distraction, focusing instead on strategy. She was wounded, vulnerable- perfect for extracting information. Steeling himself against the sun's glare, he darted up the path, tracking her limping form as she made her way toward the Chionthar.

[existentialterror]

Hiii I’m Normal about Dr. Iceberg (red flag, I know) but his name being Julian is complete fanon! Idk where it originally came from, but he’s never referred to as Julian Finn in any onsite tale. The only time he’s been named on the wiki, as far as I know, is when he is called Ellis Gill in a tale called “But We Do Not Talk About That”. While last updated in 2022, was originally written in 2015. Why that name never caught on, I don’t know, but I’m kind of glad. Despite Iceberg being a misogynistic piece of shit, I’m intrigued by the fact that so much is unknown about his character.

Giving him a name detracts from the horror of his story, someone who was once a person being filed down and reshaped to fit a role perfectly, only to snap under pressure and take his own life. And then, if you go with the Resurrection canon/the calm tale, he gets brought back as a cyborg (Cyberg?) that blatantly states it doesn’t have a name. He can’t escape the foundation, even in death.

I’ll cut myself off there— If I don’t, I’m liable to write an entire novel in your inbox.

Fun fish fact (since, if I remember correctly, that is the toll for sending an ask): Lampreys have been around for 400 million years, and haven’t evolved much during that time!

(I forgot about this for a while, sorry!) (In response to this exchange with @scp-l4-clef-alto-001.)

YOOOO Nice research! Today I learned. Thank you! I don't think I'd heard "Finn" before, but I believe you that it's out there. Also thank you for the fish facts. The fish facts are not necessary to send me an ask but are MUCH appreciated. The hagfish is the relative of the lamprey and is another old jawless fish. It has two powers: producing LOTS of mucus, and tying itself in knots, both overhand and underhand. I'm gonna have to read more about ciguatoxins. ❤️🐟

Hey, in exchange for the nice ask and the research, here's a snippet I wrote a long time ago about Sophia Light and your guy. (I like him too! I think he's really interesting.) It's set in the Resurrection canon but back in the past, not long after Dr. Light was recruited to the Foundation. (Might end up on the site eventually but I hate to promise. If nothing else, you know, have this.)

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

1997

Light shows up to her appointments on time. She’s trying out this business of being a person again, really giving it her all, and that’s one of the things she decides: she shows up on time. 

She’s at the entrance to Research five minutes before her assignment today. There are other two people there: a pretty woman with waves of black hair in business casual behind the receptionist deck, and a pretty man in a labcoat whose spiky hair is bleached at the tips. They’re flirting.

No, that’s not true. The man is flirting, voraciously, draped over the desk to get closer. The woman is listening, and looks bored, and tired. She catches Light’s eye, and rolls her eyes.

Light recognizes this situation from the before-world. She knows what to do. She squares her shoulders and walks right up to them. With the energy of a woman who realized yesterday that she has permanent institutional access to every academic journal ever, and has not regretted any sleep- or non-sleep-related decisions made since then, she says, “So do you know about sail jellyfish?”

She proceeds to tell the man about them, at length, for five straight minutes. The man is confused and unhappy but apparently transfixed. The woman restrains herself from laughing and drifts back to her computer screen.

“ - So that’s why the asymmetry is actually a fitness advantage,” she says, “So that they react differently to the same wind patterns and they won’t risk washing ashore. But because that’s basically random, the evolutionary pressure maintains a 50-50 balance.”

“Cool beans,” says the man, whose eyes have glazed over. “Hey, I gotta go, I’ve gotta meet up with someone - uh, Dr. Light, I think - ”

“I am Dr. Light,” Light says. 

The woman doesn’t bother muffling her guffaw. The man - Dr. Iceberg, presumably - looks uncomfortable and then flustered. Light mentally congratulates herself.

“You two are in the dissection room today, right?” the woman says, checking her computer. “Should be set up. Use the cart to move samples, do not lift large samples yourself, I do not care how strong you are, please and thank you. Decon’s ready, just go through the back. One at a time. Ice, you first.”

“Isn’t it set up for multiple people? There’s all the showers and everything - ”

The secretary shrugs. “New policy. Now get out of my sight, Ice.”

“Always good to see you, Break.” Iceberg shoots finger guns at her, as he heads to the decon room entrance.

“Drop dead,” Break calls after him.

They wait for the sounds of the door opening and closing. Break grins at Light. “Thanks for the spiel,” she says. “You got one of those locked and loaded all the time?”

“Usually you have to ask nicely first,” Light says, automatically, because affected confidence was sort of her go-to before, and it seems to be working for her so far. Then she remembers that the last thing this poor woman needs is someone else ambiguously hitting on her and feels bad. But Break just laughs.

“You know that guy?” Break asks.

“I’ve seen him around, I think? I’m - I’m bad with faces.”

“Yeah. Dr. Iceberg. He’s like that. Been a thorn in my fucking side for years. You know, the Foundation is usually pretty good about this kind of thing, in my experience. But Ice, he’s like, Gears’ special little boy, so he can get away with murder.”

Light is confused. “He’s Gears’ son?”

“No, god no - like, you know, he’s… he’s Gears’. …Doesn’t matter. I thought Ice got better for a while there, but it looks like he’s back on his bullshit.”

“Ugh,” Light agrees. 

The bulb over the decon chamber entrance turns green. Break tilts her head at it. “You’re doing, like, an autopsy, right?”

“A necropsy - uh, yeah.”

“Well, that’ll probably bring the mood down, you’ll be fine. He’s not the worst, honestly. But if you need, just say the word ‘Ice’ into the lab comms and I’ll fake an evac drill or something to get you out.”

“Thanks,” says Light. She tries to figure out how serious Break is. Break’s permanent wry plausibly-deniable customer service smile offers no hint.

Maybe Light’s overconfident. Maybe this whole business of being a person again has made her cocky. Perhaps she’s been away from a normal social fabric for so long that she’s lost sense of real implications and rules. But she finds she’s not too worried. “I think it’ll be fine,” she tells Break. “I have a lot more jellyfish facts.”

Break laughs, loudly. “Attagirl.” She waves Light into the decon chamber.

[clumsiestgiantess]

I know people didn’t end up voting for me to work on this story, but I feel like you’d appreciate the beginning sequence from Thanos Snap Doomsday Crisis Scenario. (named after the fact that instead of half the population suddenly being snapped into dust they suddenly become half an inch tall, yes that is the actual name, it’s what I named the doc with the writing anyway…)

This is shortly after the main character gets home with their family. They’re returning from more ‘backroads’ streets onto the main roads after watching a small plane fall out of the sky — witnessing the aftermath of destructive crashes between almost every car on the road. Closest thing they could come up with to wth is going on is that they’re being bombed so they hide.

Everyone piled into the tiny concrete room beneath the basement stairs.  We lay low for half the day.  None of the news stations were even airing.  Every station was either stuck in an endless commercial break, or displaying a ‘we’ll be back soon’-type message.

Finally, the stations started coming back online.  The culprit: no one was entirely sure.  One station reported it was a secret weapons test gone wrong, and the next would claim that an unnatural phenomenon had taken place.  Most news stations were still silent, though.  That was the only information we could get.  

Throughout the course of the next week, I learned bits and pieces of what had happened.  

We don’t know why or how, but about half the worldwide population had suddenly been reduced to a fraction of their size.  Hundreds of thousands of vehicles had lost control as those driving them no longer could.  Millions had been killed in the ensuing chaos.  Billions were missing, presumed dead after only a week.  A lucky few were reunited with loved ones.  

Hundreds of fairy-tale spins on the classic love story were written about people suddenly thrown off balance by their drastic new perspectives, yet managing to stay together through their love for one another.  They were echoes of millions of people’s crushed dreams.  The Shrinking, as many refer to it, tore apart relationships like a twister tears through an innocent small town.  It was just as sudden and just as violent.  The adjustments necessary for someone at such a small scale to feel comfortable in the newly gigantic world was often too much for people to handle.  

Those who came out of it with their normal height often confessed they couldn’t deal with the pressure of looking after someone so fragile.  And those who changed found it hard to trust someone who was, comparatively, the size of a skyscraper.  Even those who tried to make things work were often met with tragedy.  Sob stories of the smaller party accidentally getting killed in awful ways were constantly floating about.  But it wasn’t just relationships that were torn apart.  Infrastructure, transportation, housing, jobs, even a person’s way of life had to change — adapt quickly to the new, gigantic world, or die trying.

The government was, mostly, no help whatsoever.  Besides ruling a few basic things such as that the newly-changed people were to be treated equally to those who hadn’t changed, and creating little walled-up miniature towns for those who could get to them, they hadn’t acknowledged the change much.

Those tiny communities were a saving grace at first, but they quickly became the subject of controversy.  The towns had effectively separated those who’d been affected by the Shrinking from the ‘normal people’ who hadn’t been affected.  After they were finished, the government thrust the burden of reconstruction onto the Afecteds’ small shoulders.  Those who weren’t changed were eager to move on from the tragedy that cost so many lives.  Parties split amongst them, ranging from how friendly or hostile people were towards those who’d changed.

Of course, there were those cruel enough to see the Affected as beneath them — cursed that way because they’d done some imagined moral wrongs.  There were neutral groups who thought the Affected should be given a completely separate place to live, like a protected island safe from the perils of anything too large for them.  And still others believed that we could be more accommodating to those who’d been changed by the Shrinking, and try to integrate them back into society rather than casting them to the side. Arguments over what to do constantly cycled through politics and daily life, not unlike other major events in the past.  I did my best to stay away from all that.  Not having been greatly affected by the newest worldwide disaster, I chose to remain fairly neutral on the subject.  Sometimes I would lean towards those who were on the Affecteds’ side.  Especially when I took the time to notice the tiny bloodstains that were scattered on the sidewalk, or when I’d catch a glimpse of something or someone dash into a crack in a wall or hole in the floor.  Those had been people not unlike myself, now reduced to living the life of an insignificant pest.  It was easy to ignore, but when reminders like those appear, I do feel an awful sting of pain for ignoring them.

Im subjecting people to my thoughts today while im suffering in bed.

Okay, like I know, it's fantasy, but you know what bugs me about the like - specific kink trope of "Shrinking is a virus and now shrunken people are treated like shit"?

There is always no world building. Or the most lack luster so the author can get straight into the kink part they wanna do. Like, yes, I get it. You want to get directly into giant people torturing small people for your domination kink. Let's ignore that for a minute and tell me the ins and out of your world. What's the contagion rate? Is there a vaccine? Why is it only affecting XYZ of the population? If they're deemed pests, why are they still out in public? Do they have to pay taxes? If it's contagious, why would anyone wanna risk being *near* them, let alone doing noncon stuff to them? What conspiracy theories came out of it? Are there people who believe it to be a hoax? Are there long term side effects?

I know Downsizing was not a hit for a lot of GT people but I fucking ATE UP the world building they did. I want a TV series that shows off every part of that world. I wanna see the long term effects

Like - I am not into this trope unless it's horror but unfortunately I have been in multiple parts of this community for almost 18 years now and it still bothers me when I'm browsing for things to read and come across it.

Catch me spending days writing out the ins and out for my GT based BDSM club i made for 2 characters because you ain't catching me drawing my kink shit without established rules in place

[sillyangstyimp]

Aha so after like two weeks, I'm finally making a post about my Cuphead AU, The Devil's Deal. I meant to post about it way sooner, but I wanted to draw something to go with it, and that little drawing ended up taking two weeks (12 hours total) because I'm a procrastinator lmao

SO. The Devil's Deal mainly follows the game's main story, up to where the two boys face the Devil after collecting all the contracts. Instead of burning the contracts after the fight, they toss them in the fire before, which initiates the battle. During the fight, Cuphead's eye is heavily injured and Mugman is killed, but before Cuphead can reach him to resurrect him, the Devil basically snatches his soul out of the air and absorbs it??? (I don't know how it works don't ask.)

Because of this, Mugman can no longer be revived, and Cuphead snaps and kicks the Devil's ass. But before Cuphead can finish him off once and for all, the Devil proposes a deal to Cuphead. The Devil would bring Mugman back, and in return Cuphead continues working as a contract collector for him.

Cuphead accepts this deal, Mugman is resurrected, and Cuphead begins working for the Devil. But the more he works for him, the more distant he becomes, and almost dies a LOT (and gets lots of trauma! :D). Mugman becomes worried, and tried to find ways to free Cuphead from the Devil's clutches. He helps Chalice on DLC island by himself, and asks for Chalice's help to defeat the Devil once and for all.

Meanwhile, Cuphead meets others at the Casino, Wick and Fish, (the two on the left of the picture) two others his age also working in the Casino and becomes very good friends with them. But due to some circumstances (stuff I don't want to spoil yet), Wick and Fish attempt to run away from the Casino to another Isle, but Cuphead is ordered to kill them since they became runaway debtors.

More stuff happens after that but I'm not gonna spoil them yet (¬‿¬)

lmao Bendy is also gonna be in here as a side character because I'm emotionally attached to the little man but I didn't have space in the picture for him :-(

If you actually read all of that tysm!! I have a bunch of stuff planned for this AU, (and it's mainly angst lmao so I hope you like having your heart shatter into a million pieces). I hope you guys like it `(*>﹏<*)′

[bthehufflepuff208]

So how much do you want to fucking bet that for the “Vision is Ultron” episode of “What If”, they’re basically going to sell it as:

“No matter what, whether the mind stone was used or not, Ultron/Vision would have always been created as a monster because his sole creator Tony Stark is a monster.”

To add, they’re also going to kill Tony off again, with Vision/Ultron talking about all the bullshit that was said in “Age of Ultron”, of how he’s a “sickness” and a “monster” and how he did the right thing by killing him and all that jazz.  

And I’m so fucking over it.

Like, I get it.  Tony Stark is a perfect choice for a scapegoat to hate for a good chunk of MCU fans, as he has all the things people hate:

He’s a billionaire (a born into money billionaire), which ya know, “eat the rich” and all.  He’s a man, he’s white, he’s cisgender, he’s straight (questionable to some fans, but there’s no fucking way any Marvel executives would say Tony’s bisexual or pansexual, no way).  

So due to this, most MCU fans hate his guts as he represents at least one group of people that they loathe.  I’m not saying these are the sole reasons anti-Tony people hate him, but they can’t say that it’s not at least one of the reasons.

But making him the scapegoat over and over is so fucking absurd, especially when the whole fucking point of Tony’s story is that he wants to become better, not just for his loved ones but for the world.

But with the stigma he already has with what he was born with/into, fans have absolutely no fucking trouble twisting any bad situation into blaming Tony, since he represents all the things they hate in real life anyway. 

Tony’s entire arc was supposed to show with each movie, that he wanted to become better and to truly help people.  But literally every single action Tony makes, everyone interprets it as “he’s only doing it for his ego/to protect himself.”

Tony flies a nuclear bomb into a wormhole? “Oh, he only did that because he wanted the praise of being the hero who saved the day.”  Tony wanting a defense system to protect Earth? “Oh, he only wants that because he doesn’t want to do anything to help Earth himself and wants all of the credit.”  Tony literally dying destroying an army that was going to destroy the universe? “Oh, but that doesn’t make him a hero, everything he did was always about him.  He’s still a selfish piece of shit because he didn’t want to erase his daughter (and probably millions of other children) out of existence.”  No matter what Tony does, everyone twists it as something he’s doing only for himself.

But even a little example of how everyone just twists anything and everything they can about Tony:   I saw a post talking about how they were glad Thor wasn’t friends with that “toxic piece of shit” because all Tony did throughout Endgame was mock Thor’s depression/PTSD. 

And I was like.......what fucking movie were you watching?

He did call Thor “Lebowski”, which, yes, was definitely mean-spirited.  But the entire movie?  Huhhhh?

Here’s where they twist their views to whatever they want to see.  I’ve watched Endgame over and over, and besides the Lebowski joke, I cannot come up with one point in which Tony mocks Thor.  But thinking about it, I have a pretty good idea of how anti-Tony people twisted their look on the film to see Tony mocking Thor throughout the entire thing.

In the scene where Thor is insisting on doing the snap to bring everyone back, Tony steps in and tells him he’s not in condition to do so.  In my head, and the way I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be interpreted, Tony does this because he’s concerned for Thor because he knows how bad of a place he’s in and doesn’t want to push him even further.  But to someone who hates Tony, they most likely interpreted the scene as Tony mocking Thor and calling him “weak.”  I have no fucking clue how they came to that conclusion, but I’m pretty sure that’s what they saw. 

And now, lets go back to Ultron and talk about a character and situation that infuriates me to no end.  Wanda and her involvement with Ultron.

Not only did the writers and characters of “Age of Ultron” have absolutely no problem in solely blaming Tony for what Ultron became, the majority of the people who watched it had no problem with it too. Even when in the fucking movie, it’s literally stated that Wanda manipulated his mind in hopes he would take the mind stone 

“I didn’t expect (gestures to Ultron), but I saw Stark’s fear, I knew it would control him, make him self-destruct.”

She fucking says she wanted him to take the mind stone because she knew it would cause something terrible to happen.

I’m pretty sure 99% of the reason Ultron became what he became was because of the mind stone, which was only even used in Tony’s program because Wanda basically mind controlled him into using it.  

And fucking yet.

Everyone, the characters and fans alike, were over the moon with Wanda’s bullshit “Stark can’t see the difference between saving the world and destroying it, where do you think he gets that from?” as it proved to them that Tony Stark was the monstrous villain they thought he was all along.

 AND FUCKING YET.

Tony’s whole fucking goal with the Ultron program in the first place was to protect Earth from threats he believed they wouldn’t be able to fight (and he was fucking right).  Wanda’s goal was to kill Tony, which fine, won’t get into that bullshit completely. But I’m 99% positive the scene where she lets the Hulk loose in Johannesburg that probably killed dozens of people, showed us that Wanda doesn’t really fucking care who gets killed, even if they’re innocent, as long as Tony Stark is in the body count.  And then when she finds out Ultron plans on killing everyone, which includes her and her brother, then she “see’s the light.”  BUT THEN STILL SOLELY BLAMES TONY FOR EVERYTHING SHE BASICALLY CAUSED, and the characters and the audience are like “YAS, WE STAN A QUEEN WHO EATS (AND KILLS) THE RICH!”

So coming around full circle, I’ve just had fucking enough of this scapegoating bullshit the writers have and will continue to be pulling on Tony Stark.  The “What If” Episode with Vision/Ultron will once again put the “Tony Stark was the main villain of the MCU and everything ever is his fault.”

And the fact that so many fans can and will twist anything Tony does to fit their narrative, and that the writers give them the ammunition with the scapegoating bullshit even though there’s so much evidence that shows `how truly good of a person Tony is just so fucking infuriating, disheartening, and just sad.

[keijislove]

Hi babe! I was wondering if I could request a Tony Stark x daughter reader? With lots of angst and her being locked in her room because she’s being bullied for her darker skin

(I understand if you’re not comfortable with this)

Safe Place: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

I think this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

Sorry :(

I hope you like this, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this matter, so I hope I captured the emotions right!

I AM APOLOGISING IN ADVANCE, THE HURTFUL COMMENTS MENTIONED HERE ARE NOT ONES I WOULD EVER USE IN MY LIFETIME.

GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE – YOU DON’T NEED DIMWITS LIKE RACISTS TO DEFINE BEAUTY. YOU WANT THE DEFINITION OF BEAUTY, GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

PUT A STOP TO RACISM.

WARNINGS: Slight EXTREMELY racial comments, mentions of death, toxic relationship, angst, Tony being a little... well, Tony.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was nearly everyone’s dream. Well, everyone you’d come across at school, anyway. It seemed rational from their point of view – big house, big bedroom, expensive branded clothing, basically an overall exquisite lifestyle coupled with fame of being his daughter which was sure to earn popularity points anywhere and everywhere. A man rolling in that amount of money would make a great dad... right?

You thought differently. Which was one of the main reasons you did not tell anyone who your father really was and your teachers understood your predicament and played along to your story of being an ordinary girl with no scope for coolness whatsoever.

Your mother had met your father a long, long time ago – when Tony was still in university. Of course, he’d left her before he even knew she was pregnant, and they never saw each other again. You didn’t exactly love your life as his daughter. In fact, from what your mother had told you, he was (in your vision) a complete monster whom your mother had the sad misfortune to meet.

It was her untimely death that had forced you to go live with the man who was the reason you were born and the man who ruthlessly left your mother to fend for herself and a baby. You had tried for foster care, but the agents told you that your father was still alive and more than capable of taking care of you – being the famous Tony Stark and all.

So it would suffice to say that Tony was lowkey shocked when you turned up at his doorstep one day with a grudging expression and declarations of being his daughter. He actually didn’t believe you at first and asked you to piss off which confirmed your earlier assumptions about his character – asshole. After you’d snapped at him and showed him all the legal documentations stating that you two were blood-related as father-daughter after all, Tony was even more shocked than earlier.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he felt sad after seeing your fourteen-year-old self standing at his doorstep. He’d missed your birth, your first steps, your first words, he even missed helping you with homework in preschool – basically all precious moments you enjoy with a child. But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be here – something that made Tony’s already overlarge pride swell like a bullfrog and stopped him from ever getting close to you. While you were busy thinking he didn’t want you, you overlooked a small detail – he took you in.

If anyone had the power to bribe an adoption agency to get rid of their kid, it was Anthony Stark, yet he never gave you away. The simple explanation (that he would never, in a million years, admit it to you) was that he didn’t want to lose you – around the only blood-related family he had left.

And so began your life as Y/N Stark. It functioned surprisingly well for your expectations. Pepper was really nice to you and those few occasions when the Avengers came over, you were able to talk to Natasha about ‘girl things’, her presence reminding you of the mother you had lost only too young. You sometimes even asked Bruce for help with homework, too proud yourself to go to Tony. Overall, you stayed out of his way while he stayed out of yours – an arrangement you were both satisfied with.

The worst part was that you never talked. Ever. You would wake up and walk to school, refusing Jarvis’ continued protests of letting you use the self-driving car, came home the same way where you did your homework and grabbed a snack before you ‘father’ came back upstairs from his little man cave in the basement and a small ‘good-evening’ passed between you two as you went your separate ways. This cycle repeated itself every day. Recently, your life at school hadn’t been going great.

You’d known that your skin tone was a notch darker than the others at your school – something you had gotten from your mother – and this was not something you really cared about. That’s when they started coming – the comments. What were originally small, snide retorts of ‘wash your face, ew!’ (A/N: I AM SO SORRY) had now escalated to them calling you obscene names you’d never heard before and asking you to leave ‘their’ school

Which was why, instead of being at school today, you were locked in your bedroom, sobbing into your pillow.

It had started out as a very unusual morning. After getting comments hurled at you left right and centre the previous day, you’d had enough. You’d woken up and declared to Jarvis that you were skipping school and he was to, under no circumstances, notify your father about this. After that you tried to eat some cereal, but the bubbling dread in your stomach made it taste like dry carpet, so you gave up and stomped into your room, locking the door before flinging yourself onto the bed and crying your heart out.

It was in times like these that you felt the need for something – a gaping hole in your chest. It seemed foolish to even admit it to yourself, but you really wanted someone like a parent. Someone who listened to your problems and comforted you accordingly, someone who actually cared about you. And since Tony Stark filled neither of these requirements, you gave up the foolish dream and sunk, once again, into your self-fashioned depths of misery.

-------

Tony casually sipped on his wine, putting one last screw into place to make the latest piece he was testing out. As he powered the device on, it vibrated for a moment before the words ‘model failed’ appeared on the screen Tony was examining.

He swore loudly and shoved it ungracefully aside before running his hands through his hair. There had been many an occasion where Tony seriously considered going to your room to just say something to you that wasn’t a monotonous ‘good evening’ or ‘the milk’s finished’ or something else like that. He wanted to talk to you. To you.

He wanted to get to know the real Y/N – what you were like when you weren’t too busy being bold and refusing to appear vulnerable. As if reading his thoughts, Jarvis’ voice filled the room suddenly.

“Sir, I do believe that Ms Stark is currently locked inside her bedroom. She refused to go to school just this morning.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why, did she tell you anything else?”

“Just this, Sir, along with a few obscene warnings of not informing you about this occurrence. If I recall correctly, Ms Stark told me she would rip out my sockets with her bare hands had I come to you.”

Ignoring the small smirk that was growing on his lips at the thought of you behaving exactly as he would, Tony wiped his tired hands on a nearby cloth before sprinting out the door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Go away Pepper, not in the mood,” came your muffled voice. It was weak and raw – evidently, you had been crying.

Ignoring the poking feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach, Tony knocked again.

“Open up, kid, it’s me,” he shouted.

“Definitely not in the mood, thanks.”

Tony sighed. This was exactly what he had tried so hard to avoid –turning out like his own father. Not knowing how to deal with a daughter properly, he just let you go about your business as you wanted, hoping that it would yield better results than what his childhood had been like. Now, looking back at how much he’d neglected you, he suddenly realised that he had done the exact thing he was afraid of – hurt you.

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark, open the door. Please.”

Perhaps it was the please at the end or the way he acknowledged you as his living, breathing daughter for the first time that made you stagger limply over to the door and push it open.

Your eyes were puffy, red and swollen from bawling nonstop and your brows were knitted into a disapproving frown. It broke Tony’s heart to see you like this.

“Listening,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“Okay, why don’t you sit down,” Tony frowned slightly.

You gave another hearty sniff and led him to your bed where you flopped down and watched as he took a seat beside you.

You both sat in a very painful, deafening silence for the next few minutes.

“You didn’t go to school today,” Tony casually remarked as you played with your pillow, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I did,” you said simply.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony offered.

“I really don’t,” you admitted as he burst out laughing and you gave a grudging giggle despite yourself.

“Seriously, kid,” Tony said in an undertone, “You’ve gotta open up a bit more. I mean, it’s been like what, two years since you moved here and you never bother telling me what’s going on. And look where that got you – come on, tell me what’s going on. Is it school?”

“Partially,” you quietly said to which he cocked an eyebrow.

“Completely,” you amended, sighing, “Kids, you know, they’re just being – well, mean.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded slightly, “You want to talk about it?”

“They... they make fun of me,” you admitted, “About – about my skin colour and stuff. And I know I’m being stupid, getting upset over this –”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony broke in, “It’s not stupid at all. Nothing gives anyone a right to talk to you that way.”

“Try telling that to them!” you burst out, final letting go of the pent-up emotions you’d been holding for days, “What did I ever do to them – it’s not my fault I look like this, maybe if I could choose what to look like, I’d choose something they want! Just about everyone seems to have a problem – what the hell do they expect me to do? It’s unjust, unfair, unsettling and unkind, but of course they don’t care, do they?!”

Tony didn’t even flinch throughout your entire outburst until you broke down and tears began rapidly pouring out of your eyes once more.

“Hey, hey, stop, listen to me,” Tony sternly said, seizing your shoulders and turning you to face him.

“You’re a Stark,” he said, gazing you dead in the eyes, “You are beautiful, you’re smart and you’re kind. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

This was too much for you to handle and you started sobbing again – sobs of partial happiness and partial guilt that didn’t look like they would stop anytime soon.

“Come here, kid,” was all Tony could say as he pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt while he stroked your hair, trying to calm you down.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been mean to you,” you whispered finally.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father all this time.”

You two sat in a now comfortable silence, occasionally clearing your throats or sniffling a bit before Tony finally spoke.

“If anyone says that to you again, I will have them cut up and fed to the fish in my house in Malibu.”

“Thanks, dad.”

[moonofiron]

Shikatema are always going to be my OTP. I think Shikamaru has truckloads of smooth beast™ potential/energy. And, Temari is a raging goddess who will only let Shikamaru tame her.

Set in post-Shippuden and pre-Boruto-verse.

Clearly, I really really dig intimacy, small underrated gestures, and a lot of eye contact during sex and that's kinda what made me write this one.

Anime: Naruto Shippuden

Characters: Nara Shikamaru x Temari

Genre: angst, fluff, flirting, smut, fingering, raw sex, explicit sexual content 🥵

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,013

Synopsis: Temari wants to learn Shogi.

Minors, dni, otherwise 10 years of bad luck.

Temari and Shikamaru had their backs against the wall of the Hokage's compound. They'd just come out of a meeting and Shikamaru wanted to smoke before they went out for lunch.

Who was he kidding. It wasn't so much about itching for a cigarette than it was about calming himself down. When it came to Temari, he could hardly think straight. He wanted to pull her into a kiss every time she said a simple hi. Her lips were hypnotising, like two soft clouds that were finally in his reach. Even the way she moved made his breath falter. The conviction with which she spoke made him want to slide his fingers inside her till she was babbling nonsense, till the only thing she said with that much conviction was his name. The bravery with which she fought made him want to kiss her toes, calves, knees; the devotee in him on full display under her. He wanted to feel the flesh of her hips in his palms. He wanted to feel her breath on his chest. He wanted -

"Ne, Shikamaru, why do you like Shogi so much?"

Shikamaru snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Temari dumbly before answering.

"Uh.. yeah..no, I just enjoy it a lot."

"You're always making reference to Shogi pieces and moves in strategy meetings."

"Hmm." He flicked his cigarette. "Let's go."

"What are you doing after lunch?"

"Nothing, just going to go back home and rest."

"Will you teach me Shogi?"

Shikamaru looked at Temari and sucked in air through his teeth. His mind was back to picturing her on his bed. It was back to undressing her, licking the smooth flesh of her neck, biting her cherry-seed nipples.

"Oi? I'm asking you something, Shikamaru? Where's your mind today?"

"Oh, we can play, sure." Shikamaru had an absolutely unreadable expression on his face. Temari looked at him funny and then pulled out the board game.

"Let's play now."

"Uhh.. you've been carrying this around? Tsk, mendukse."

"Please, I really want to learn how to play."

After a pause, she mumbled, "I think the kids at the orphanage will enjoy the game."

"What orphanage?" Shikamaru frowned.

"Nothing, I spend time with the kids at the orphanage back home. I play with them and teach them basic taijutsu and ninjutsu for self-defence. But, we're quickly running out of things to do. So, I thought Shogi would be a nice addition."

"Hmm. Let's go eat first."

They rounded up to a local teppenyaki. Shikamaru was eerily quiet at lunch. Temari felt uncomfortable but the food was so delicious that she let the discomfort go. She ate up quickly and waited for Shikamaru to finish, eager to learn Shogi. Every now and then she noticed him looking at her intently. She wiped her face frequently, thinking she may have something on her face.

She noticed how meticulously Shikamaru ate. He wrapped his long and lean fingers around the food delicately, almost as if he was making love to each and every bite. Temari felt a warmth spreading in her belly when Shikamaru lightly licked his fore-finger, middle-finger, and thumb once he was done. His thin, moist tongue darted out and his lips made the soft sound of a kiss as he took his fingers out of his mouth. His eyes didn't leave hers.

Temari realised a bit too late, her lips parted and eyes glistening, that he was aware of her gaze following his fingers. He had a lopsided grin plastered on his face and it infuriated Temari. She got up abruptly and excused herself to go the washroom.

Shikamaru wasn't blind to the affect he had on Temari. His lack of action was more about him not being able to figure out his feelings for her. He'd seen the way an apricot-blush rose to her cheeks whenever he did or said anything mildly suggestive.

He'd heard her low gasps and breathy sighs everytime he brushed against her accidentally. The way her body tensed against his sent him into a frenzy. He loved the way she softened around him when they were alone but hardened when they were with others. And honestly, he'd caught her looking at his lips way too many times. He knew she hated the smile he gave her in such moments. She fumed and her ears moved from the stress in her jaw as she clenched her teeth.

When Temari returned, the bill had been paid and Shikamaru was waiting for her outside.

"Let's go and teach you Shogi, hmm?"

"Umm, yeah. Thank you," she beamed. Shikamaru felt as if something had kicked him in his guts when she smiled like that. Oh, to have her smile like that always. To wake up to that smile. To be able to kiss the edges of that smile. To be -

"How far is your home?"

"What?"

"How far is it?"

"It's a quick 15-minute walk, love." Shikamaru knew he had faltered and felt a hammering in the back of his head.

"-What?"

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing! I just said it's a 15-minute walk...lovely in this weather."

"Hmm." Temari was too flustered to pay attention to Shikamaru lightly patting his shoulder for the excellent recovery.

They walked in silence till Shikamaru suddenly slowed down his pace. Temari stopped and turned around, already a few steps ahead of him. Her eyes widened. Shikamaru looked absolutely stunning in the soft sunlight. He was running his hands through his loose hair as he held hair-tie between his teeth. When he caught her looking at him, he held his hair in place and looked right back at her.

"Keep walking straight... unless you want to help?" He winked at her and smiled.

Almost as if she'd lost control of her body, Temari found herself holding the other end of his hair-tie between her teeth. Shikamaru's eyes widened and he grabbed her waist, his hair fell around his face like a glorious mane. His mouth pulled back the hair-tie from hers and spat it out. He immediately crashed his lips on hers, his hands dug into her plump waist as he kissed her hard. Temari, eager and equally enthusiastic, licked and bit his lower lip, making him groan softly. He shuddered as he felt her hands running through his hair and then as suddenly as Temari had caught his hair-tie between her teeth, she let go of him.

She covered her face with her hands as she came to her senses.

"Shikamaru, sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Hey...hey hey... it's alright, hey, look at me." He held her shoulders.

"I'm so embarrassed, I'm really really sorry."

Shikamaru moved closer but she flinched away.

He sighed heavily.

"Temari, stay still. And, move your hands away from your face."

When she didn't budge, Shikamaru spoke in a whisper.

"Please."

When she did, Shikamaru held her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips.

"It's okay. I'd do it again," he murmured against her chin and he sweetly pecked her lips. "And again." He briefly sucked on her lower lip. "And, again."

Temari's heart beat loudly against the quiet of the evening. He moved back, held her hand, and slowly started walking back to his house. A small smile played on his lips the entire time. His grip on her hand was hard and Temari felt as if a million baby sparrows had taken flight inside of her.

When they reached his place, Shikamaru didn't waste a single second. He closed the door, put the shogi board on the shelf, and pushed Temari against the door all in one move. He pressed his body against hers and kissed her deeply, hungrily.

Temari's shallow moans came alive as she felt his hands running all over her body. He had already undone her kimono and unhooked her bra. He'd thrown it somewhere behind him, almost as if he were angry at it. She felt the waistband of her panties dig into the right side of her waist as he pulled the other side, tearing them off. They snapped right off in his grip and she was stark naked in a matter of seconds. She gasped at the slight pain and at his urgency. She panted and struggled to speak, too aware of everywhere his hands touched her.

"Shika...Shikamaru...but, the...shogi.. please."

"Fuck shogi," Shikamaru growled in her ear as he felt her hands deftly removing his pants. He rubbed her slightly moist and throbbing clit. He pushed two of his fingers inside of her to pull out the slick he wanted to smear all over her pussy and his cock. She whimpered softly and bit his neck, bruises quickly blooming on his pale skin.

He fingered her relentlessly and when he felt her clenching around his fingers, he pulled his hand back. The loss of his palm's warmth made her shudder. He removed his jacket and t-shirt. His warm cock rubbed against her as he hitched her up on his arms and she wrapped her legs around his slender waist. He dug his hands in her ass and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Fuck."

Shikamaru breathed hard and he thrust into Temari in one quick motion, eliciting an obscenely loud moan from her.

She threw her head back and hit it hard on the door. "Ouch," she giggled.

"Shit, are you alright, Temari?" a pained expression crossed his face.

"Hmm," she couldn't stop giggling.

He was still throbbing inside her and she was still giggling, making Shikamaru's heart flutter. He kissed her lips again. He giggled with her, against her mouth, until their child-like giggles morphed into moans and pants as Shikamaru fucked Temari in a steady pace. Her tensed and tight body started loosening up slowly and then all at once as she gushed around him silently. He pulled his face back from the crook of her neck without breaking his stride too look at her in her most vulnerable moments. She looked gorgeous than ever before, and Shikamaru felt his balls tighten at the way Temari's lips repeated his name in a whisper and in quick successions, like a chant.

"Fuck Temari, you're... making... me.. lose it," Shikamaru grunted in between thrusts. That earned him a sweet coo from Temari; it made him want to go faster and harder but his hands pained. He carried her inside to his room, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Still impaled on his cock, Temari saw Shikamaru's face in the dim light. He looked like a hungry beast, his hair a lovely mess and stuck to his neck and his face. His forehead glinted with a thin layer of sweat and his lips were parted as he inhaled her. His cheeks were decorated with a rose hue she'd never seen on him before. Temari took a strand of his hair stuck to his lip and tucked it behind his ear. Her fingers lightly circled his nipples, making the hair on his arms and neck stand.

He looked so stunning that she felt herself shrinking in front of him. Before she could turn her face away from his gaze, Shikamaru started moving inside her with such gentle and slow strokes that she felt another wave of an orgasm building steadily.

"You're so gorgeous on me, Temari." She blushed at the soft but obscene remark.

"Still shy, are we?" Shikamaru smirked as moved inside her. He didn't let her eyes go as he licked her nipples and then softly bit them. When he pulled his face back to kiss her lips, Temari's face changed to an expression that he couldn't decipher. She looked forlorn.

He cocked his head at her in confusion.

"Please..." Temari mumbled.

"Please what, babe?"

"Please, don't stop."

"Oh, you like that, huhn?" he spoke against her breasts. His lips on her soft and plump flesh made her arch her back and thrust her breasts into his face.

"Sugoi kirei, Temari," he whispered, making her nipples harden against his tongue again. She could feel him smiling against her flesh and her face felt hot. She clenched around his cock.

"Are you going to cum around me again, baby?" he mumbled against her breasts, as if his voice dictated their rise and dip.

She noticed Shikamaru was warming up with his usage of endearments, too. To hear him address her like this was unbearable. It sounded so sweet and so intimate, she felt like his voice would tear her apart.

She moved her hips with him, matching his rhythm.

"Such a good girl, moving on me like that, hmm?" he asked her tenderly.

At this, she gasped and breathed out in a rush, "Shikamaru I'm cumming."

"Yeah, love?" he increased his pace as she pressed her thighs around him.

He felt her loosening up and felt her cum coating his inner thighs. He never ceased to move in and out of her as she spasmed around him. She buried her face in his neck and grunted his name in his ear as she came around him.

His balls, now moist with sweat and her cum, slightly tightened against her ass. He felt himself losing control and he quickly pulled out and laid Temari on her back.

Shikamaru stroked his cock lightly as he eyed Temari spread out on the bed. He couldn't help himself and he dove right in. He kissed her face and neck. He nibbled at her slender shoulders and plump breasts. He licked her tight waist and bit the baby-flesh around her navel. His calloused hands never left her body and Temari's hands never left his hair. He kissed her thighs and calves and knees till he was sure he hadn't missed a single spot on her.

When Temari pulled his face close to hers to take him in a kiss, he propped himself on his elbow, spooning her.

"Let me look at you." He turned her face towards his and hitched her leg on his arm. He slowly started entering her, stretching her out and letting her ease around him, too. When Temari closed her eyes, he stopped, making her frown and gasp. Her eyes flew open.

"Look at me, Temari."

Temari swallowed as she looked deep into Shikamaru's eyes. She felt his cock moving all the way inside her and the burning intensity with which he looked at her made her buck. She held his eyes, too.

"This is unbearable. Please," she whispered.

Shikamaru was now moving inside her with hard thrusts, punctuated by their conversation. They were both whispering raspily to each other.

"What's unbearable?"

"The way you're making me look at you."

"Why?"

"I don't know, it's too much."

"Don't you dare look away, Temari."

Temari bit her lip and nodded.

"You'll look at me, and only me, when I fuck you."

"Hai."

"You'll look at me when I make love to you."

"Hmm."

"You'll look at me when you cum around me."

"Hai."

"You'll look at me when I fill you up."

Her eyes widened and she involuntarily arched her back.

"Ha...hai," she said

Shikamaru bit his lip and smiled at her as he increased his pace.

He held her jaw with the same hand Temari's leg was hitched on, spreading her legs as much as possible. She felt full and stretched and Shikamaru couldn't take how tight she felt.

Her green eyes, slightly teared up because of the pleasure she felt as he fucked her, started rolling back. The moment that happened, he hardened his grip on her jaw and increased his pace. He wanted her to gush around him. He wanted her to make a mess of his clean sheets. He wanted her to coat his cock with her orgasm. When she opened her mouth to make up for not being able to throw her head or roll her eyes back, Shikamaru let her suck and bite on his fingers until she came. Her orgasm stayed with her like a thunderstorm that refuses to leave in time. She bucked against Shikamaru violently as he held her down, fucking her in small and quick thrusts, observing her every move and reaction to him overstimulating her. It was getting unbearable for him to control himself, too. He couldn't believe how goddess-like she looked in her most private moments. God, he could get used to a sight like that.

"Gaman dekinai, Temari," he spoke hoarsely and started to pull out only to feel Temari's hand on his wrist. The intense focus that painted his face morphed into mild confusion. Temari clenched around his twitching and strained cock.

"Let me look at you when you fill me up."

"Fuck, you're going to be the death of me, baby."

He thrust back inside her and pulled her hair hard. He started fucking her again. He frowned in focus but his eyes were soft as they looked into Temari's. A drop of sweat made its way from the tip of his nose to her cheek. The loud slaps of his balls against her clit drowned out everything else for both of them. It only took him a few thrusts before he came inside her, bucking wildly but maintaining his gaze with hers nonethless. The way he groaned, the way his eyebrows moved, the way his earrings shivered with him, everything about him as he filled her up made Temari's heart take flight to her mouth. He collapsed beside her and she felt the soreness in her thighs rising up slowly. His short breaths against her back were ticklish and when she laughed, he joined her.

She tackled and rolled above him the moment he calmed down. As his limp and spent cock rested against her ass, she traced his face with a finger.

"Come here." He made her lie down on him so her face was buried in his neck.

"So, the first thing about Shogi is that it's played on a 9x9 board, that is, 81 squares," he spoke with a smile in his voice while tracing mindless circles on Temari's back.

[crystal-witchiness]

***Okay so I found this in my notes from May 2021 as a reaction to the scenes in the beginning of Endgame when Captain Marvel first brings Tony and Nebula back to Earth, when they first get off the ship, and when Tony yells at Steve a few scenes later when he looks like ‘Death Warmed Over’ in his robe and i thought I’d share -

Every time someone argues with me about my ABSOLUTE 100% belief that Steve and Tony had romantic feelings for each other, I’ll just show them this scene. “And I needed YOU.” He didn’t say “You guys” or “Your help.” Tony looked at Steve with so much pain in his eyes and said, “I needed y o u.” And Steve is just as broken watching Tony. This isn’t the first time this has happened between them. They had MANY scenes like this in Civil War (but I like to pretend that movie didn’t happen cause ‘ow blow a hole in my ship why dontcha?’) I mean technically I could submit that whole movie as evidence of their feelings but there are too many negative emotions wrapped up in it and it hurts. This movie is the first time they’ve seen each other since Civil War and when Tony first gets off the ship he basically falls into Steve’s arms. First of all, Steve fricking S P R I N T S when he sees Tony getting off the ship, then Tony sighs in relief and lets Steve take his weight. AND IMMEDIATELY begins unloading his grief about losing Peter cause he knew Steve would understand and comfort him. You can SEE s e e when Pepper runs up that (Ofc Tony does another sigh of relief that the snap didn’t take her (which I wish it did sorry Pepper your character stopped being interesting in the 2nd Iron Man)) Tony has to pull himself off of Steve and pretend to have it more together than he does because Pepper immediately begins crying and Tony has to comfort her. But Steve doesn’t leave his side. Tony cradling Pepper but he’s turning his body so that Steve can cradle him and ugh. Honestly I would have accepted a polyamorous relationship. Tony NEEDED someone to be the leader. THATS LITERALLY WHAT PEPPER WAS TALKING ABOUT. Tony NEVER rests because he always thinks he has to be the one to do everything, EXCEPT for when Steve’s around. Steve is the Captain and even though they bump heads (a lot, awww couples’ squabbles) Tony ALWAYS defers to Steve when it’s important. And Steve? Steve HAS to be a leader, to be helpful, in a healthy way because he couldn’t be that for most of his life in the past. He was a scrawny defenseless guy who always had to depend on Bucky. So to be able to take care of this group of wonderful people who are so powerful and yet STILL NEED STEVE? It’s who he his. It’s who Tony is too but he doesn’t WANT to be that way, he does it because he has to. He does it when no one else can or he doesn’t want to lose anyone else. This scene right now is Tony feeling helpless and so he lashes out at the easiest person, Steve. Steve is their leader and has saved them many times. Tony saw that picture of Peter and couldn’t handle his own feelings of helplessness so he lashed out to bring down the next ‘leader figure’ of the group. Steve and Tony have always been the parents of the Avengers. Steve is the most dad-est dad ever to dad. Meanwhile, Tony invites everyone to live with him while feeding them, clothing them (armor and civilian clothes) and making sure they have top of the line protection. HE LITERALLY EVEN SAYS THIS IN AGE OF ULTRON. SUCH a mom. So he wanted to make Steve feel his pain because Steve made a promise that they would lose together and Steve wasn’t there on that moon. And OF COURSE Tony knows that Steve was on earth fighting his own battle against Thanos but he wasn’t WITH Tony. And they are always stronger together than apart. (Civil War kinda proved this too) Tony sees Steve’s absence as the reason they lost, because ‘if only they’d been together’ ‘maybe we could have won if we’d only been together.’

ALSO DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON TONY LITERALLY GIVING STEVE A REPRESENTATION OF HIS HEART. I know he did it out of anger and to make a point but he took away this piece of him, that he made SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE HE FELT VULNERABLE WITHOUT THE ARC, and gave it to Steve. Once again shedding that responsibility and giving it to Steve. Because even with the residual anger over Civil War, Tony trusts Steve. He says otherwise in this moment out of anger but that “vision” he talks about here? He literally watches Steve die (YEAH THATS RIGHT I SAID STEVE. Not PEPPER, NOT RHODEY, NOT ANY OF THE OTHER AVENGERS.) Wanda showed him his worst fear in Age of Ultron and it was the death of the Avengers, but he didn’t see THEM die. Everyone else, Thor, Bruce, Natasha, and Clint were already dead. Tony watched STEVE die and it was STEVE saying that Tony could’ve saved them that spurred him into creating Ultron. He was so scared of losing them and letting Steve down (and letting him die) that he wanted to wrap the whole world in armor to protect him. And he tries to do it again in this scene. He means it to be spiteful but he gives Steve his armor and tells him to hide from Thanos. WHICH IS ANOTHER THING UGH. Tony doesn’t know that out of all of the people who fought Thanos in Wakanda that day, Steve was the one who engaged in hand-to-hand combat with him. Everyone else had armor and suits, weapons, etc. Steve has his serum strength and he u s e d it. It didn’t help for very long but he used his BARE HANDS to fight an alien-monster wielding 5/6 of ALL POWERFUL infinity stones, and ofc he was never going to win, but even Thanos looked at Steve in incredulity at his bravery and resolve. A human (a super charged one at that but still a human) fought him with his bare hands and wasn’t going to stop. (Steve proved this again at the end of Endgame when he’s the last one standing against Thanos and his entire army and just tightens the strap on his broken shield, (and most likely broken arm, based on the flinch/hiss) and readies himself to fight alone. Steve also gave Wanda time to destroy the mind stone (unfortunately, that didn’t mean anything in the end)

AND YET Tony doesn’t know any of this. He doesn’t know how hard Steve fought, just like Tony did on Titan, to stop Thanos. And I REALLY wish we had seen Tony’s reaction to Steve standing up to Thanos at the end of Endgame OR EVEN WIELDING MJOLNIR, but anyways.

Back to the basics. Boss level stuff most people don’t remember or think about- Tony’s dad very unhealthily IDOLIZED Steve. He canonically compared everything Tony did to Steve. So Tony grew up idolizing this man that he also despised because it fueled his father’s abuse of him. Tony shows this anger in the first Avengers. When they have their argument on the quinjet. “Everything special about you came out of a bottle.” He even says something about how Steve didn’t live up to his father’s hype (I don’t remember Tony’s exact words but that’s the gist) And ofc Steve says Tony’s nothing without his armor. But then they go on the prove each other wrong multiple times, but mainly in their last moments in the MCU. Steve proves it by standing alone against an ENTIRE alien army and later by picking up mjolnir. And Tony? Tony is that ONE factor in a million that Stephen sees. Tony, a beautifully pure human-being, with no powers or serums to help, takes on the powers of the stones. KNOWING it would kill him. He had proof. It nearly killed Thanos and Bruce and they were hulking (pun intended) beings with super strength and all that.

Tony and Steve were always set up to be spoils to one another and that makes them perfect together. They balance each other out. Pepper was a boss b****, no doubt, and I loved their relationship in the first two Iron Man movies, but as their characters grew and Tony’s personality was intrinsically changed through trauma- Pepper was no longer right for him. She was good for him, no doubt, but Tony couldn’t relax with her as he did with Steve. Tony could trust Steve to take over and everything could be fine. Pepper was like that for Stark Industries but not in other ways. Tony always saw himself as Pepper’s protector. I will 100% give her props for telling Tony that he’d never rest until he tried Scott’s time travel theory, but other than that she wasn’t particularly supportive of Iron. Man. What Pepper never seemed to understand, and what Steve didn’t understand when he FIRST met Tony, is that Tony and Iron Man are synonymous. Their is no ‘man outside the suit.’ Tony Stark is Iron Man and Iron Man is Tony Stark. Steve was placed into an already created persona of Captain America. Steve didn’t create Captain America even though that’s who he was. He was literally MADE for the role. Tony on the other hand, MADE Iron Man. He was the one who built the first suit - dying in a cave in Afghanistan. He was the one who took responsibility for Obadiah and his father’s actions and became a superhero to save the countries that were affected by Stark tech. Steve may have volunteered to be a superhero because he felt like he had no one other choice but Tony DIDN’T HAVE TO. He had fame, money, power, ALL OF IT. He could’ve EASILY hidden his company’s dark underside once he found out. But instead, Tony was like “Hey um so my company has done some bad things and instead of delegating aid through my money and power, I’m going to personally handle this with a titanium alloy suit and technology that I helped create in a cave while being held captive by a terrorist cell.”

Where was I going with this? OH YEAH.

I will believe in TonyxSteve (Stony) for the rest of my life and I will use fanfiction to fill the void of their deaths. Basically, if I lost anyone in the word vomit above, what I’m trying to say is that- Steve and Tony completed each other. They provided something the other needed. Tony needed stability and protection. He needed to feel like he could let go. Steve needed an anchor in the present. Someone lively and opinionated, SOMEONE ADVENTUROUS AND FUNNY, who Steve could smile with and protect. But also. Steve trusted Tony to be a leader as much as Tony trusted him. They had their ups and downs. Trauma and the Accords didn’t help their relationship at all, but should’ve been it for each other. And I honestly believe they would have t h r i v e d.

.

.

.

Honestly I applaud anyone who made it this far. I don’t know where this all came from but I will not apologize✌🏻

I rest my case your honor.

[killerandhealerqueen]

Can I get some headcanons of drunk Jiang yuelou?

I feel like drinking today but I cannot. So, here I am asking for a drunk Jiang yuelou 😂

If you don't mind, can you please add how it Will be when Chen yuzhi got drunk?

Ah, living vicariously through another character. I see you, anon, I see you.

Jiang Yuelou is an emotional drunk. We've all seen the drama, he's an emotional drunk

He mainly drinks to forget, since a lot of shit has gone down in his life and parts of his past he would like to not remember

He doesn't normally go to bars to drink, he'll just buy up a couple of cases of beer and drink alone in his house or in his room

When he's drunk enough he'll either start crying, just because his life has been so hard and he's been strong for too damn long so he just starts to cry

Or he'll start throwing things because he gets super angry. This only happens when he starts thinking of the past, like when he shot Chen Yuzhi or when he let Keying (the fake Keying, not the real Keying) die in that car explosion. So he'll start throwing bottles around, smiling with satisfaction whenever they shatter into a million pieces (don't worry, Xiao Bai is always locked out of the room if Jiang Yuelou decides to get drunk because he doesn't want to hurt Xiao's Bai's paws if he accidentally steps on broken glass)

When Chen Yuzhi first discovers him drunk and angry and throwing bottles, he, as one does, rushes to stop him. Since Jiang Yuelou is drunk, he doesn't realize that it's Chen Yuzhi and accidentally hits him, sending him to the ground

That snaps Jiang Yuelou out of his drunk stupor because oh fuck he just hit Chen Yuzhi

He apologizes and helps Chen Yuzhi to his feet before he begins apologizing profusely. Chen Yuzhi just smiles and shakes his head, assuring him that it's not the first time he's been hit when someone was drunk

That statement, of course, makes Jiang Yuelou angry but Chen Yuzhi just has to assure him that he's talking about drunks when they're brought to the hospital, his parents never drank nor hit him or his sister

Jiang Yuelou hums as Chen Yuzhi picked up a bottle of beer and clinked it against Jiang Yuelou's, making Jiang Yuelou look at him in surprise

"It's better to drink with a friend than to drink alone"

Jiang Yuelou just laughs before he takes a swig of his beer, Chen Yuzhi taking a sip of his

They enjoy the rest of the evening together and for the first time Jiang Yuelou actually enjoys drinking instead of just trying to get drunk and forget the world

Bonus

Chen Yuzhi only gets really drunk once a year and that's on the anniversary of Keying's "death"

He doesn't drink beer like Jiang Yuelou does, he prefers Japanese sake or Baiju because it's stronger and he can get drunker much quicker

Like Jiang Yuelou he'll sequester himself in his room and just start drinking, downing shot after shot of sake or baiju, enjoying the burning feeling that the alcohol left going down his throat

Chen Yuzhi's not an emotional drunk like Jiang Yuelou, he just...kind of goes numb?

He basically drinks until he blacks out

When he wakes up, he finds himself in his bed with a glass of water and two pills on the bedside table, making him smile softly to himself

Just like he's there for Jiang Yuelou, Jiang Yuelou is there for him

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 5

I feel like now would be a pertinent time to mention that this is my first attempt at writing a sort of drabble series. The majority of my work is 50k-100k word nerd ass novels, and I think that this part will make that unfortunately abundantly apparent. I’m sorry for just how long it is, but I’ve absolutely loved writing these characters, and I got a little bit carried away with fleshing out the world a bit more ^^

Also, I feel I should probably mention that, though characters in this story speak Latin, I do not know any Latin. I wrote this using dictionaries and very basic grammar guides, and I sincerely hope I did not mess up too bad.

Thank you for reading! It’s a long one, but I hope you’ll enjoy.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, military setting (kinda), pet whump, dehumanization, past trauma, muzzles, restraints, conditioned whumpee, depiction of an implied panic attack, denial of water

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

Villain couldn’t help but shake and buck their head as a corrugation of metal and leather was slipped over their face, securing their jaw in its current position and forcing them to bite down against the pressure. It had been fitted since last time, they noted rather hollowly-- with a piece of padding now standing between the bridge of their noise and the harsh metal wires. Regardless of how many adjustments were made to the piece, however, making it comfortable seemed beyond their ability.

They, in this specific circumstance, referred mainly to the two soldiers before Villain. Trainer was the only one of the two that they knew the name of-- though they were nearly unrecognizable beneath the layers of gear shrouding their appearance.

The helmet they wore resembled more so that of a motorcyclist rather than that of an armed combatant, but the rest of their kit was far more military. Beneath their uniform bulged the clear outlines of a tac-vest, with their hands shielded by Kevlar gloves, constructed of an intricate mesh of triangular pieces, in a similar manner to chain-mail.

The other soldier was dressed in nearly identical kit, just without the gloves-- those were for handlers, which this other soldier must’ve surely not been. They turned to Trainer, noises in an odd language curling off their tongue. Trainer replied with a laugh.

With practiced hands, Trainer took the muzzle’s straps and secured them behind Villain’s head, tightening the metal until it dug into their skin, tearing at old sores created by the same device. Their leash was quickly hooked to a ring protruding from the muzzle’s wires.

“Manibus.” Trainer’s voice spoke. They nearly flinched at the sheer speed at which Villain offered their hands. Momentarily, Trainer ghosted their fingers over the leather mitten restraints that kept Villain’s fine motor abilities under control. They checked the wrist straps, ensuring their tautness, nodding their approval.

“Abeamus?” The other soldier suggested, to which Trainer gave another nod. They wrapped Villain’s leash around their wrist, halving its length, until there was negligible slack in the line.

Another group of soldiers, all dressed in military-style garments of their own, loitered together by the door to the staging room. They looked to Trainer, marginally straightening their postures, and, presumably, minimizing the amount of swearing in their speech.

With a few words and a flick of the wrist, the squadron was off.

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Leader couldn’t stop looking at Villain’s eyes.

They weren’t quite certain what had pulled them into such an odd trance. It was nothing about color, certainly, nor anything else physical or inherent-- they were unremarkable, in such respects. No, it was certainly something about the expression they portrayed.

A moment ago, they’d seen shattering fear turn to fury in these eyes. Now, they seemed blank, as though constructed of glass and merely painted upon. There was no expression beyond them, no recognition, no indication that Villain’s mind was occupied by anything at all. Their gaze stared straight through Leader, through the ceiling above as well.

Leader was torn from their daze by a commotion from behind them as the door was thrown open. Medic was nearly knocked over as Hero burst in, followed more ploddingly by Counselor.

“Be careful.” Leader warned, looking up and turning to the group. “There’s broken shit everywhere.”

Hero’s eyes darted around the room, seemingly taking in the mess. Broken glass coated the tile floor in a thin dusting of shards, while various mechanical parts still smoked in whatever place they had happened to end up. The lights had been blown out completely, leaving the lighting in the room to be provided by a flashlight laid on a countertop, as well as, now, the light soaking in from the hallway.

After their panicked scan, Hero settled their gaze on Villain.

“Are they...”

“They’re fine.” Medic interrupted.

“They’re not moving.”

“Well... I’m going to hazard to say that that’s a good thing. If I had to guess, it seems like a shock response. It’s not exactly my biggest concern, right about now.”

“What about the, uh, bleeding hole in their chest?”

“That would be my biggest concern.”

Medic grabbed a variety of, miraculously undamaged, medical supplies from a cupboard, setting to work at Villain’s wound. It was small, deliberate, having been incised to be used as an access point for the dialysis machine, but Leader had a feeling that even minor blood loss could be a death sentence, at this point.

Hero and Counselor hovered, for a moment, at Villain’s bedside, while Medic did their work. Leader stood back, nearly having to forcibly tear their gaze from that of Villain.

That odd sort of silence remained for several moments, if not minutes, as Medic’s deft hands worked to close the wound. It was only when the last suture was tied that Counselor spoke up-- one of the only times they had done so for the whole mission.

“Leader?”

“Hm?”

“What’s our plan, exactly? What are our orders?”

They raised a brow. Counselor was never that direct-- nor that military.

“Um...” It felt quite stupid, being caught unprepared like this, but in their defense, they had nearly just been killed by an exploding air conditioner. “I... I don’t want to hazard doing anything until Villain is stable.”

“That was your plan before.” Medic muttered as they pried latex gloves from their hands. “It almost got us killed.”

“Right. Yeah, um, are they stable enough? For transport?”

“They’re not going to bleed out, if that’s your concern. Physically, I’d say they’re stable. Mentally? I think we need to get them to a secure location before they snap out of this fugue state.”

“Alright.” Leader chewed their tongue. “Let’s get the van ready, then.”

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The ship’s deck was notably busy, despite the fact that it was relatively late at night. The vessel’s skeleton crew hurried about, keeping it afloat and on track, while outdated Humvees drove in chaotic paths. What the commotion was about was beyond Villain’s knowledge, or their capacity to care. All that mattered was fighting their instinct to cover their ears, and ensuring that they were keeping up with Trainer.

They could feel it-- the boat-- beneath them. The millions of systems and circuits and electrons, thrumming and being jolted about by a swaying sea.

The small company that Trainer had gathered made their way to the far end of the deck, where a VTOL plane was already humming, waiting for its crew to board. They did so, clustering themselves into the compact cabin. There was, notably, no room the vessel for a pilot-- all steering operations would be handled by an artificial intelligence of sorts. Villain greeted the computer program, but it did not respond.

Trainer settled themself into a middle seat at the front of the cabin. Villain sat obediently at their side, at which point their leash was secured to a handrail sticking out of the wall. They rested their head against the window. Though the cabin was crowded, at the very least, Villain was no longer forced to make the trip in the K9 compartment.

Once every member of the company was settled and seated, the VTOL’s doors slid shut, and the engine thwapp-thwapp-thwapped until the aircraft was off the ground. It shot upwards for a second, traveling several hundred feet in the time, before entering a linear dive and settling for a position around fifty feet above the choppy waters.

Villain closed their eyes, allowing their mind to wander to the creature around them. The VTOL contained what was likely the most complex computer program that the Organization had. Despite all its bells and whistles, however, it paid no mind to Villain’s prodding and wandering.

The plane’s route was not awfully complex. The vehicle was designed, surtout, for water-based travel. Though it could move over land, it struggled to rise above three hundred or so feet, making it useless for far-inland routes. Wherever it was going today was, luckily, on the coast-- somewhere in the forests of Washington state.

If they so wished, Villain could alter the route in any way they so pleased. They could send the aircraft into the ocean below, or back into the ship, or into the first land they saw. It would be simple-- all their problems gone in a moment.

Once the plane’s angle had leveled out, Trainer stood, moving to the front of the plane. Villain gnashed their teeth, attempting to rise from their seat, but finding themself limited by the taut leather line on their muzzle. They were too far, they were on mission, they shouldn’t have been so far, come on, come on. The leash refused to give way, however, leaving them firmly affixed in position.

Trainer cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the gathered company. They began to speak, words taking on quite a commanding air, though Villain only understand a few choice phrases.

“Incursus” was the one that made them prick their ears. They had heard it only a few times before. In conversation, once or twice, but more notably during mission briefings. The last time they had heard it... several missions ago, before they had been briefly confined to the medical wing.

The word itself was meaningless-- its implications less so.

Villain gulped, their jaw straining against the wires of their muzzle.

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Leader walked at the side of the gurney, ghosting a hand over one of the siderails all the while. A pair of doctors pushed the gurney itself, with Medic trailing close behind, and Hero and Counselor at their sides.

In contrast with the upper floors, the hospital’s lobby floor was brightly lit, almost overwhelmingly so, with expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows. The beige carpeting was bathed with the last remnants of sunrise orange-- it had been a long night.

The few patients in the hospital at such as hour were hurried out of the way as the gurney moved through. A scattering of nurses and varied hospital personnel were littered about, watching the Heroes’ procession, but staying several yards away, unwilling to even be in Villain’s vicinity.

Leader looked down at the gurney. A blanket had been draped over Villain, working to keep them at a stable temperature. Their fabric and webbing restraints had been replaced by those made of metal.

Their eyes were open. They had been the whole time. Despite, they had yet to struggle in any form.

The automatic doors at the front of the lobby rumbled open, allowing the gurney to be pushed through. A team of doctors and Leader’s own personnel stood outside, gathered around an ambulance with its back doors hanging open. The doctors pushing the gurney passed it off to some of the stronger personnel, who lifted the contraption into the vehicle’s back, securing it.

Leader nodded their thanks, and moved to get behind the vehicle’s wheel.

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The ship hadn’t been too far off of the East coast to begin with, making the trip to Washington a relatively short one. It took one hour, thirty-six minutes, and eighty-two seconds, to be exact-- far more amicable than the 16-hour trips they had endured in the past.

The VTOL had made a measured descent into a forest clearing, shredding the grass below with its landing gear. With the doors open, the company had scrambled out; Trainer taking Villain’s leash in hand once more.

In the clearing, there had been no sign of life besides a scurrying songbird or two. Villain had only then realized a far more unpleasant aspect of the mission.

They were going to be marching.

Not marching, exactly, they supposed. There was no regimented order to it, it was more like hiking. Just... hiking for hours. The VTOL couldn’t go too far inland, and landing it close to a target was often impossible.

So, they marched.

Sometimes, heaven would be merciful, and the trek would be short, of only a mile or so. On crueler days, though, they would move for hours-- breaking only for water, which Villain would watch the soldiers drink with a parched throat.

Even just from the look of the clearing, and its location, however, Villain had been able to tell that today was not one of those more merciful occasions.

When the plane had landed, the moon at been at its highest point--signifying that midnight had struck. For the first few hours, they walked in darkness, until dawn slowly began to creep up.

All in all, the trek had taken four hours, most of which were spent walking. By the time the group stopped and crouched down, Villain felt their legs were about to snap. It had been far too many hours and far too many miles since they had cared to look at their surroundings. All that mattered was Trainer, and staying awake.

The company made themselves small among an area of heavy undergrowth. Trainer let Villain’s leash loosely hang around their wrist. Even if the technopath had any desire to flee, they doubted they could even get their legs back under them.

One of the soldiers spoke up, somehow sounding hardly winded. Though most of their words served as nonsense to Villain’s ears, one did stick out: Scopum. It was one of the words Trainer had used, back when they were teaching Villain how to search and retrieve objects.

Trainer nodded, took a drink of water from a canteen, and got to their knees. They pointed to something behind the bushes-- Villain got on their knees to look at well.

Over the wall of undergrowth, a building could be seen. It wasn’t particularly notable-- it would be best described as a cabin, with rustic architecture and an array of out-of-season Christmas lights. It seemed to be a vacation home of sorts; large enough to fit a family, certainly, but not a place anyone would live permanently.

Was this their Scopum? Their goal?

Trainer took hold again of Villain’s leash and stood. The real mission was just about to begin, and Villain could hardly stand.

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The drive from the hospital to their base was longer than Leader would have preferred, enough to make them nervously request updates every few minutes, much to Medic’s distaste.

The base stood at the edge of one of Washington’s denser forests, about half an hour out from the city proper. The location provided security, and in their group’s early days, secrecy, but it made transport difficult.

“Hey, Medic?” Leader started.

“Villain is fine. They’re still out of it. Cabin temperature is staying steady at 70, their body temperature is just about where it should be. Keep your damn eyes on the road.”

Leader nodded, biting the inside of their cheek. City traffic had been left behind a few miles ago, leaving only empty back roads. Seven minutes to go, the GPS diligently reported.

“We’re close now, then.” Medic spoke, starting the conversation for once. They weren’t usually the one to do such a thing, but Hero and Counselor were in the ambulance’s back. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking?”

“Your plans. Please don’t forget that you’re the leader around here, you give the orders. What do we do, when we get back to base?”

Leader bit their tongue to prevent themself from snapping at that passive insult. They were glad for the change in topic, at least.

“Our first priority is keeping ourselves safe. Villain’s safety is second priority-- I’m not sacrificing anything to keep their wellbeing. But I wouldn’t consider them a threat, right now. I assume you would like to keep them in the med bay?”

“For now, at least. They’re stable, but the fact that they’re still breathing is a miracle. I want to have my equipment nearby if they crash.”

“As long as it’s safe, then.”

“And then what?”

“Then... they’re still a prisoner, injured or not. Then we put them in the cells.”

“We don’t have any cells?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The company moved swiftly, forcing Villain’s legs to wake up to the horrible feeling of pins and needles. Trainer remained at the group’s head, leading them forth to the cabin.

It must have looked quite ridiculous, to an outsider. Villain would have laughed if they were able.

The group stopped before the quaint structure.

“Aperire.” Trainer ordered. Villain gnashed their teeth.

The command was a simple one, generally. It meant that they were to open something-- usually a door, or a box, or an encrypted device. The wooden door before them, however, had no electric component; it didn’t even seem to have a lock at all.

Still, they dove into the few electronics that the building did host. The Christmas lights seemed to be meaningless noise-- they tore through those, searching instead through the inner electronics. They were uncomplicated, so much so that their purpose couldn’t be so much as guessed.

Villain panicked, gnashing their teeth, shaking their head against the muzzle. They didn’t know what to do. They could feel their heartbeat, pounding in their head, throbbing.

“Aperire.” Trainer repeated. It only increased Villain’s heartrate-- what were hey doing wrong? Please, what were they doing wrong? They dove back into the systems. There was no door to be seen, just the lights, just some random system. They decided on the latter, tripping the system, just as they drew blood from biting down on their own tongue.

The house rumbled.

Instead of opening as a door should, the rustic home’s door slid into the wall, revealing a brightly-lit interior-- devoid of both furniture and interest.

The only point of interest was at the very center of the floor: A ramp, leading downwards.

Villain gulped. With rougher hands than before, Trainer yanked at their leash, forcing them forth. Together, the two descended, the company right on their heels.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The base-- it had no real name, it was simply “the base”-- was an uncomplicated corrugation of concrete walls and sparse entranceways. It had been constructed as the shell of a factory, years ago, a factory which eventually fell through. Since then, Leader had organized quite a renovation of the property.

They drove the ambulance to the base’s parking lot, backing up to the curb as near to the entrance as they could.

“You worried?” Medic asked.

“Mhm.” Leader nodded, hopping out of the cockpit and to the asphalt below. The ambulance’s rear doors had already been swung open, with Hero and Counselor working to guide the gurney from it.

Villain still laid on the bed, shrouded with blankets, nearly comatose.

Their eyes moved.

Leader did a double-take, looking back to the figure on the gurney. Villain’s gaze had moved, now directing itself straight at Leader. Whatever expression they were portraying... it looked like fear.

Leader frowned. They moved to the transport bed’s side, placing their hands on the rails.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ramp descended at least a story into the earth.

With every step they took, Villain could feel their mind become more and more cluttered. At first, they could only hear the simple lighting and ventilation systems, but as they grew deeper, more noises joined the cacophony. Computers and servers, medical equipment and weaponry, it all blended together, all humming, all whirring, all chanting until it made Villain’s head hurt.

At the base of the ramp, which they only reached after what felt like an eternity, stood a simple door. Nothing more than a steel barrier.

“Perdere.”

That command was about as simple as they came. Within a split second, the door, and half of the wall, before Villain had been decimated to rubble.

On the other side of the newly-torn door, a figure moved. Villain flinched, gnawing again on their bloodied tongue. Trainer forced them forward.

The room was empty, devoid, as the past one had been. There was no furniture, no weaponry, no defense. Only a person, standing squarely before the door at the far end.

Their wings brushed the room’s walls.

Leader glared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

As they leaned over Villain’s bedside, Leader smiled-- an expression as gentle as they could make it. They weren’t sure what had suddenly turned them so soft. Pity, maybe? Somehow, though, it tugged at them in the same way as nostalgia.

They brushed a hand over Villain’s shoulder.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

The next part was the stupid one. The soft one, the one that would have made anyone in any faction laugh. One that, if anyone had heard it, Leader surely never would have lived down. Even they were not sure why they spoke it.

Five simple words. Five words without meaning.

“Welcome to your new home.”

[everydayescapeartist]

JB Fic Exchange Recs - AU Oneshots

Well, I’ve gotten through about half of the @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange fics at this point, which is both not nearly enough for my liking and also pretty impressive for me, lol. I wanted to get some recs out ahead of the reveal because the wealth of talent in this fandom should be celebrated and shouted from every rooftop...and here we are down to the wire.  Haha!  Obviously, there are SO many more awesome fics available, so take this as just a lovely sampling.  Thank you dear authors for sharing your talents with us all!

Bug Juice: Jaime and Brienne's Summer at Camp - THIS IS MY GIFT FIC!  READ IT NOW!  Okay, even if this wasn't my gift fic, I would absolutely love this fun romp of a fic.  My prompt was basically summer camp with JB flair and my author took that to such a level of creativity and snark, it was just beyond perfect!  This one is in Myrcella's POV...I didn't even know I needed this, but I really did!  She's watching the season finale of a reality tv show that's set at summer camp.  Everyone is riveted by Jaime and Brienne's will-they-won't-they, enemies-to-lovers subplot, Myrcella included, even though she does have a bit of insider knowledge naturally.  I love the way this is written like reality show segments, with Myrcella's brilliant reactions/commentary/texting of her uncle from her couch.  There are commercial breaks that will crack you up.  A very serious discussion about Capture the Flag is had.  The GoT show digs are fantastic.  Really, this is the fic you need to read if you like smiling for long periods of time and laughing potentially so hard you spew your drink.  Oh, and also if you enjoy a good ole reality show HEA.  Excerpt 1: “When Daenerys took over as Camp Director mid-session, I was worried,” Jaime says to the camera, running his good hand through his hair. “I have a complicated history with her father and she doesn’t trust me. The young Starks don’t exactly either, but Brienne has fought for me. She insisted that I am good at my job—good with the kids. She said that I am a good man.” Jaime’s eye twitches just a touch as he stares straight ahead, his face otherwise a mask of calculated neutrality. Myrcella picks up her phone, about to text her uncle to make fun of how sappy he is when the scene switches to Brienne. Excerpt 2: Brienne takes a long sip, eyeing Jaime skeptically over the rim as she lowers her cup. OMG, when are they going to make out? Just kiss him! Ugh, they better kiss or I’m going to lose my damned mind. “You keep it warm enough in here,” he complains with a sigh, brushing past Brienne, who slowly sets her cup down and turns to him. She wipes her wide palms on her shorts and watches his back as he struggles to shed his hooded sweatshirt. Excerpt 3:

“Nooooo!” Myrcella screams and falls off the couch. She lands on the ground with a thud. She scrambles to untangle herself from her blanket and clamour back up onto the couch to grab her phone. She sends Jaime a shouty text.

Score - Jaime, Brienne, and bar trivia!  Also, face-sitting goodness...what's not to love?!

Excerpt: “And because I was right and you were wrong, I demand you two go on a date.”

“Excuse me,” Brienne squeaked. Was Tyrion trying to humiliate her? How could he suggest something so absurd without a cruel intention?

To Jaime’s credit, he had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. He even blushed. “Stop it, Tyrion,” he said, annoyed.

“I’m serious,” his brother replied. “You two have been flirting all night. Do something about it or this trivia arrangement will not work out in the long run.” Privilege - Jaime coming up with ridiculous lawsuits so he can keep spending time with his lawyer, Brienne (and a couple not-so-ridiculous ones too).  This one is hilarious and clever and also very sweet.  Do yourself a favor and read it!

Excerpt: “Jaime. At this point, I have known you for eighteen months—”

As their drinks appeared, he tapped his mochaccino against her tea. “Cheers!”

“—we have never not been in court! Seven Hells, Jaime, last month you had me sue Stoneheart Press because you didn’t like the representation of Goldenhand the Just in their line of historical fiction novels.”

He took a sip of his coffee. Anyone else would look ridiculous drinking what was essentially a dessert in a three-piece suit. But not Jaime. Jaime just…looked good. “And you won all those cases, Tarth. You’re good. Occasionally graceless while dealing with opposing counsel, but good all the same.

I hope our paths will croissant again - the way to my heart is baked goods...no, really, my hubby's a good and generous baker.  So, any story where Jaime has baking skills is going to appeal to me.  That said, this one is sweet and funny and has some pining and dare I say it was delicious?  Go enjoy it!

Excerpt 1: “She didn’t hire me,” Jaime says. “She’s holding me hostage, actually.”

  She stares at him for a moment, and then realizes he’s joking, and he laughs uproariously at the look on her face. 

“I’m good at my job. Why’d she hire you? ” 

Excerpt 2:

When Jaime comes back to work, he teases her again, though lightly, and she assures herself that whatever she felt in his apartment that evening is something that he can’t possibly reciprocate and nothing is ever going to come of it, so they can just be coworkers and it will be fine. She scrubs the kitchen countertop very aggressively when he comes to help her with a batch of coconut cake and hopes he doesn’t see her blushing. Thankfully, he then spills coconut flakes all over the kitchen floor and she has to get the broom and by the time she comes back her heartbeat has slowed down properly. She tells herself she’s being very, very stupid. The stupidest, really. Absolutely top tier stupidity. 

On Paper - Addam is wingman extraordinaire, guiding is best friend through some unintentional sandwich wrapper flirting.  

Excerpt:

He knew better than to bring a date to Tarth’s. It was a surefire way to ruin a good thing in case of nasty break up.

Bringing his best friend along should have been safer. Less risky.

It would have been if his best friend wasn’t Jaime Lannister, that’s for damn sure.

Meet Me Cute - J & B are bodyguards to Sansa and Margaery and are forced to be around each other following their charges’ meet cute and all that follows.  This is told through multiple POVs and is so fun!

Excerpt:

“Margaery, can you tell Jaime to stop using ‘our’ when referring to me,” Brienne replied, opting not to engage with him directly.

Margaery sighed and turned towards her girlfriend’s bodyguard. “Jaime… why does Brienne hate your guts?”

“Not what I said.”

Jaime shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“Don’t know?” Brienne exclaimed, snapping her head up to glare at him. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Sansa chimed in. “And Jaime has told me a lot about you.”

“You shush,” Jaime said. Sansa simply laughed.

vellichor - This mesmerizing story of a world-renowned violinist and a used-bookstore owner is told via before & after segments that reveal the development of the characters and of this beautiful relationship.

Excerpt:

So he does not let himself falter as he surveys the audience, sketching out a half-bow before lifting the violin and settling it against his shoulder. His bow is still loose in his right hand, and it trembles when he goes to raise it, the scars protesting a motion he has done a million times.

Those watching will see his hesitation as part of the show, the spectacle—a prolonging of his grand return is what the articles will say tomorrow morning. They will not see the terror that jolts through his body, the fingers of his left hand pressing harder against the strings. They will not see his eyes wandering over to a box on the left side of the hall, the box where a few people he has carefully chosen sit, leaning forward along with the rest.

They will not see how he searches for a tall woman sitting among them, nor will they see the ache that takes hold of his heart when the spotlight blinds him and he is unable to push through the curtain of brilliance to see if she is there.

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

I Got Protected by a Ten-Year-Old

Pairings: N/A Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remy, Janus, Logan Chapter warnings: physical and emotional abuse (only in the first part), alcohol mention, hit and run mention, intoxication mention, intimidation, mentions of dying, casually discussing kidnapping children, spoilers for The Fox and the Hound, if you’re reblogging on mobile you might have a bad time Word Count: 8,789

Summary:

“Hey, kid, want to go for a ride?” Virgil asked.

“I’m not supposed to get in a stranger’s car,” Roman mumbled.

“I know.” Virgil scratched a hand through his hair. “But would you rather be here on the street where someone will kill you or worse or get in a car with someone you kinda know who might kidnap you?”

Roman opened his mouth to answer but closed it soon after. He spied Remy with a wary grimace. Remy looked over at Virgil, his eyebrow quirked with interest, and grinned.

“Alright fine,” Roman mumbled. He eyed the limousine and scooted in first. “But if you kidnap me I’ll bite you again.”

“Again?” Remy asked as he turned his head to Virgil.

“Do. Not. Ask.”

“Y’know, babe, Janus ain’t gonna like that you picked up a kid.”

Virgil slid into the car. “Shut it, Remy.”

Ao3 Link

==

Virgil hated working on this side of town. It wasn’t often Janus sent Virgil here in the three months he’d been working for him, but he still hated it nonetheless. If something happened, there wasn’t anyone he could call for help or anyone who would come to his rescue. He was completely on his own.

Nothing bad happened yet, but the anxiety of being alone in this place gave him more ideas to work with than he needed.

The house in question belonged to a single mother of three. The oldest dropped out of school two years ago to deal for Janus, and Janus wanted to make sure that this kid, Michael, was alive. He hadn’t heard from the kid for three weeks, and that unnerved the head crime boss. Virgil knew it was probably from a business perspective, but there was something about Janus that made Virgil believe he genuinely cared about the people who he was ruining the lives of for… some reason.

Virgil sat against the door and listened. No noise came from the inside. He wondered for a minute if no one was home. But that couldn’t be right. There was a car parked right outside, and while this was a street where someone had to parallel park, people usually parked in front of their homes, right?

A door slammed from inside the house, and Virgil heard a shriek. A man’s voice, a very angry man from the sound of it, was screaming inside.

“I told you to get that shit off your face!”

Another thud followed a scream. Virgil covered his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound. A woman’s scream followed, as well as a struggle inside. Virgil heard some choice words before the woman screamed as well, a loud thump sounding seconds after.

“Baby! Baby, I didn’t mean it.”

Virgil snuffed. Sure you didn’t.

The woman started screaming for the man to get out. Virgil took this as his cue to get off the front porch and hid in the bushes beside the house. The door flung open. Virgil watched as a woman with blood dripping down the side of her face pushed a man out of the house and nearly down the flight of concrete steps. She slammed the door in his face.

“Baby! Oh, baby, come on. Can’t we talk this out?” the man pleaded. He pounded his fists on the door. “Jaquesha!”

“Go away!” the woman shouted back. The man growled some ugly words about the woman he was just trying to sweet talk and stomped down the stairs. He took one last look at the house before he stormed down the street.

Virgil snuffed. He hoped the bastard got a sunburn.

Inside the house, Virgil could hear light crying. Soothing whispers followed, and Virgil got enough courage to peek in the window.

The woman from before was cradling a kid, maybe around Virgil’s age. Their mascara streaked down their face, ruining their beautiful sunshine yellow sundress.

“It’s okay, Michael. He’s gone,” she whispered over and over. “He just doesn’t understand.”

Virgil’s heart broke. How many times did he hear parents making shitty excuses for their awful spouses? How many kids got their nose broken, their face pressed into the carpet as they bled all over the floor? How many victims had to suffer before parents realized domestic abuse never got better?

Virgil’s mind went to Logan, and he shuddered.

The phone in Virgil’s pocket suddenly felt heavy. He slid the unlock button and pressed the only contact in the phone. After three rings, he heard the smooth voice on the other side answer.

“Virgil, how’s our little Michael doing?” Janus asked.

Virgil peeked inside the window one last time before responding, “Well, from the looks of things, not that great.” The phone on the other side went eerily quiet. Virgil added, “From the looks of it, mom might be in an abusive relationship.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Janus mumbled. “Totally not expected from that side of town.”

“From what I heard, the bastard got mad that the kid was wearing makeup.”

“Is he alright?”

Virgil peeked in the window once again. He slid back down the side of the house. “Looks like he has a black eye at least. I don’t know about anything else.”

Another long silence answered him.

Janus finally said, “I’ll send someone over to check up on him later. Thank you, Virgil. You did a good job. I’ll have Remy swing by and pick you up. He should be there in ten minutes.”

The connection closed, and Virgil sighed through his nose. He ran a hand through his hair and let his head rest against the side of the house. For a moment, Virgil considered knocking on the door and helping them do some basic first aid, but he didn’t want to intrude either.

Lucky for him, some crying on the other side of the street caught his attention and made his decision for him.

A young kid wearing a plain white shirt with so much dirt on it he must have fallen in the mud several times, torn black jean shorts, and no shoes walked down the street. He had a red backpack with yellow polka-dots all over it. Clutched to his chest for dear life was a piece of paper. His hair was buzzcut, too short for Virgil to make the color out, and his dark skin was either glowing with tears or sweat or maybe both. Either way, Virgil could see how thin he was from here.

It took all of two seconds for Virgil to leave the bush and cross the street.

“Hey, kid,” he called out.

The kid saw Virgil, froze, and backed up. Virgil stopped in his tracks. The kid lost his balance and fell backward with a light cry. He started whimpering and sliding backward.

“Go away! Leave me alone,” the kid yelled.

Virgil put his hands up in surrender, and he asked, “Are you lost? I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help, black-eyed peabrain,” the kid snapped.

“Oh ouch,” Virgil said as he put a hand to his chest in mock hurt, “quoting band names to insult me. How creative.”

The kid scowled and scampered to his feet. “Get out of my way or I’ll fight you.”

“You’ll fight me?” Virgil said with a raised brow.

“Yeah, I’ll fight you.” The kid stood with his fists held up, his stance totally out of balance. He wasn’t even holding his fists right to punch.

Virgil couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips. At that, the kid lunged forward, a cry tearing from his throat. He bulldozed into Virgil’s chest. Virgil held still. The kid squeezed his arms around Virgil’s torso and bit his shirt.

“Yo, what the fuck!” Virgil put his hands on the kid’s shoulders to push him off. The kid growled like a dog as he shook the shirt in his mouth. Virgil pulled the kid off his torso, but the kid’s bite held firm. “Dude, get off.”

The kid said a “no” behind his clenched teeth and shook his head again. Virgil didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he could feel a million eyes on him. He was sure this was going up on someone’s social media somewhere.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone if you get off, deal?” Virgil asked.

The kid paused, looked up at Virgil, and spit out the shirt. He wiped the drool running down his chin.

“Gross,” Virgil mumbled as he observed the huge wet spot of snot, tears, and spit. He curled his nose before he looked back at the kid. “Why are you out here with no shoes on anyway? Don’t you know your feet are going to burn on the sidewalk?”

The kid looked down, his eyebrows shadowing his eyes. He mumbled something, and Virgil had to strain his hearing to pick it up.

“You’re… looking for your brother?” Virgil repeated.

The kid held the paper out, still not meeting Virgil’s eyes. Virgil took it and sucked in a breath through his teeth. A foster care application. Great.

“Someone stole him from me,” the kid added on.

“Stole him?”

“Yes, stole him! Is there an echo in here?”

Virgil tried not to take offense as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so this person stole your brother. Did they happen to separate you from your family too?”

The kid looked down at his bare feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s none of your business, Inspector Gag-dget.”

Virgil pushed the paper into the kid’s chest and turned on his heel to walk away. “Whatever. If you don’t want my help-”

“Wait!”

Virgil turned, and the kid had a hand stretched out as the other clutched the paper to his chest. He waited for the kid to continue.

“Can you at least tell me where West Tammy Street is? Please.”

Virgil snorted before he replied, “It’s on the other side of the city. It’ll take you a few hours to get there if you walk.”

“A few hours!” The kid cried out. “But I’ll never make it there before dark.”

“Not my problem.”

“Wait, please! I’ll get lost.”

Virgil heard the sound of feet pattering after him. He turned, and the kid stopped at his side. The kid’s eyes glistened with tears as he stared up at Virgil.

“So?” Virgil asked. “I thought you didn’t need my help.”

“I-” the kid looked down. He stared at the paper in his hand before he clutched it close to his chest. “I don’t want your help. But. But I guess. I need it.”

Virgil rose a brow. He sat down on the sidewalk, his feet resting on the street, and leaned back on the palm of his hands. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Princeton Roman Cooper,” he proudly proclaimed. He sat down next to Virgil on the street and added, “The third. But everyone calls me just Roman.”

“I’m Virgil,” he said as he held out his hand. Roman took it and gave it an overexaggerated shake. “So, Roman, why aren’t you, you know, out looking with your parents?”

“Because,” Roman replied as he looked down, “Dad’s… not home. He got taken away.”

“Oh,” Virgil mumbled.

“He was a good dad,” Roman defended. “He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t hurting anyone! He just fell asleep in the wrong place, that’s all.”

Virgil’s heart cracked at that. He pressed his hands against his lips and sighed. “I’m sure.”

“I don’t get why they have to be so mean to him,” Roman added on. “He didn’t hurt anybody. He loved everybody. I thought police officers were supposed to help people.”

“Get in line, kid.”

“What line?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Anyway, when was the last time you saw your dad?”

Roman thought for a moment. “Three months? No four. No three. Three and a half? I don’t remember.”

“Is that when they took him away?”

“No, that’s when Jenny would let us visit, but I haven’t seen her in a while. We could only see him every other Saturday.”

Virgil hummed. He didn’t want to pry any further, but he could already see where this was going. He caught the familiar black car pulling up anyway. Virgil slowly stood, and Roman hurried to his feet. The car parked next to them, and the back car window rolled down.

Remy lowered his sunglasses and looked from Virgil to Roman and back to Virgil. He asked, “Hey, babe. Who’s the kid?”

“Is that your boyfriend?” Roman asked.

“NO,” Virgil snapped. He sighed and replied, “No. He’s not.”

Remy couldn’t help but laugh, and he shook his head. He opened the car door and motioned for Virgil to step inside.

Roman looked up at Virgil, his eyes wide with worry. Virgil sighed. Judging by the position of the sun, it was almost night, and that meant Roman would be alone in the dark on the worst side of town. Virgil bit his lip.

“Hey, kid, want to go for a ride?” Virgil asked.

“I’m not supposed to get in a stranger’s car,” Roman mumbled.

“I know.” Virgil scratched a hand through his hair. “But would you rather be here on the street where someone will kill you or worse or get in a car with someone you kinda know who might kidnap you?”

Roman opened his mouth to answer but closed it soon after. He spied Remy with a wary grimace. Remy looked over at Virgil, his eyebrow quirked with interest, and grinned.

“Alright fine,” Roman mumbled. He eyed the limousine and scooted in first. “But if you kidnap me I’ll bite you again.”

“Again?” Remy asked as he turned his head to Virgil.

“Do. Not. Ask.”

“Y’know, babe, Janus ain’t gonna like that you picked up a kid.”

Virgil slid into the car. “Shut it, Remy.”

“I’m just saying.” Remy slid in the car after Virgil and shut the door.

“We’re just dropping him off at West Tammy Street. Nothing more.”

“West Tammy Street? How’d he get all the way over here?”

“It’s a long story.” Virgil glanced over at Roman, who was pressing the car window button up and down. “Would you stop that? You’re going to break it.”

Roman let the button go and scowled.

“And buckle up.”

Roman did as he was told, begrudgingly, and crossed his arms. Virgil shook his head as he buckled his own seatbelt in the middle. Remy couldn’t help but laugh, and Virgil nudged him in the arm, which only made Remy laugh harder.

--

“What was the house number again?” Remy asked as he stared out the window. He kept a close eye on the mailboxes as they passed.

“1320,” Roman answered as he looked out his own window.

Virgil sat in the middle and pretended he was asleep.

“1314, 1316, wait! I see it,” Roman yelled. He tried to jump up, but the seatbelt kept him in place. Virgil snapped his eyes open and looked to his left.

The house was one of those rich suburban houses that probably had “my grass is greener” wars with its neighbors. A flag with the words “Welcome to our crazy family” flapped in the breeze. The lights were off in every room but one, which was covered with roman blinds.

“That’s the house?” Virgil questioned.

Roman already unlocked his seatbelt and the car door before the car stopped. Virgil shouted for him to wait, but Roman darted across the street and was barrelling toward the front door before Virgil could even get all his words of protest out. Virgil and Remy watched Roman’s actions with bated breath.

Roman rang the doorbell and adjusted the straps on his backpack. He waited. He rang the doorbell again. He pressed it at least three more times in a minute waiting for someone to answer the door.

A woman wearing a nightgown opened the door. Roman went to push past her, but she stopped him.

“Roman, go home,” she ordered.

“But-”

“No. Go home. I told you before, you have to go home.”

“But Remus-”

“I said no! I don’t know how you got back here, but you have to stop doing this. You’re going to get taken away from your family again.”

“They’re not my family, and I don’t care. I want to see Remus!”

The woman sighed loudly before she slammed the door shut. Her muffled voice shouted through the door, “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave!”

Roman pounded his fists on the door. He screamed, “Unhand him, you foul villain! Let him go! Please, I just wanna see him. Just for a minute! Please!”

Remy sucked in a breath behind Virgil, and Virgil mumbled a small “yikes” under his breath. The woman pulled up the blinds. Even from here, the two could see the phone in her hand tattling on Roman.

“Virge,” Remy called out, but Virgil already scooted across the street and ran over to Roman. Roman still pounded his fists on the door, his pleas to be let in slowly becoming smaller and smaller. His choked sobs echoed through the small door space.

Virgil put a hand on Roman’s shoulder, and Roman twisted around, ready to fight. He relaxed when Virgil came into sight.

“Virgil, help! They won’t let me in. They gotta let me in!”

Virgil sighed hard through his nose. “I know this is hard, Roman, but-”

“No! Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. You adults are all the same! You keep telling me no, no, no, but you never say why! I just want to see my brother.”

“I know,” Virgil said, trying to keep his voice even. He swallowed hard. “I know you’re hurt right now, Roman, but we’ll get your brother another day. Right now, the cops are going to come and take you away. Then you’re going to have to start all over again.”

“I don’t care! I’ll keep coming back a million times if it means I get to see him. I’ll- I’ll- I’ll run across the whole country if I have to!”

Virgil thought for a second before he grabbed Roman around the waist. Roman flailed wildly to escape, spitting out insults and demanding to be let go. Virgil ignored it all. If the cops found him, it was over. Virgil shoved Roman in the car, slid in, and slammed the car door shut.

“Drive,” he ordered.

The car sped down the street. Virgil tried to get Roman to sit in his seat, but Roman kept crawling over him to open Virgil’s door. Remy struggled to get Roman to sit still as well and got kicked in several spots for his efforts.

Eventually, Roman broke down and turned into a sobbing mess. He threw his head down into Virgil’s lap and grabbed onto Virgil’s pants leg like a lifeline. Virgil shared a look with Remy, who let out a long sigh of relief and fixed his sunglasses.

“It’s not fair,” Roman said between his sobs. “It’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair,” Virgil mumbled. He thought of a better answer and continued, “I know it’s not fair. I’m sorry it’s not fair. We’re… we’ll get you to your brother somehow.”

He locked eyes with Remy, who pretended he didn’t see Virgil and turned his head to look out his window.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Remy mumbled.

Virgil pretended he couldn’t hear him.

--

Inside the office was quiet right now. Most people were already asleep or at home, seeing as it was almost midnight. Remy and Virgil stepped into the lobby together. Roman, who was sound asleep in Virgil’s arms, buried his face into Virgil’s neck to shield his eyes from the light.

“So, are you going to tell Janus or am I?” Remy asked as he rose a brow.

“I’m not telling Janus anything,” Virgil mumbled.

“You can’t just hide a kid in your room, babe.”

“Watch me.”

“Alright fine, but if Emile finds him, you’re in deep shit.”

“I really couldn’t care less right now.”

Virgil headed toward the elevators to the bottom floors, leaving Remy alone with his thoughts. Remy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Janus was probably asleep by now, so perhaps Virgil was right to hide Roman in his room until the morning. Then they could figure out what to do with him when the time came.

Virgil looked left, right, and left again when he got to the third floor. He successfully made it to his room without any interruption, opened his room door, and stepped inside. Virgil pushed the lock closed. He flipped the light switch on and let out a long sigh of relief.

As carefully as he could, he laid Roman down on his bed. Virgil pulled one of his throw blankets over the kid and tucked him in. From there, he walked to his computer, turned it on, and turned out the lights. The computer illuminated the room in a blue glow as Virgil plopped into his chair.

The first thing Virgil did was google the name “Princeton Roman Cooper,” but when the only result that popped up was an obituary, he added, “the second” to the search.

According to this, Princeton Cooper II was arrested three years ago for a hit and run while he was drunk. According to the report, he was arrested a lot for public intoxication as well. Virgil groaned and ran his hand through his hair.

Another link took Virgil to another obituary. Mary Odette Cooper, age 25, shot and killed six years ago in a drive-by shooting, leaving behind her husband and her two four-year-old twin boys, Princeton Cooper III and Remus Cooper. That meant Roman was only ten years old.

Of course, Virgil couldn’t find anything else on the two boys. Foster children were often wiped off the public record for their own protection. He wondered how long Roman and Remus were thrown into the system and how long they were separated. Judging by that woman’s reaction, that wasn’t the first time Roman ran away to see his brother.

Virgil rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced over at Roman then back at his computer. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, that was for sure. So, instead, he pulled up Tumblr and looked for something to take his mind off of today’s events.

--

Virgil woke up to computer keys stuck to his forehead. He groaned and sat up. His back cracked from misuse. Virgil rubbed the marks on his forehead before he stretched his arms over his head, completing the back cracking process.

Ugh, he fell asleep at his computer desk again.

Virgil closed the tab for Tumblr and reminded himself that he googled Roman’s father last night. Virgil turned his head toward his bed.

His empty bed.

Panic lit Virgil’s entire chest. He snapped his head over to his door, which was open. Shit.

“Shit!” Virgil yelled as he sprung out of his chair. Roman could be literally anywhere by now. How long was he running around? How long would it take for Roman to find the elevator? How long before Janus came down to personally murder Virgil himself?

The phone in his pocket rang, and Virgil swallowed hard. Janus’s name flashed on the screen. Virgil tried to keep the shake out of his voice as he answered, “What?”

“Good morning, Virgil. Did you sleep well?” Janus’s calm voice asked.

Shit.

Virgil swallowed hard. “I guess.”

“Oh, I sure hope so. Did you have a lovely evening?”

Shiiiit.

“Eh. Could’ve been better.”

“So I heard.” Virgil waited for the final stone to drop. “Can you come up to my office? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.

Virgil tried to keep his voice even as he answered, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Virgil clicked the off button and threw the phone onto his bed before Janus even got the chance to say goodbye. He grabbed his hair with both hands. He was so utterly and completely fucked.

“I’m so fucked,” Virgil mumbled as he made his way to the elevator. No, fucked was putting it lightly. He was up a creek of rapid fucks with no fuck paddle and no fucking chance of surviving.

The elevator ride took no time and too much time at the same time. Virgil swallowed thickly as the elevator doors opened to the top floor. Even if no one was watching him, he still felt like everyone was staring. Virgil shoved his hands into his pockets. The farther he got to Janus’s door, the harder his heart pounded.

If he was lucky, he’d have a heart attack before he reached Janus’s office.

Unfortunately, he was not lucky.

Virgil pressed the buzzer on the door and held his breath. It took a moment before Janus’s response allowed him in. Virgil forgot how to breathe as he twisted the door handle and stepped inside.

Janus stood beside his computer chair, one arm slung over the backrest, the other on his hip, and turned his head toward Virgil. His smirk, which was more like a twisted Cheshire cat’s grin, greeted him.

“Hello, Virgil,” Janus purred. “Come, have a seat. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Virgil’s whole body shook as he walked to the wooden chair and had a seat. Janus’s eyes followed him the entire time. Virgil gagged on his tongue and couldn’t swallow the knot in his throat down.

A head poked out from behind Janus’s computer screen. Brown eyes met gray, and Virgil cursed as Roman sat in Janus’s computer chair with an oblivious smile.

“Hey Virgil,” Roman greeted as if he wasn’t sitting in the chair of a fuming crime boss. “Janus agreed to help me get Remus back.”

“He did?” Virgil said as he took a moment to glance up at Janus.

“I did,” Janus responded. His voice was strained as if his patience ran thin. Virgil swallowed hard. “You know me, Virgil. I’m always eager to help a lost child.”

Virgil pretended that wasn’t as threatening as it sounded and looked back at Roman. He asked, “So, how are you going to help?”

“Oh, not me,” Janus replied. He turned the computer screen around. “You’re going to do it.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You started this. You’re going to finish it.”

“Is that… is that a floor plan to the house Remus is in?”

“Oh, hats off to Virgil. You’re so clever.” Janus paused. “You’re going to break in, kidnap Remus, and then you’re going to figure out what to do with the two of them.”

“Me? Why me?”

“As I said: you started this, and you’re going to finish it. I hate when jobs don’t get finished.”

“And what the fffffrig do you think I’m supposed to do with them, huh?”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

Virgil studied Janus’s two-seconds-from-snapping face for a moment and then looked at Roman. The kid had such a sickeningly optimistic look on his face that Virgil wanted to gag. Didn’t he know what trouble he was causing? Did he even care?

“Fine,” Virgil growled. “When do I go?”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Janus walked out from behind his desk and towered over Virgil. He stared at Virgil over his cheekbones and continued, “But the longer you wait, the less patience I’m going to have.”

Virgil tried to open his mouth to respond, but his throat ran dry.

Janus continued, “And if Emile finds out about any of this, Roman will be taking your place, am I clear?”

Virgil slid down in his chair. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Janus walked away, and Virgil’s ability to breathe returned. Janus slowly turned his computer chair and addressed Roman. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Roman chirped as he jumped from the chair and headed to the stairs. “I want to watch The Fox and the Hound first.”

“An excellent choice,” Janus answered. “Run along. I’ll be upstairs in a moment.”

“I’ll get the movie ready.” With that, Roman bolted up the stairs. The sound of Janus’s bedroom door slamming closed echoed throughout the room.

Virgil waited for Janus to say something, anything to fill in this awkward silence.

“Cute kid,” Janus said, the last thing that Virgil expected.

“He’s-”

“Yes, I read up on everything already,” Janus snapped his head down in Virgil’s direction. “I don’t know how you plan on fixing this, Virgil, but you better do it quickly. I do not want any more kids in this building, do you hear me? None.”

“I heard.”

“Good,” Janus headed toward the stairs and climbed them one by one, “because I would hate to lose a spy as good as you are because you can’t follow a simple order.”

Virgil swallowed hard. The door to Janus’s room opened and closed again, and Virgil waited for a moment before he exited the office, dismissing himself.

How the hell was he supposed to pull this off?

--

Janus opened and closed his bedroom door. He watched Roman bounce around the room as he tried to figure out how to work Janus’s DVD player and then dive bomb onto Janus’s bed. Janus’s eye may have twitched a bit. He just made the bed.

Roman noticed he wasn’t alone in the room, beamed, and said, “Oh, hey, you’re just in time! I just put it in.”

“Good,” Janus responded. He walked over to his bed and gently sat in it. His back pressed against the headboard. Roman apparently decided he was going to steal all of Janus’s pillows and make a comfy pillow chair out of six pillows on top of an already pillow soft bed, but whatever. The kid was happily bouncing through the opening titles waiting for the movie to start.

It was… annoyingly cute.

“Have you ever watched this movie before?” Roman asked.

“I own it.”

“Oh, yeah, well, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t?”

“No. My foster family,” Roman paused, “my foster family said that Disney is literal garbage.”

“They did?” Janus said with a raised brow.

Roman nodded. “Yeah, they said that all they do is pander to other people’s agendas and stuff.”

Oh, liberal garbage.

“That’s hilarious, considering it’s a multimillion-dollar company that panders more to its stockholders than those who blindly support them.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, but I know Disney movies always made my family happy.” Roman hugged a pillow. “Mommy used to say that it gave her hope that things would get better.”

The small grin on Janus’s face started to slowly slip away. He looked over at Roman, who didn’t look away from the television. Instead, Roman clutched a pillow close to his chest and squished his chin into it.

“Your mom was,” Janus paused, “a pretty good woman, I’m guessing.”

“Every Saturday, we’d go down to the lake and feed the ducks some lettuce. And every Sunday, we’d sit and watch a movie together before her and daddy had to go back to work. And every Shabbat, we’d bake Challah together. And every Christmas Eve, we drove around in the car to look at holiday decorations with hot chocolate and cookies.” Roman blinked the tears from his eyes and buried his head into his pillow. “I miss her so much.”

Janus sighed through his nose. He didn’t really know how to comfort a crying child on his bed. So, he chose to pat Roman on the back twice and call it good.

“It’s not fair!” Roman cried. “If mommy was still here, daddy wouldn’t have started drinking, and then we could be a family again. Mommy always stopped daddy from drinking. Why wouldn’t he stop when I asked him to?”

Janus groaned. He was really, really not equipped for this kind of stuff. That was Emile’s department. However, there was no way Emile was going to know Roman was up here, especially with the state Roman and his brother were in. Janus would shoot himself in the foot first before he asked Emile for help.

“Well,” Janus started, but his voice died out. How did he even begin to talk about this? “See, the thing is, kid- Roman- sometimes… adults do stupid things, and it’s not your job to fix them.”

That only made Roman cry harder. Janus took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.  How was he supposed to help this kid out?

Roman threw himself into Janus’s side and latched onto his shirt. Janus put one hand on the headboard to balance himself and hovered the other over Roman’s back. His shock slowly processed that Roman was hugging him. He was also getting snot, spit, and tears all over his best suit, but he’d worry about that when Emile sent it to the dry cleaners.

Slowly, Janus’s arm lowered until it cradled Roman against his chest. He put the other on Roman’s back and gave it two gentle pats.

“There, there,” he said. He looked over at the television and watched the opening title for the DVD repeat once again. With a heavy sigh, Janus pulled Roman a little closer into a tight hug. Roman didn’t pull away. Instead, he buried himself deeper into Janus’s chest. Janus ran his free hand over the buzzcut short black hair and wondered if that was Roman’s choice or the foster family’s choice.

Janus wasn’t sure how many times the DVD menu looped before Roman finally pulled away, but he strangely didn’t care.

“Feel better?” he asked. Roman nodded his head, and Janus eyed the remote. “If you don’t want to watch the movie-”

“No, I wanna watch it,” Roman mumbled.

“Are you sure? I mean, the mom gets shot in the first few minutes.”

Roman gasped. “Spoilers!”

Janus rolled his eyes and snorted. He shook his head and adjusted himself into a comfier position. Roman grumbled as he pushed the play button on the movie. The opening started out slow and quiet but started to grow in volume.

Janus monitored Roman’s reaction to the opening, all the way up to the gunshot. He didn’t miss the way Roman flinched. For a moment, Janus thought Roman was going to fling himself into his side again, but Roman stayed strong. Roman did, however, squeeze the pillow in his arms a little tighter.

As the elderly woman came out and picked up Todd, Roman seemed to deflate a bit. Janus opened his mouth to say something, but he chose not to.

“What about his dad?” Roman asked. “Doesn’t he have a dad? Why did that old lady just take him away?”

“I don’t think he did,” Janus answered.

Roman quieted down and continued to watch the movie. Janus noticed the more the fox and the old lady interacted, the more Roman smiled when they were on screen together. Janus wondered what was going on inside Roman’s brain. Did he relate to the older woman being kind to Todd, or did he want that for himself?

Before long, the scene with Todd meeting Copper came on, and that’s where Roman’s interest really picked up.

“So they can’t be friends because they're different and their family said so?” Roman asked.

“Yeah,” Janus answered. “Some people are just like that. They’re-”

“Racist, I know. Mommy already had this talk with me.”

Janus’s heart broke a bit. He chewed on his lip, and he tried, “But you know, Roman… ah, nevermind. I don’t want to spoil the ending.”

Roman eyed him curiously, but he didn’t ask for Janus to continue his thought. Janus sighed in relief. Hopefully, Roman would never pick up the book and read it and would claim this movie’s ending as the one true ending.

The more they watched the movie, the more Roman seemed to address what Todd was going through and how much he related to it. Up until the very end (excluding the part where Todd found a girlfriend and Roman wrinkled his nose), Roman commented about how he and Remus were kept apart by their foster families.

“That’s gotta be rough,” Janus said.

“Do you have a brother?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But I do have a friend like that.”

“Oh?” Roman turned his head to Janus. “What’s their name?”

Janus smiled. “Remy.”

“Are you two still friends?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“Wait, Remy was the one who was in the car last night with me, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

Roman nodded. “I’m glad you and Remy are still friends.”

“Me too.”

“So, if you and Remy can be friends and be together again, Remus and I can be friends again, right?”

“Of course,” Janus replied. He let out a heavy sigh. “But, it might be hard-”

Roman jumped up on the bed, making Janus bounce. He flung his hand up in the air and held the other out like he had a shield. “I’ll save Remus and we’ll be able to live happily ever after, just like we were supposed to.”

Janus couldn’t help the snort that came out of his nose. He couldn’t ruin Roman’s optimism. He just couldn’t.

Though, he had no trouble telling Roman, “Sit down before you break my bed.”

Roman jumped, and he crashed down on the bed like it was a trampoline. Janus thanked every deity he could think of that the bed didn’t break.

“Can we watch another movie?” Roman asked.

Janus thought for a moment. He looked over at the clock.

“One more movie wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” Janus answered.  He barely had the words out before Roman darted across the room to pick out another movie.

Good thing too. Janus didn’t want Roman to see the fond smile that crossed over his face. He didn’t want the kid to think he was getting attached or anything.

--

Remy pulled the sucker out of his mouth with an audible pop as he leaned against Virgil’s desk. Virgil had his face buried in his hands as he stared at the blueprints on his screen.

“Remy, you kidnapped kids before.”

“Yeah?”

“So… tips… I guess- god that sounds so fucking wrong.”

“The first one is always the worst,” Remy responded. He put the sucker back in his mouth.

“Don’t be so chill about this!”

“What do you want me to be? I’m kinda numb to doing illegal shit.”

“I don’t know, maybe, give me something else to work with here?” Virgil yelled. He wanted to slam his head against his desk so hard.

A knock sounded at the door, and Virgil guilt-clicked out of the open tab. Remy sat on the edge of Virgil’s desk.

“What?” Virgil called out.

“Virgil,” Logan’s voice said. Great. “I have a request.”

Virgil’s voice drained into a tired mumble, “What?”

“Oh, uh, if you are busy, I don’t want to-”

Virgil leaned back in his chair and opened his door. He caught Logan’s startled jump and sent a sympathetic smile. “You’re not bugging me, Lo. It’s fine.”

Logan glanced from Virgil to Remy and back to Virgil. He wrung his hands together, opened his mouth several times, then said, “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Come on in.” Virgil opened the door a little wider.

Logan walked into the room and closed the door behind him. He kept eye contact with Remy as he sat on the edge of Virgil’s bed.

Virgil twisted his chair around to face Logan as he said, “What’s up?”

“You’re good with social media and whatnot, are you not?” Logan asked.

Virgil’s stomach dropped. “Yeah, why?”

“I was wondering,” Logan paused. “I was wondering if you’d search up the twitter page my parents set up for me and show me what they’ve been writing.”

“Lo, I told you-”

“I understand it is unwise to think about the past, and I know I hated my presence was used as a tool for my parent’s own personal gain, but Emile said something this afternoon that troubled me, and I cannot get it out of my head, and no matter how many times I keep trying to get him to bring it up, he refuses. I need your help to discover the truth.”

Remy sucked in a breath through his teeth. He looked over at Virgil and jumped off the desk.

“Welp, that’s my cue to leave. Come see me once you’re done, Virge, and we’ll talk about the you-know-what later.”

Logan blinked before he asked, “The you-know-what?”

Virgil flinched. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course. Keep your secrets,” Logan mumbled.

Remy sent a “later babes” before he closed Virgil’s door and left the two boys in silence. Virgil swiveled back and forth a few seconds on his chair before he finally prodded the conversation.

“So, what’s really on your mind, Lo?” Virgil asked. "You know what your parents have been doing."

Logan thought for a while, his fingers digging into Virgil's bed.

“There was this person who would comment on every single one of my videos,” Logan said, “and I remember him because of his stupid nickname. Punstar5000.”

“Woooow,” Virgil said with a soft laugh. “Now that’s a cringy username.”

“Yes, and I remember it specifically because of all the bad wordplay comments he left on all of my videos. I… guiltily admit… even though I hated my situation, for some reason, I found myself waiting for his comments, and I… I wanted to see… if he was alright.”

“Gosh,” Virgil said as he ran a hand over his face. “I mean, I could check, Lo, but I don’t know. You never know what you’re going to find.”

“Please?”

Virgil sighed through his nose. He typed the name into the search bar of YouTube and was surprised to find a few videos uploaded. Every video was shot like a found footage video. The kid definitely had no cinematography lessons. Usually, it was him playing pranks on his grandmother, only he laughed so much that she had to know it was a setup. Still, she went through with it. It warmed Virgil’s heart in a stupid way.

The last video was posted three months ago. Virgil frowned. That was around the time Logan stopped uploading. He searched around deeper to see if there was any sort of Twitter account or anything. To his surprise, he found one.

“Yo,” Virgil said as he motioned for Logan to come over, “check out this kid’s twitter.”

Tweet after tweet after tweet, for two months straight, was nothing but info on fake Logan, sightings, police reports, and awareness posts. Logan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Virgil looked at the last post the kid made, which was last month.

“This is… almost creepy,” Virgil mumbled. He scrolled down the page past all the Logan stuff.

“I’m sure he’s simply concerned. He just wants to assist in my parents finding me, as he has no idea why I left to begin with,” Logan commented.

Virgil gave a low hum. The page said the kid was only fourteen, so it was possible he was just concerned, but knowing what Virgil knew about Logan’s home life, it looked stalkerish.

Virgil sighed and said, “It doesn’t really have anything recent. The last post says “Some people are worth melting for” and then that’s it.”

“That’s impossible. A person cannot melt. We are made up of-”

“Logan, buddy, science info dump me later. It’s a Frozen quote, you know, from the Disney movie.”

“I do not.”

“Yikes, we’re having a movie marathon later.” Virgil looked from the Twitter page to Logan. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes,” Logan said as he stood. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“No, Logan, we talked about this.”

Logan looked up, his mouth forming a surprised “o” shape, and he chewed on his lip. “Thank you for taking the time to help me.”

“There we go. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Of course.”

With that, Logan left the room, leaving Virgil with more questions now than he had before. He stared back at the kid on Twitter and sighed. Before he closed the tab, he reopened the floor plan Janus sent him.

He had enough kids to worry about right now.

--

Janus glanced out his window as the night sky painted itself in all sorts of bright reds and orange. He looked back at the television, which started to showcase the ending credits for Beauty and the Beast.

“Well, we sure had an adventure today, didn’t we?” Janus asked. He turned over to look at Roman, and his breath caught.

Roman was sound asleep on the pillows, his face still smeared from the chocolate bar he had for a snack. Nevermind that some was melted all over Janus’s silk pillows. Roman’s face looked so peaceful, like he wasn’t a runaway kid looking for his lost twin brother.

Janus sighed and grabbed his hair with his hand. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. It was almost nine at night. Hopefully, Virgil was on the case right now about finding Roman’s brother so they could get Roman the heck out of his bed.

Thankfully today was Emile’s day off, so he didn’t feel inclined to bug Janus, or else today would’ve gone awful.

Janus turned the television off and got up from his bed slowly so he wouldn’t wake Roman. He grabbed his pajamas, got ready for bed, and walked down to his office to see if there was any work waiting for him.

The minute Janus loaded his computer up, something felt off. He couldn’t place what. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he kept glancing behind him.

Something wasn’t right.

Janus stood from his seat and inspected every inch of the office. Nothing seemed out of place. No recording devices, no hidden cameras, no people hiding under his desk. Nothing. With a sigh of relief, Janus collapsed back into his chair.

“You’re just paranoid,” Janus mumbled under his breath. Janus loaded up his e-mail.

From: Unknown

Janus stared at the message. Did he open it? Was it a bug? Janus sighed through his nose and deleted the email. Whatever it was, it had to be a trick. Probably just some scammer who got his email through some sort of payoff between some scumbag Janus dealt with. It wouldn’t be the first time.

After clearing out a few more e-mails, Janus shut down his computer. A quick walk into the office to make sure nothing was going on would be alright, right? Janus slowly opened his door and peeked out.

No one was on the floor, which wasn’t unusual for a Sunday.

Janus sighed a breath of relief. “See? Paranoid.”

A scream from Janus’s bedroom and a loud thump caused him to jump. Janus flew up his stairs and crashed into his door. His bed was empty, and the pillow throne that Roman made hung over the side of the bed.

“Roman,” Janus called out. He strained his hearing.

Light crying signaled Janus to creep around the bed. Janus caught sight of Roman curled up in a ball, a pillow squished against his head and shoulders shaking.

“Roman?” Janus asked, his voice lighter this time. He didn’t know whether to get closer or not. “Hey, Roman, are you okay?”

It took a moment, but Roman peeked out from under the pillow. Roman sniffled, and he sat up on the floor. His hands brushed away a few tears.

“Oh,” Roman’s voice cracked, “Janus. I didn’t see you there. What time is it?”

Janus thought his next words over before he answered, “It’s nine at night. You fell asleep in the middle of the movie.”

“Oh, haha, how silly of me.” Roman pushed a smile on his face and crawled up onto the bed once again. “Can we watch another one?”

Janus opened his mouth, closed it, and replied, “It’s too late now. I’m getting ready to go to sleep. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Roman played with his fingers. “Okay. I understand. Uh, can Virgil come pick me up now?”

“Virgil is busy. I can walk you to his room-”

“When will he be back?”

Janus thought. “I’m not sure. Sometimes it takes a while until-”

“Oh, okay then. If it’s alright with you, I’ll stay here then, you know, to protect you from the bad guys.”

Janus snorted. “I don’t need to be protected by a ten-year-old, thanks.”

“Hey, just because I’m ten doesn’t mean I’m not tough.” Roman puffed out his chest. “I can fight.”

“I have no doubt, but really, Roman, you should return to Virgil’s room. He’s getting Remus tonight, remember?”

Roman looked down at his pillows, and he bit his lip. “But if I sleep in Virgil’s bed, then where is Remus going to sleep?”

“Can’t you two share a bed?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, but,” Roman scowled, “you have a bigger bed than Virgil. It’s not fair that you get it all to yourself when Remus and I have to share a little one. And then Virgil will have to sleep on his computer again.”

“I’m a king. I can do whatever I want.”

The quote caught Roman off guard. He sprung to his feet and pointed a finger. “If you were half the king that Mufasa was-”

Janus reached forward and picked Roman up into the air. Roman let out a surprised squeal. Janus held Roman into the air by the armpits, monitoring Roman’s reaction for any discomfort. However, Roman seemed to have no problem with being picked up judging by the giggles, and Janus continued with “I’m ten times the king Mufasa was.”

Janus put Roman over his shoulder and headed toward his door. Only then did Roman realize he was losing the battle and started to struggle from Janus’s grip.

“Wait, time out,” Roman said through his grunting. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

“No, wait!”

Janus opened his door, and Roman grabbed onto the door frame with one hand and Janus’s shirt with the other. He nearly fell off Janus’s shoulder.

“What the-”

“If I go, then I won’t know if you’re okay. What if someone breaks in? What if someone decides they’re going to buttsasinate you in the middle of the night?”

“Buttsasinate?”

“Ass is a bad word.”

Janus couldn’t help the snort that escaped his nose. “I have security locks on all the doors.”

“But sometimes they don’t work! Sometimes the bad guys get in anyway.”

“Roman, let go of the door.”

“No! I’m not going to leave you alone to fend for yourself. That’s how they get you, when you split up. Please! I don’t want you to be all alone in the dark and scared and worried someone is going to take you away.”

Janus stopped pulling. “Is that what happened to you?”

Roman got eerily quiet. Janus could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and Roman’s own heart beat against his shoulder. Roman’s grip on the back of his shirt increased.

Janus let out a long, loooong tired sigh. He was going to regret this.

“Alright, Roman, you know what? Maybe you’re right. I’ll let you stay here. BUT. Only for tonight, you got it?”

Roman’s whole body relaxed. “Oh, of course! You can count on me.”

Janus walked over to his bed and threw Roman down on it. Roman let out a light grunt and then started to giggle. Without cracking a smile, Janus picked up the pillows Roman threw on the floor earlier and tossed them onto the bed.

“Okay, but I have to set some ground rules first,” Janus said as he leaned both palms on his bed. “Rule number one: no cuddling. You cuddle me and I’ll throw you out of this room faster than you can say “long live the king” got it?”

Roman stopped laughing and looked at Janus over the top of his eyebrows with a smile.

“Rule number two: as soon as Virgil gets here with Remus, you leave. Doesn’t matter if it’s 3 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“Rule number three: if someone by chance does happen to break into my room, and you decide to attack them instead of waking me up, I will not feel bad if they murder you.”

“Wait, really?”

“And rule number four,” Janus paused, “if you pee in my bed I will murder you myself.”

Roman started to laugh, and Janus couldn’t help the smile he cracked.

“I’m serious, kid. No peeing in the bed.”

“What do you think I am, five?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m ten!”

“Oh, yes, how silly of me. Everyone totally stops peeing the bed when they’re nine-and-three quarter years old.”

Roman squinted at that, and he flipped over onto his hands and knees. He watched Janus adjust the bed so a wall of pillows separated him and Roman. Then, Janus pulled back the blankets and snuggled down into them.  He let out a content sigh.

“Good night, Roman,” Janus called out.

Roman sat there for a moment before he shuffled over the bed and pulled back the covers on his side as well. “Good night, Mr. Escamas. And don’t worry. I’ll protect you tonight. Prince Roman is on the case.”

Janus let out a content sigh at that. He mumbled into his pillow. “My hero.”

Even without looking, Janus could feel Roman’s pride beaming. He couldn’t help but smile. If sitting there and pretending to protect Janus in a highly secure building made Roman feel important, who was Janus to tell him no? The kid wasn’t going to get hurt. Heck, maybe Roman could use the self-esteem boost.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with pretending to be protected by a ten-year-old, right?

[thgreatestblue]

you're alive (in my head)

➜ pairing: sanemi shinazugawa x gn!reader ➜ warnings: angst, mention of dead character, manga spoilers, fluff. ➜ words: 7.6k ➜ a/n: i had the idea for this fic while listening to marjorie by taylor swift. it’s such a beautiful and touching song, i definitely recommend it. this one turned out quite big but anyway, happy holidays! ➜ ao3

summary: The man looks at you again, between white lashes that were still wet from his tears. He was a broken man whose pieces you didn't know how to put it back together. A puzzle you found yourself staring at without any clue of what form it should shape. It doesn't mean you weren't going to try anyway.

I.  

The piano would always call your name at the old restaurant your parents owned. It was an old and ugly thing; battered through time, but it would make the same wonderful sounds your grandmother used to do when playing it. That’s how you learned how to play in the first place. And how the tradition of having a musician in the family kept going, much for your parents' disdain.

You worked at your parents’ restaurant as a waitress. It was a family legacy you didn't quite like; working at the old restaurant for the rest of your life was not what you had in mind while growing up. It wasnt that you didn't like cooking and talking with strangers — it was quite a pleasant interaction that you had refined throughout the years. 

However, you wanted bigger things for your life. That’s why playing piano and writing songs were something you would always look forward to when the restaurant wasn't full. At some point, people started to demand to see you play, asking when they would hear your songs again; and that was enough to put a little bit of confidence inside your very cowardly heart. 

Each time you played, slender fingers touching keys like they were made for it; it would always take you to another place, one that you didn't need to step down the stage and go back to real life. Your mother once told you and your grandmother were too alike, and even though she meant it as a bad thing, you held onto that as the best compliment you had ever received.

Tonight, you were too nervous and focused on playing a song that you had written for your long-passed grandmother; it had taken an entire month to come up with lyrics and a melody that felt just like her. After all, it was her birthday. There were so many things you wished you had said, you wished you had done. But instead of mourning, you decided to pour your feelings into a song — it’s been 5 years already, all the wounds that were open had already healed, but that didn't mean they didn't itch from time to time. 

As you sit down on the worn out bench, the floor of the improvised stage cracks under your feet. Your father had built for you after realizing that you weren't going to stop playing it, even if he put the piano outside in the rain. Your mother had convinced him, after all, you were still doing your job and the customers liked to hear live music, there was no hurt in letting you play. 

You can feel eyes on you already; there was always an expectation every time you appeared to play the piano, and you would always try to meet them. Always staying up till late, trying to come up with new lyrics, trying new sounds. Even though your life was pretty boring, you still managed to write about interesting elements; situations you could only imagine, like living a fancy life, or loving someone. 

While you arrange the papers that you had written the song on the piano’s rack — not that you needed, it was just to put your mind at ease, that you weren't going to screw this up — you take a long look at the crowd; most of them still eating and talking to each other. You knew their attention would only fall on you when you started playing. 

However, there was someone looking directly at you. You knew that face all too well by now; it was impossible to miss the hair as white as the driven snow, or the scars that crossed his face that would make many people shrink away, scared by the intimidating aura he carried with him. However, you knew it wasn't the case; his eyes — even though you didn't have the courage to stare for too long — were gentle.

The man would come to the restaurant every now and then. Your cousin who worked at the bar, would always try to talk to him, but the man would always be short and sharp; preferring paying attention to his food, and mostly to alcohol which he would drink until it was time to close.

It wasn’t something unreal, since there were a lot of people who did the same. But what made him so different was that every time someone would come closer without warming, he would snap, always on guard. It reminded you of your grandfather, that would always carry with himself a knife; after a long life battling in the countryside, he never forgot the things he saw.

You offer him a tiny smile; despite not knowing the man — not even his name — you still wanted him to feel at ease in the restaurant, everyone was more than welcomed at this tiny place that your grandfather had fought so hard to build. 

Speaking of each, was nowhere to be seen. You weren't sad that he was going to miss your first performance of the song since you two wrote it together. He was almost tired of listening to you go back and forth, memorizing until it was carved on your mind like a detailed wooden piece. Besides, you were sure he was at her grave now, making her some company on this special day. 

The man doesn’t turn away, nor return the smile, which is fine to you. At least he didn't completely ignore your presence, being the complete mystery he was, you felt lucky that he had come to watch you play. 

Taking a deep breath, your fingers flew over the keys with ease; it was almost like a second nature by now, almost as easy as breathing. It had taken you some time to learn, to understand how the structure of the piano worked and how you could turn separate notes into a song. Your grandmother was patient enough to teach you the basics; to teach the same thing over and over until you had printed on your mind like a tattoo. 

The song was quite easy to play, you chose not to do something so out of your comfort zone because you knew your emotions were going to take over once you started to sing. The lyric had you and your grandfather crying once it was finished. But he didn't seem sad  — not entirely — he smiled and hugged you, saying that wherever she was, she was proud; and you believed in his words with all your heart.

Your voice trembles in a few parts, but nothing that would mess with the entire song. It only added more intensity and weight onto your words. Most people that frequented the restaurant knew about her, so it wasn’t something coming out of the blue - they understood the feeling behind it. And you are glad that you could remember your grandmother the way she always loved: playing the piano. 

As you played the last notes, the small crowd of the restaurant applauded your performance, a sound that made your heart jump in anticipation; it was the best reward you could ever receive. You notice that some people were weeping away their tears while you bow in gratitude for their attention. 

Stepping down from the makeshift stage, your mother gives you a hug, she wasn't good with words but you knew she was pleased with the performance. Although, before you could say anything, she shoves an apron in your direction, motioning towards a table that had a couple waiting to order. You shake your head in disbelief, but takes it anyway and starts to get ready to work.

The night goes by in a blink of an eye, there were more people than you were used to. You highly suspected it was because there was a festival coming up in the city in a few weeks, and many people came to see the fireworks. You swing among the tables; dividing your attention between taking orders and thanking the compliments and praises people would throw at you as you walked by. You took each one of them and put close to your heart — they were enough, for now. 

When your father decides to close the restaurant, you're more than tired. Even though in your mind the night went by in a flash; your bones were screaming because of the constant walking and talking. It was good for business, but not for you. Your father was a proud man that didn't accept outside people working in his restaurant, so you had to endure the amount of work and hope that the next day you were fully recharged. 

The trash of the day is by the door and by the looks of it, no one is going to take it out. You glance at your cousin but he immediately shakes his head, showing that he was still cleaning the glasses from the bar. You sigh loudly, getting up from the chair you were comfortably seated in. 

Grabbing the two huge bags, you open the door with your foot. A breath of fresh air hits your face — it smells like rain and grass — it's cold against your skin. You didn't notice the rain had come and gone, too absorbed in your job to pay attention; although you were content since you liked how the earth smelled after it.

You walk to the alleway right beside the restaurant, the huge bins still wet with a few raindrops. As you throw the trash inside, something; no, someone catches your attention from the corner of your eyes.

How fast you recognized the white hair was something to worry about another time, pushing down the thoughts that were starting to rise in your mind to take a better look at him. 

The man was seated against the wall, with his arms on his knees and a bottle of alcohol still hanging from his hand. His head was dropped into his chest, and for a moment you thought he was sleeping. You feel your heart spiking up with anticipation, your hands clench and unclench, million thoughts swing around your mind but you can't hear any of them. Against your better judgement, you start to approach him, making sure your feet make enough noise to announce your arrival.

He probably sensed that you were approaching because you notice how his body jerks slightly, slowly raising his head to look up at you. And your heart sinks in your chest as you catch a glimpse of his eyes, red and watery, some tears traveling his face down his cheeks to his chin. 

“Are you okay?“ You ask out of habit, because of course he wasn't. A man with a bottle of alcohol seated against a dark alley definitely wasn't doing fine. You want to slap yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

“That song…” He starts, his voice is hoarse, barely audible. As if he had screamed the entire night at the top of his lungs. “Was really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” You answer, not knowing what else to say. 

There was a growing feeling on your chest, one you couldn't ignore when seeing the man in such a miserable state. You didn't consider yourself an altruistic person, that would run to help people wherever they had a problem. In fact, your mother once said that you were a little bit too cold when outside of your comfort zone that was music. 

However, contradicting everything you thought you were, you found yourself stepping closer to the man. Since it had rained almost all night, the ground was still wet, and you could see his trousers were wet in a few spots. The place he had chosen to sit wasn't the best either, with a huge puddle right next to his feet.

And again, against your better judgment, you slowly kneel next to him. He didn't flinch nor made any movement that would be a red flag for you to step away. Rather, he looks away and stares at the bottle he was holding, lips trembling; You didn't know if it was because of the cold or because he had been crying. 

“Fuck...” He curses in a whisper, rubbing his face, a few fugitive tears falling down the prison of his eyes “...It’s been a year.”

You couldn't think of anything to say to the man. Comforting people had always been hard since there wasn't anything you could say that would make them feel better — you knew that by experience. He was clearly in pain and going through something you could only imagine. As much as you wanted to help, to offer at least some comfort, you didn’t want to prey and ask unwelcomed questions to a stranger that was in such agony.

“I wrote that song for my grandmother.” It's the first thing that comes to your mind; you heard once that sometimes, changing the subject would make the person focus on other things instead of what is causing distress to them, it was worth a shot, “Everytime I sing it’s like she’s with me.”

The man looks at you again, between white lashes that were still wet from his tears. He was a broken man whose pieces you didn't know how to put it back together. A puzzle you found yourself staring at without any clue of what form it should shape. it doesn't mean you weren't going to try anyway.

"How?" His voice breaks under the pale shine of the moon. You could see his hands trembling, an urge to hold it almost takes over your body, but you stop yourself before you could regret. Instead, you put your hand on his shoulder. 

Men are proud creatures. You knew he would probably avoid you after tonight, being seen as vulnerable was the last thing they wanted. Something you never understood why, because right now, the only thing you felt was that this man was human, that he had feelings and regrets. Most men you had the unpleasant chance to meet at the restaurant were not even half of the man in front of you. 

“Well, she taught me how to play the piano.” You say with a smile growing on your face. The memory was still fresh on your mind, one that you kept revisiting when the longing was too strong. “It’s a small part of her that I made into mine.”

He looks at you, eyes still red from the tears that dared to escape, but you pretend that you didn't see them, preferring to ignore his state for his pride. He opens his mouth to say something but falls in silence again. You still have your hand on his shoulder, and you squeeze it a little bit before getting up. Your knees were wet but it wasn't a problem.

“Sometimes, we need to fully accept that it happened in order to move on.” You say, looking in his eyes. You didn't know what he was going through, but if it was something like what you felt when your grandmother passed away, then you could say one thing or two. “It took me some time, now it’s bittersweet instead of full on bitter.”

You smile at him again, waving goodbye as you make your way back to the restaurant. You don't dare to look back as you turn the corner, but you can feel his eyes following you until you disappeared from his view.

II.

The next morning, you wake up sensing something strange. There’s a peculiar feeling settling on your stomach as you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the man from last night. After coming back home, it took you some time to finally get some sleep, tossing and turning around; his face still playing on your mind like your favorite song. 

Why was yesterday any different from the other times you had seen him? 

He was a common client at the restaurant; you had seen him stumbling on his feet when going home more than once. Had even exchanged a few words while filling his cup or bringing something he had ordered. Not that he had paid any attention to you, but it was small victories that you collected like seashells. 

You knew the answer, just didn't want to admit. Because you are itching to know him better since the first time you laid your eyes on him. You’re a curious brat who can’t stop interfering in others' lives. Because you had seen him vulnerable. 

You sigh loudly, rubbing your hands on your face. Fine, you could debate later why you were ceaselessly thinking about a complete stranger — who probably had a heavy amount of baggage and definitely didn't need someone looking at the content inside and making a mess of it. 

After taking a quick bath, you head over to the first floor; despite still being morning, there were a lot of things to get done before opening the restaurant again in the afternoon. You didn't completely dislike the routine, but after repeating the same thing everyday, things tend to get blurry and more often than not, boring. 

The only thing that took you out of the endless circles of cleaning and cooking was when you were seated on the piano bench; when you were allowed to travel to other places and write about whatever you wanted. However, today was an exception for the rule; your eyes instantly go wide as you watch the white haired man come through the door.  

“We are closed, didn't you see the sign?” Your mother screams from the counter next to the door. 

She has a dishcloth over her shoulder; her apron had a few stains of water and you suspected she was washing the rest of the dishes from yesterday. The man stops at the entrance, blinking a few times, mouth open midway but no sound coming from it. And you have to suppress the teasing grin that threatens to appear on your face. 

“It’s okay mother, I invited him,” You say without thinking twice. Not quite sure where the burst of courage came from. 

Both of them quickly turn their heads in your direction and stare at you. Your mother frowning in disbelief — it reminds you of the times you were still bold enough to voice your desire to become a singer, a silly dream that was erased throughout the years. The man had his mouth slightly open, the look of surprise on his face is almost comical. 

Your mother gives you a suspicious look, hesitating for a brief moment before turning around to go back to the kitchen; mumbling something under her breath between what are they thinking? and well at least their are talking with someone. You roll your eyes and decide to ignore the last part. 

Taking a better look at him in the morning light, you realize how his eyelashes were long, longer than any eyelashes you’ve ever seen; they’re pretty. But what would always hold your attention was his eyes; even though he wasn't looking at you, they were a different shade of purple, and you could stay staring at them for hours because that color was so unique.

“I…” He starts, looking anywhere but you. There’s a brief pause but you don't push the conversation, waiting for him to continue. He cleans his throat and tries again, “I wanted to apologize.”

Your brows arch in curiosity; that was the last thing you expected him to say, leaving you speechless. You didn’t understand. Well, it wasn't that you didn't completely understand what he meant by that, you were just caught by surprise. You could swear he would avoid you like the plague and pretend that nothing happened.

He runs his hand through his hair, seeming nervous with the interaction. You watch the movement, noticing how he had more scars running down his arms, and probably down his chest too. Where did he get that many? Your grandfather had one on his knee, but that was all the marks he had to remind him of the bad days in the countryside - one story that he would tell you from time to time. This man must have a lot of them if his body was covered in so many. 

“For the other night, I mean.”

“Ah,” Returning from your train of thought that often had you spacing out; you offer him a genuine smile, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Fuck, this is embarring,” He drops his hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching his hands, “Look, I drank a lot and…”

“I said, you don’t need to apologize,” You cut him short, saving him from the embarrassment that would be telling a story he clearly didn't want to revisit; to a stranger above everything else. As much as you wanted to know, you weren't in the position to demand anything from him, “I understand.”

Because you really did. Although you dealt with your grandmother’s death in a different way, since you were still a child when everything happened, you could still remember the hurt and the grief. People deal with problems in a variety of ways, it wasn't up to you to judge. He finally looks at you, mouth opening to say something, but you wave your hand, stopping him from saying anything else

“Are you hungry?” You ask, looking at the clock. it was half past 9. There were still some hours until lunch. If he was here at this time, he probably didn't eat anything since yesterday, the man needed something on his stomach after drinking so much. “My father just finished baking some bread, come eat with me.”

And again, you don't know where the burst of courage to invite him to your house, to your table came from, but you accepted it anyway. You had always been afraid of taking the first step since your parents discouraged you every time you tried. After some time you stopped dreaming about becoming a singer, or playing for a huge crowd. However, there was something about the man that made you want to act, to do something. 

He looks surprised by the invitation, and you don’t blame him. it was a surprise for you as well. Since when did you become so bold? You would blame the curiosity that lingered every time you looked at his face; the odd feeling growing on your chest every time you thought about his beautiful purple eyes. 

“Sanemi…“ Looking away, he rubs his neck. “My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi.”

“Oh, right!“ You can help but laugh, clapping your hands together. Such a simple step that you two had totally overlooked, jumping straight to the heavy stuff, “Y/N, nice to meet you!”

You offer your hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he holds your hand and squeezes it gently. It’s a firm grip and you can feel how calloused and rough his skin truly is. You don't mind though. 

“Come,” Before Sanemi could back off and rethink the invitation; you pull him towards the kitchen, hand still holding his’ in a tight grip, “My father just took it out of the oven, it’s better when it's still hot.”

He stumbles a little over his own feet, mumbling something underneath his breath. But follows you inside nevertheless; not letting go of your hand either.

III.

When a song is created, it starts with different types of attempts; you could try changing the rhythm first. Then the words; should they rhyme? should they be separated in the chorus? It’s a long process until you reach the final piece; and it’s even a longer process to make something you’re proud of. 

It’s the same process with your relationship with Sanemi. It started with only a few words thrown on the paper, none of them making any sense together. It took you some time to figure it out, how to use those words to create something nice. 

The words would come to your mind every time he showed up at the restaurant; every time he talked to you and you could have a glimpse inside his mind. It was a tough task, to say the least. However, your heart has had a change of weather lately; rather than staying inside because of the rain; it started to go out, looking for the sun. 

Sanemi would always appear if you invited him, especially on the days when you played the piano. He had told you once that he liked to hear you playing it, and since then you tried your best to come up with more songs and more rhythms. It was almost as if an imaginary dam had been breached inside your brain, and now each night you poured your heart into the paper, there were never enough words to describe everything you wanted to say. So you played.

His presence started to become more familiar; your mother knew his name, your father did too. Even your cousin now would talk to him without receiving a death glare. It was rather amusing seeing them interact because Sanemi was still, well, Sanemi. Although he would slip every now and then, he would always come back to his feet. It was a slow progress, one that you were more than lucky to see it happening. 

You never mentioned that you were worried about his habits, what people did with their lives was up to them. However, after that night, you were always looking out for him. Talking and keeping him company when you weren't too busy with other customers. In the beginning he had told you to fuck off; but there wasn't any real threat on his voice, so of course you didn't. 

You noticed, then, that he had stopped coming back home with a bottle of alcohol; had stopped getting angry at the other customers who would  bump into him sometimes. Had a more friendly voice when talking to your cousin, and didn’t fall asleep on the counter with a glass still full. It was those small details that would make your heart warm, spring finally arriving after a long winter. 

“Did you drink tonight?” You ask, leaning over the counter. He was the last client for the night. 

The restaurant was closing; what once was relief, now would leave you feeling gloomy because you had to say goodbye to your favorite person. You never knew when Sanemi would come back. He never told you exactly what his job was; or where he worked. So you had only blank spaces that you had to fill in with your own imagination. You were up for the challenge, anyway.

“No,” He smiles at you, a sight you could never get tired of. Sanemi had a different type of beauty; it was endearing to watch. “I decided to stop.”

You can help but open a huge smile after hearing that, “That’s good news!” 

It was the little details that transformed him into someone special; not only his beauty was captivating but the way he carried himself, tall and strong. You liked to hear whatever he had to say because it was always interesting. It wasn't half assed excuses or lies most people — most men — would tell you on a daily basis. 

There was something else about him; about his scars; about his mysterious past that you felt drawn to, like a fly is drawn to the light. You could only hope one day you would be able to sail on those mysterious waters without sinking after the first storm. 

“Well, it’s time to close...” An idea crosses your mind, and like everything you have been doing lately, you don't give a second thought, you don't hesitate. It flows out of your mouth as easily as breathing “But why don’t you come sit with me before you go?”

Sanemi raises a brow at you, and you laugh at his hesitation. Without wasting any more time, you grab his muscular arm and pull him off of the bar stool, heading to the stage. You often find yourself taking the first step yet again; it was rare the times where he would seek out for you. In the beginning, it would make you second doubt everything you said or did, worrying that he didn't like you. 

However, it wasn't that he didn't like you, he just didn't know what to do; because everytime you pulled him to do something or talked to him, he would gladly follow, never complaining — unless you asked him to help clean the restaurant, that he would complain, a lot.

“Have you ever played piano before?” The floor of the stage creaks under your steps, not used to have more than one person standing over it. You sit down on the bench, tapping the small space beside you. It was tight, but it would work. 

“No…” Sanemi stands behind the bench with his arms crossed over his chest, still unsure about what you were doing. You angrily tap the space beside you as a warning. 

He lets out a loud sigh before coming to sit next to you - you knew he only did that to appear tough; it was too easy to see that he wasn't really annoyed. Sitting by your side, his thigh completely touching yours sends a shiver down your spine; instantly coloring red your cheeks, and you have to shut down the thoughts that were starting to rise in the back of your mind. 

“My grandmother used to say that sometimes music is even more powerful than words,” You say, fingers hovering over the keys. If there was one thing that you would never stop talking about it, it was her. Somehow it felt like she was still alive, remembering her so tenderly. “She would just play away her thoughts and feelings, it was fascinating to watch.”

When Sanemi looks at you, there's a strange fog in his eyes, clouding his view; as if the weather had closed and it was about to rain. It stirs something inside you, an odd feeling that you knew all too well. Sometimes you would catch him staring at nothing, with the same clouded stare. 

You knew that something had happened in the past and he was still grieving over it, not only he had told you that night, but every time you talked about your grandmother he would react the same way. You could only hope that your company was enough to distract him from those feelings. 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” You offer, showing him the keyboard, for now this would have to be enough. 

“Me?” His voice has a hint of hesitance. You nod, encouraging him with a smile and a tap on his shoulder.  

He looks at you, to the piano, then to you again. It was amusing to watch, a grown up man afraid of touching simple keys. Although, to be very honest, when you started playing you would feel completely intimidated with the size and the sounds it would make. But what was most intimidating was the amount of work you had to put to actually learn how to play by yourself. It took you some years to finally overcome that fear of failure before jumping head first. 

He touches one key, but there’s almost no sound coming from it since he didn't put too much force on it; when you hesitate to touch the keys is when you first start to fail. He tries again, but this time, his finger slips and touches another key, the combination has you two flinching. You bite your lips as he continues to touch random keys; making a rather interesting combination. 

“You’re laughing.” 

“I’m not laughing.”

Sanemi sighs and retreats his hand, looking defeated, “I’m not made for this shit.”

“Oh shut up, here.” 

You gently hold his hand; skin warm under your touch. He doesn't complain about your boldness, so you keep going, putting his hand over the keyboard again, lightly tapping his index finger over a key so he would play the note. It’s a slow process, having to move at a pace that would allow the movement, but the opportunity of holding his hand is worth every minute. In the end, you two played the beginning of an easy song.

“See, it’s not that hard,” You say, letting go of his hand. “It’s all about feeling it.” Your face is warm for some reason. And Sanemi is still staring at the piano, and you could swear that his ears are a little bit red. 

“I’m shit at feelings,” He confesses, rubbing his neck. 

Well, you couldn't argue with that. He definitely semeed like someone who would rather show than say, but that’s the beauty in people right? Learning with mistakes, growing with the years as you grasp the nuances of reality and the world around you. 

“We all have to start from somewhere, right?” You smile at him, bumping his shoulder. 

Sanemi laughs, and doesn't miss the opportunity to bump your shoulder slightly harder, making you almost fall off the bench. He laughs even harder when you try to push him off but don't get even close to move a single inch of his body. However, you wouldn't give up so easily.

The small fight ends when Sanemi accidentally hits his elbow on the keyboard, making a loud noise that has you two jumping and your mother appearing from the kitchen yelling that it's already too late. The smirk on his face doesn't go away though. 

IV.

The festival was even prettier this year. The paper lamps shining on top of the buildings give an ethereal feeling to the scenario; the sakura’s trees were adorned with ribbons of all colors, petals flying around in a beautiful dance while the night was captured by the anticipation for the fireworks. However, that wasn't the only reason. 

Seated next to you, was Sanemi. His hair reflecting the colored lights from the lamps only made him radiate beauty; they danced across the white canvas. His face looked so peaceful, there was not a single wrinkle on his forehead as he ate the food you had prepared for the night. For a moment you forgot he was really there with you. It all seemed part of a dream, but not even your dreams could come up with such a dazzling view. 

To say that you were surprised when he invited you to come with him to the festival, was an understatement. It took you so long to process the information that he thought you had denied; and it was almost a battle to make him believe that yes, you really wanted to go with him, and no, you only hesitated because you were caught off guard. Truth be told, a few days had passed and you still couldn't believe. Not even now, when you were looking at him from the corner of your eyes. 

It also took you long hours of begging and whining for him to tell you that his favorite food was ohagi. You couldn't believe how silly he acted when he told you; almost as a kid, stomping his feet and all. You tried your best not to laugh, but failed miserably, which only made him even more embarrassed. When he left, you had your hair all messy but the smile on your face didn't disappear for the rest of the night.

You had prepared everything in anticipation, counting the days and hours to this moment. Your father gave you a day off only for this occasion — he would never admit, but after the white haired man had helped fix a few things in the restaurant, lending a hand whenever they needed, he came to like Sanemi. 

Your mother happily helped you prepare the ohagi and a few other things for the festival. Even suggested buying new clothes for you, which you denied. It wasn't a date, at least he didn't say it was. You were only keeping him company, right? Oh hell, who were you trying to fool? You wanted this to be a date so bad. 

The spot Sanemi chose was near the lake. As you looked around you noticed that there were reflections of the lamps on the water; like an infinite mirror, you could find stars in the sky or down there on earth, even in Sanemi's eyes. An infinity of beauty surrendering you, bouncing around like shooting stars; all you could do was close your eyes and make a wish. 

“I don't know, just…” You trailed off, thinking about his question, “You only die when you are forgotten, memories can keep you alive throughout the decades, don't you think?”

“You sound awfully like someone I know.” He throws his head back with a smirk on his face, drinking the sake.

He had promised it was only because of the festival, just for fun. And you didn't need him to promise that he wasn't drinking anymore, because you believed. You trusted him enough to know that he knew what he was doing. Also, you had seen his journey, there was no need to be reassured when you knew by heart. 

“Hmm, I bet they are wise and smart!” The sake tastes strong on your mouth, but you didn't mind. It wasn't often that you drank, but the feeling was nice and very welcomed.

“No, actually he’s a really annoying brat,” Sanemi chuckles, “But you aren't annoying.” He confesses, and if it wasn't too dark you could see a hint of red on his cheeks. 

“But am i still a brat?” You raise a brow at his direction. The smirk on his face tells you everything.

“Don't you dare finish that sentence or else there's no ohagi for you anymore.” You try narrowing your eyes as a threat, but the tiny smile tugging on the corner of your lips is enough to give you away. 

Sanemi’s smirk is still visible even in the low light, it has become a trademark of him by now, the curl on the corner of his lips, the chuckles that would follow after. And you would take notes of each of his mannerisms, remember every word, pay attention to what he liked and mostly what made him angry. Even if he wasn't someone that talked about himself in general, you had your own way to find out about him.

He picks another ohagi, and you watch him as he takes a bite, humming in delight. It makes your heart warm, your skills with cooking finally paying off for something else rather than just for the restaurant. Watching him eat your food and liking it hits you differently than anything else. You take another sip of sake, the drink burning a little as it goes down your throat is a welcomed feeling. 

“Genya,” Sanemi suddenly says. You look at him confused; the smirk long gone, replaced by the same melancholy look that would everytime cloud his eyes, “It was my little brother’s name.” He explains.

You look down at your hands holding the cup, contemplating. It was the first time Sanemi ever spoke about his family, his past. Even knowing him for quite some time now, even after becoming his friend, building a relationship with him from scratch and turning into something you can’t see yourself without it; his past was never brought up. Moreover, you truly believe he was a good man, there was no need to open old wounds only to satisfy your curiosity. 

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” You immediately ensure him, touching his shoulder. 

The last thing you wanted was him feeling like he owed you an explanation. Yes, you wanted to know, of course you did. Because you wanted to help, pick his pieces and put them back together, Sanemi wasn't a broken man, not entirely - he still had a bright and beautiful light inside him, it was only obscured with a few debris, leftover of a hurricane that he never recovered from. 

“It’s fine…” He’s gazing at the lake, mind elsewhere, far from reality, “I feel like I’ve been mourning for so long that I can't think about anything else.”

It breaks your heart seeing him like this, even harder than the night when you found him crying in the alleway. Because now you knew him, his name, his personality, his favorite food. Because now you held him so close to your heart that you were afraid of crushing it. Because you cared, more than anything. 

“But that’s why we struggle. It never goes away,” Your hand shifts from his shoulder, running down his back, caressing with small movements. Almost embracing him with one arm. “It only gets easier.” 

Sanemi goes quiet after that, closing his eyes. But you keep rubbing his back, face so close to his that you could see the difference of the skin that healed and formed his scars; the texture is rougher in contrast with the rest of his face. 

“Were you there? When it happened?” You find yourself asking. There are sirens going off in your head. Yet, you can’t stop. It’s an intense feeling of yearning. If you could only understand, just a little bit; having a glimpse of what the man was so hurt by it, then maybe you could help put his former self back together. That’s all you wanted. 

“Yes,” His voice breaks a little, words caught on his throat. He squeezes his eyes, closing his hands in a fist. However, he doesn't flinch nor say anything. So, instead of retreating, you put your other hand on his arm, the other still gently caressing his back. 

“He… He said I was the sweetest person in the world,” He whispers, placing his hand over yours, “Shit, I wasn’t even a good brother, I treated him badly, I pushed him away. I don’t deserve his words.”

“But he forgave you in the end,” You quickly say before he would go down on a spiraling hate towards himself, words flooding your mouth before you could stop, “He could have said anything, and he chose to let you know that you were still loved by him, even after everything.” 

You didn't know what everything actually meant, there were still so many blank spaces that needed to be filled for you to fully understand the man beside you. However, you knew one thing: blaming yourself was so much easier than forgiving. 

“Fuck… I don’t,” He tries, the grip in your hand a little bit too tight, but you don't pay any attention. All your focus was on his expression, his words, “I wanted him to be happy, to get married and have a family. And now…”

“Sanemi…” The look on his face is devastating, defeated. 

He had probably held all these emotions for so long, all these words of regret and shame, kept inside his heart and let it loose on his mind; torturously haunting him at each step he took. Now you understood why he had resorted to alcohol. The pain in his words touches your heart, making it quiver under it. 

“Please, don't blame yourself. We can't choose which path people are going to take, it’s out of our hands.”

Silence falls between you two, but it isn't uncomfortable. And you are more than happy to sit there and hold him close, trying your best to show through actions how much you cared about him. If your words couldn't do the job, at least you hoped your touch was reassuring him. At least, it worked for you — every time your grandfather patted your head was enough to remember to keep going, even when the longing was too much. 

“You deserve to be happy, Sanemi,” There were so many things you wanted to say, but you couldn't find the right words, “Your brother wouldn’t want any less, right?”

You hold his calloused hands in your small ones, slender fingers touching and tracing his scars, feeling the roughness of it. Since the first time you saw him, It had awakened something inside you; something about his hands, arms, his chest, his face, drawn with a pattern that made him so fascinating and interesting, traced with stories of pain and joy; a map that you couldn't help but want to explore every inch of it. 

“This world is cold and we are desperately fighting to be heard, to be seen.” Because it was the truth. Every day when you open your eyes; every day when you close them; each day is a small battle you need to live through. “Being alone in a place like this it’s just cruel.”

You don't know what possessed you at the moment, but when you realized, your lips had touched his skin, planting a gentle kiss, overflowed with affection, on his fingers. 

“That’s why I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me.”

The first firework explodes behind Sanemi, lighting him in an endearing aura that takes your breath away. Although, you can’t hear them; your heartbeat is even louder in your ears. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath against your skin. His hand comes to rest on your chin, squeezing slightly. He tilts your head in his direction and you close your eyes. 

Then, he kisses you.