#and only loses part of that when he gets his Normal Guy haircut

[spectros]

anyone else getting Trans Vibes from the Normal Assassin

[artificial-transmutations]

Closer Than Flesh - Conflict

Jake is almost sad to see Dominik's body change. In this in-between state, Jake is Jake again. Not Dominik and not yet whoever he is going to become. Still, this doesn't change much of his state of mind. He feels powerful and in control, being able to freely use the magic of the stone now. He can't really control yet who exactly he is going to become, but that is only a matter of time. Hair explodes all over his body. A dense full beard forms in his face, and his stylish haircut grows out into a wild mane of hair. But not only his face gets hairy: All over his chest and stomach, body hair grows in. Not decent or trimmed, no. A wild forest of hair is what materializes on Jake's upper body. Soon, pretty much every part of his torso is covered by a dense fur of hair - clearly visible, since Dominik's natural blonde hair color has vanished in favor of a dark brown. The changes quickly spread to his extremities as well: Both his arms and legs are covered by a layer of body hair as well, and his large cock gets embedded into a rich pubic bush.

As even his feet and the back of his hands get hairy, finally, the rest of his body follows the changes. The already fit body of Dominik explodes with mass. Both fat and muscles stack on his bones, and he gets considerably taller, to slightly over two meters in height.

The biggest changes however are not to Dominik's appearance but rather to his body shape and motion. Whereas Dominik was fit and athletic, Jake is now broad, heavy and tall, a powerhouse of a man, a force of nature.

His face quickly loses the youthful softness of the streamer it had before and becomes rugged and weathered, piling up a few years of age, leaving Jake at least in his mid-thirties.

As the changes to Jake's body slow down, clothing starts to appear on him. Not bothering with any underwear, a sturdy pair of durable pants forms over his legs and groin and his hairy feet are being wrapped in heavy boots. Finally, as always, the world comes back. The wooden planks of a small fishing boat form under Jake's massive feet and a rugged Scandinavian coast line around him. Finally, the bright blue sky and the ocean come in, completing the scenery.

Jake takes a deep breath of the salty air. There is no doubt the magic stone worked well. Even though Jake has never visited this part of the world before, he is sure that this was Norway. There are mountains in the distance and the shoreline just looks like Jake would expect from a Nordic country.

His new body feels powerful and great. It doesn't take a genius to guess that he is probably a sailor or a fisher. There is no one else but him on the small boat, so he has every time to explore his new body.

Everything about it is positively massive and strong. The dense coating of hair expresses his manliness well.

Jake scratches his head. What is it he wanted to do?

He groans when he remembers the conversation he had with his dick. It was so annoying. Having a talking cock sounds fun until you actually have one. Now he just wishes it would shut up for good and just be a normal part of his male anatomy.

He sighs. He should head to Båtfed now. To be honest, he isn't quite sure what he is about to do with the weapon there, but perhaps he can force that red demon guy to stop bothering him and make his cock behave normally.

That Jake has no idea on where his destination is or how he would steer a boat there doesn't pose much of a problem for Jake. He doesn't know, but his host body knows for sure. It's getting easier and easier to access knowledge and skills, so Jake just needs to close his eyes for a second. When Bjørnar opens his eyes again, he knows exactly where to go. Silently, he gets to work.

***

Skyler has mixed feelings. Mog'Tol's plan has worked extremely well, and from what he heard, the binding circle has been destroyed. The joy of revenge is somewhat diminished however from the fact, that the stone, that stone with the hated sigil of the past, has not yet surfaced anywhere. It is probably only a matter of time. Skyler has enough time, it's not like he is mortal. But he hates waiting, and every passing day makes him more vulnerable. It is not strictly unusual for demons to disappear for a year or a decade, but the more powerful ones, like himself, have some kind of representation at least. If word gets out about his powerless condition, he might very well lose more than just his reputation. And now that Mog'Tol knows, it's a race against the clock.

Still, humans are greedy. It will probably only take one or two months until one of them pillages the remains of the secret society, at most, and then he will have his magic back.

One or two months pass, and while Skyler is right about the pillaging, to his boundless frustration, 'his' artifact has not yet surfaced. There are other stones, presumably with demonic magic sealed in it that have appeared in the mortal world, but as big as the temptation is, Skyler dares not to lay hands on them. Not without his own magic, at least. If the original owner of that power would notice, Skyler would be no match for them right now. As frustrating as it is, the best course of action is to lay low and wait for now.

So, Skyler waits. And waits. And waits. Months become years, but there is not a single sign of his sigil stone. Of course, Skyler has sent his agents, human with weak minds that he is easily able to take over, to search for it discretely, but the stone does not appear in any collection. Over time, Skyler is forced to retreat more and more into his palace. Mog'Tol has apparently not yet told anyone about Skyler's situation, but there are rumors already.

To explain his public absence, Skyler has spread the rumor he is working on a bigger project in his palace. He didn't specify what exactly, which served in his favor, as the other influential inhabitants of hell are busier to discuss about what he is working on but to doubt it all together. But sooner or later, his lie will be revealed.

The years turn into decades without any new development. Just as his patience has worn out, Skyler senses a spark of hope. A tiny, miniscule part of his magic has returned to him, like a thin string of red mist. Someone has used the stone! Finally, the wait is over!

Immediately, Skyler heads for the mortal plane, following the traces of his magic like a blood hound. Would it just have been that tiny sliver of magic, Skyler probably would not have found its origin at all. But whoever used the stone seems to have taken a liking to his magic, as shortly after, more and more of his power is being activated and freed. It's still a tiny amount, and at this rate, it would take more decades for everything to return to him - but that isn't Skyler's plan. He successfully pinpoints the origin of the magic and will just take his power back from that mortal.

He did underestimate that mortal somewhat, Skyler has to admit. As he confronted the young man in his living place, he had the audacity of using Skyler's own magic to escape.

It matters little. Since he used magic to escape, *his* magic, Skyler just needs to follow the trail of power flowing back to him. That mortal fool might have gotten lucky once, but that won't happen another time.

It happened another time, and Skyler is confused by it. He had the situation, and that weak mortal's mind under his control - until he lost that control and he slipped away again. It is extraordinarily rare for a mortal to have a mind so strong he can resist Skyler's influence - and initially, this mortal had not shown any signs of such a strong mind at all. Still, at the very last second, Skyler's influence had been pushed out. That should be impossible. A single mind should not be able to become that strong all of a sudden.

Still, it was no problem. Skyler has another conversation with Mog'Tol, who hints that maybe his presence allows the mortal to use the stone like that. Nothing easier than that. There is no need to get his hands dirty himself, after all. He will just use his spies to find the mortal again and then appear and take the stone.

Skyler could scream in frustration as the mortal slips away again. He had the perfect opportunity and took over his spy at the right time, but still, the mortal being escaped his grasp barely. Skyler looks down at the dripping wet body he has stolen from some Polish construction worker. Time to change plans. He will send his minions to take away the sigil stone - and only then would he appear himself. That way, the stone wouldn't activate in resonance and the mortal has no means to escape.

Apparently, he had underestimated the mortal man again. It was a conundrum to Skyler. Even though the mortal obviously had a weak mind and succumbed more and more to the influences of the hellish magic, he had managed to activate the stone himself. How was this possible? He could consult Mog'Tol again but decides against it. He needs to adjust his thinking. Instead of chasing the mortal all over his plane of existence, he would just let him work for Skyler. Skyler had enough summonings to know how humans work. Promise them power, promise them immortality and they do exactly what you want. Skyler actually has every intention to honor this deal. It isn't hard to give the man what he wants, and he has proven to be an oddity among men. A conundrum Skyler would very much like to study further once he has his powers back.

So, the next time, he tracks his magic down to a place the mortals call south America, he proposes the deal to the mortal. He knows better than to press him for an answer - humans react poorly under pressure - which is a blessing most of the time, but not what he wants right now. After he sees the man disappear again, Skyler smiles. Not long now, and his magic and a brand new servant will be his.

***

Skyler really doesn't understand why he is having this visions of Baelnath, but for the first time after 'waking up', this is not the first thought he has. Baelnath has offered Jake a deal? Why didn't Jake tell him? Sure, his Dominik personality has been difficult, but this is important! Their lives depend on this! Then, another thought crosses Skyler's mind. What if Jake didn't tell him because he plans on agreeing to the deal? No, this can't be. Jake wouldn't have done what he did if he planned on becoming a servant of Baelnath. After all, why would he be looking for the angelic essence then?

A small part of his mind nagged on. There are possible explanations. Perhaps he wants to give it to his future master as a gift? No. Skyler refuses to believe that. Probably, Jake has only forgotten to tell him. That must be it.

Concentrating on his surroundings, Jake has obviously transformed into a new body again. Rough cloth rubs against Skyler's length and the space inside the pants is filled with sweat and hair. A lot of hair, actually. Skyler cannot remember a body that was that hairy down here. It isn't that bad though - that groin he is attached to is definitely manly and primal, which Skyler likes.

Pretty immediately, a gigantic hand readjusts Skyler's length. Apparently, he has chubbed up a bit thinking about the situation he is in. Skyler briefly considers getting harder and stimulating Jake further but can stop himself for a moment. On a rational level, this is getting him nowhere, and Jake potentially in a bad situation. On an instinctual level however... He is a cock. A piece of cockmeat. His prime duty is to get hard and be sticked somewhere to fuck. Or be jerked off. What does he care what situation Jake is in? He needs attention, now. When your cock calls, you have to answer, that what he... that's what... it? is for. Yes. Skyler is a cock and that is its purpose. Skyler is completely hard now, and it throbs inside the rough work pants. Jake's big hands come down to readjust himself, but every touch of Skyler's length only serves to make it harder and more demanding.

Finally, with a grunt, Jake's big hands open his pants and Skyler springs free. They are on a boat and as far as Skyler can see they are alone. But all that doesn't matter to it right now. Without saying a single word, the gigantic man wraps his hand around Skyler's body and starts to pump. No foreplay or more stimulation, just raw power and desire. Skyler feels as its mind meets the primal thoughts of the man jerking him and their thoughts become one once again. Just pumping away, trying to get more pleasure out of his dick. Jake/Skyler thrusts in his hand now, in complete silence but with barely contained force. After a few minutes, he can feel himself getting closer, and, with a non-descript grunt cums in a wide arch over the reeling, into the ocean.

The journey takes a few days since the town of Båtfed is on the other end of Norway, close to the very north. During the journey, Skyler thinks less and less about Jake's possible betrayal or what it has seen in this vision. In fact, Skyler thinks less and less in general. It lets itself being used for pissing, and of course for the regular jerk offs, but that's it. That's what it is for and that's what it does. Not a single word is exchanged between Bjørnar and his cock, during the whole time. Bjørnar is not a talkative guy in general, and there is nobody here to hear him. Skyler on the other hand, is a cock. Why should he speak to his owner?

It is only when Bjørnar and his cock finally arrive at Båtfed that the situation changes. Bjørnar moors the boat, and stretches, before walking towards the red wooden building of the stave church that is clearly visible outside of town. He has landed outside of town, since he likes to avoid any company if possible, and luckily, there is nobody there. During the days on the boat, Bjørnar had some time to think. After a few days of settling, Baelnath’s offer doesn't sound all too bad to him now. Sure, he would be a servant, but everyone is a servant of some kind. And being able to choose his bodies freely sounds really appealing, at least compared to going back to his magic-less life, that seems so far away now. However, he still has a trump card. He will get that divine thingamabob and trade it for an even better deal. Less servant, more equal to Baelnath. He, Bjørnar has the power right now, or at least he will have it shortly. No need to settle for anything less than what he wants.

Stomping towards the red building, he is surprised to actually see another human being out here. A twenty-something boy with blonde hair and a twinkish build is looking out to the ocean. Immediately, Bjørnar's dick reacts to the fuckable man, but Bjørnar disapproves. He has no time for that.

Instead, he tries the church door, only to find it locked. He rattles the door with some force, but it's stable enough. He would either need to get a key or break it down. There is no reason not to break it down, aside from the boy with the white shirt who has taken notice and approaches Bjørnar. Great. Human contact. Just what he needed.

"Do you want to visit the church?" asks the boy. Even his voice is light and cheerful. Disgusting.

"Fuck no. I just want to get in there." Bjørnar spits out.

"I'm sorry, but it's closed most of the time. My uncle is the priest here and he only opens the doors for service." The boy's eyes are sparkling in joy, even though he is talking to a hunk like Bjørnar.

"Oh, then I will break down the fucking door then." Bjørnar growls at the boy and stomps towards the door.

"Relax! I've got the keys right with me. I can show you the inside if you like, but only if you promise not to break anything." The boy quickly says and smiles a disarming smile.

"Okay, okay. No breaking anything. Lead on."

"Of course. But first... let us talk about the master's offer."

Bjørnar turns around, as the voice of the boy changes and gets a neutral, puppety tone to it. Sure enough, the eyes of the other man are glowing red now. He is being controlled by Baelnath now. Bjørnar just hopes that he is only here for him and doesn't know about the weapon.

Bjørnar grunts. Being so close to his goal, he has lost much of the respect for the red demon, especially since he is not here himself. Bjørnar still has the magic stone and can escape anytime he wants, but that would be rather inconvenient. No, he will resolve the situation another way.

"Right. The master." Bjørnar says slowly while trying to come up with an idea. "Who is that again?"

The tone of the boys voice does not change as he responds: "You know him well. Baelnath, the twisted master of flesh."

So, Baelnath is using magic to control that boy, huh? Well, Bjørnar has magic at his disposal himself. Time to use it.

He concentrates on the stone in his hand and feels the power surging. However, this time, he doesn't direct it at himself and his body, but at the young man's mind in front of him. He feels a slight struggle, but as Bjørnar can just throw more and more power at the problem, he quickly dominates the battlefield of the mind.

"Say it again. Who is your master?" Asks Bjørnar in a demanding tone.

It takes a moment, but the young adult responds differently now: "My master is... you. You are my master."

Bjørnar grins before being reminded to his arousal by his throbbing cock. "Good. Now, suck me off."

He opens his pants with his free hand and releases Skyler into the open. The blond boy does not hesitate for a moment and drops to his knees. In seconds, Skyler is all the way down the boy's throat, chocking him lightly. Bjørnar does not care about that he is out in public right now. There is nobody here, and if someone was, Bjørnar would not care. He pumps his hips, pushing Skyler down the boy's throat and smirks as he hears a muffled groan.

Bjørnar decides he needs more and pushes the other man's head with his free hand against his groin, almost choking him. "There. You are a good little slave, aren't you?"

The blonde guy interrupts his servicing only briefly to answer in the same monotone voice: "Yes, master."

"Good boy." Bjørnar says as he pulls down his pants even further and starts pumping his dick directly into the other man's throat. He thrusts and moans, finally cumming down the blonde's throat with a grunt.

After that, Bjørnar pushes the blonde from him and to the ground. He just bellows a "Now, the keys." and, as he receives them, does not care about the spent man on the ground anymore.

Skyler on the other hand is present like he has not been for a long time. It has mind-melded again with Bjørnar during his exploit and what it had seen scared it deeply. Bjørnar, Jake, is gone so far it really couldn't recognize any sign of its old friend anymore. Is that really it? Skyler cannot believe this. There has to be a way out for them, there just has to be. So instead of dozing off as it normally does after orgasm, Skyler stays present as good as it can as Bjørnar unlocks the door. Luckily, the beary man has not bothered to put it back into his pants, so Skyler can see.

The interior of the church is small, but quite beautiful. The sunlight shines in through colorful stained glass windows, and a few candles are burning. It's narrow in here and everything is made of wood. Naturally, the air inside is pretty hot, at least for Nordic people.

At the back of the church is a small wooden shrine, and Bjørnar is certain that what he is searching for must be there. He stomps closer until he stands in front of the closed shrine, hesitating for a short moment. Skyler isn't sure what is going on in Bjørnar's head, but he senses his chance.

"Jake!" he addresses the huge man who flinches a bit from the unexpected voice in his head. "I don't know what Baelnath promised you, but don't do it. We are here, Jake, and there is the weapon. Let's take it and defeat Baelnath!"

Skyler puts all the sense of urgency it can muster into these words. A moment passes and then Bjørnar starts laughing, in a deep, arrogant voice.

"I almost forgot you were there, little kuk[cock]! So, you little asshole listened in to the conversation I had with my slave?"

Bjørnar spits out on the church floor. "Know your place! But no. The deal is not bad, but I can do better. I'm not gonna take the deal. Instead, I am going to become much more, all on my own. Baelnath is pathetic. With the magic stone, I can be so much more powerful than him. I'll take over his slaves and make them mine. They are going to serve me. And nobody on earth can stop me, because only *I* have the magic."

Skyler is horrified. What is going on with Jake? It gets really angry. How can he just throw away everything like that?

"Jake, stop that! This isn't you!" Skyler shouts angrily.

"Oh, shut up! Nobody can stop me, not even you. Especially not you, you are just a cock. First thing I am going to do is silence you, for good. There is just one weapon on earth that is capable of stopping me, and that is inside this wooden box here. But not for very much longer."

With his strong arms, Bjørnar just rips open the shrine and reveals a crystal on a wooden stand inside. The crystal is beautiful: Warm yellow swirling light fills it and shines outward without any need of further illumination. The light isn't unpleasantly bright and yet, it fills the room naturally like the sunlight on a warm summer day.

While Bjørnar hesitates for a moment, Skyler's thoughts are spinning. If Jake destroys the angelic essence, all is lost, for good. It absolutely cannot let that happen. There is just one thing it can do now.

It has done it before and despite just having cummed, Skyler concentrates really hard on getting hard again. Come on! It has managed to do so in Romania, and so many other times now. Just... come on.

And really, Skyler's length grows rigid. Now it uses everything he has trained back in Germany. It knows that it will only stay in control for a short duration, the duration of one erection, but it has to try.

Skyler's strong mind overwhelms Jake's weak one as he is just reaching out to grab the crystal. Skyler stops the movement in his track and Bjørnar tries to use his other hand, sweat dripping from his brow in the hot church. It's a battle of minds, but Skyler eventually succeeds in bringing the hulking body under his control. It stands there, panting, and with a large erection. Now what. The hardon will subside eventually and then it's all Jake again. Jake is still present, in the back seat of its mind and there is nothing Skyler can do to hide something from him.

Skyler looks at the swirling light crystal and then at Bjørnar's body again. It is out of options. It needs to do *something*, anything at all.

Soon, Jake will control Bjørnar again and then the angelic essence must be out of his reach.

An idea appears. It's a crazy idea, but Skyler doesn't feel like it has much choice. It *must* act now, no time to think it through.

It grabs the crystal which feels warm and pleasant to the touch and carefully lifts it up to its face. Skyler just hopes this works, as it lowers the crystal until it touches the very erect dick. Skyler concentrates hard, but it is not even necessary. Easily as a wish, the golden light inside the crystal intensifies and flows out of its transparent home and into the flesh of Skyler's dick body, filling it and surrounding it for a moment, before sinking in gently.

Skyler feels a clarity it has not felt for a long time. Everything has a purpose, even it... no, even he. He doesn't know what this purpose is, and it is up to him to discover this, but as the angelic essence fuses with his being, it feels like he can do it.

During all the powerful emotions, Skyler has completely forgotten about his concentration, and as his dick body softens, Bjørnar is immediately present again.

Pure hatred fills his voice as he shouts: "You fucking idiot! You motherfucking traitor! Was that your plan all along? To have that power for yourself? Asshole!"

Angrily, he smashes the now-empty crystal to the ground, where it shatters into a thousand little shards and pulls out the sigil stone.

"So, that's how it is. My biggest enemy was never the demon, it was my own fucking dick. A fucking enemy, in my own fucking body."

His voice grows cold, as he continues: "If you are against me, I will need to look for allies elsewhere. I'm going to Baelnath now."

Demonic magic swirls around him, as he invokes the stone's powers again and vanishes in red mist.

Outside the church, a single black raven who had watched the scenery, spreads out his wings and flies away.

There is quite a lot going on between the two of them and things aren't exactly looking bright. Let's just hope this ends well. If you want to read the previous chapter, you can do so here. This magic link leads you all the way to the beginning. You can read the next episode here.

If you like to support my writing, be sure to head over to my riot page. Not only the warm feeling of supporting a mediocre TF writer awaits you there, but also awesome benefits, like the critically acclaimed Dropout Dorm storyline!

[chibivesicle]

You just can’t win; how K.K. is a great example of a professional woman in the 21st century

This is the second in my character analysis for Kekkai Sensen, focusing on the senior female member of the team, K.K.  I absolutely love her character; she is incredibly well written and I find her to be an excellent example of the situation that many working women find themselves in as their careers advance.

K. K.’s character design is obviously inspired/derived/variation of that of Vash the Stampede with a gender swap and the willingness to kill.  I find her unique as she is a taller than normal female character, much like Milly Thompson from Trigun but with the tall and skinny versus tall and stocky (Klaus).  She has a blonde bob haircut and striking blue eye while she wears an eye patch over her right eye at all times, even at home with her family.  We don’t know when she lost/injured her eye but very much like Steven, she has a visible sign of her job as a fang hunter since they are both over thirty.  I really appreciate that Nightow visibly shows us the toll that their job takes on their physical body as well as their minds.

K.K. was first introduced when Klaus went to go play prosfair against the Beyondian mob boss who absorbs the brains of his defeated opponents.  We find her in a parking garage surrounded by a literal pile of foes defeated by her single handedly, and we also learn that her vehicle of choice is a motorcycle.  Which makes her even more cool.  Zapp has his moped, Leo has an e-bike/motorized bike, Zed a skateboard and Steven drives a standard sedan car for the most part.

Nightow makes is quite clear that according to Klaus, she is one of the strongest people he knows but of course he’ll defend her because she’s a lady.  But at the same time, she’s the person he brought with him and Gilbert.  Which in a way puts her on the same level as Steven one of the two senior Libra members whom he really does trust.

We learn that she smokes clove cigarettes when stressed out and is one of the more emotional though mature members of the team.  What I mean is that she’ll make a statement or observation that is emotional, but she isn’t overreacting, she’s instead expressing her feelings on the usually sub-optimal setting.

Our next introduction to her is with the Libra social event, where we get her first observation on the workplace.  She runs into Zapp on their way into the after work/after hours social gathering.  It seems there is some sort of power dynamic between the two of them were K. K. has the advantage over Zapp.  However, it is clear that she is in part reacting to the male dominated cabal.

By holding Zapp physically back, she is preventing him from joining the inner circle of Klaus and Steven.  Her observation is 100% for many workplace environments where men will form groups, frequently not even aware of it and create smaller groups where key decisions are made and women are absent from them.  A sort of backroom deal situation but without a backroom but maybe X activity at Y location.

Steven laughs it off (in the Darkhorse translation) calling her pugnacious which only annoys her more, but it is a losing battle.  Of course, Steven laughing at her doesn’t make it work and she drops his common nickname of scarface and notes that he’s not just a scheming bastard - but the most scheming.

Interestingly, the entire time Steven seems nervous with little sweat drops and she states that she’s the bad guy today after noticing Chain’s crush on Steven.  These entire two pages are so honest and realistic - even though this is a fictitious vampire hunter organization.

However, the party comes to an abrupt end when Leo confirms that he saw a Blood Breed and Lucky Abrams comes calling.  Hilariously, since both of them avoid him, the end up together at the 23rd Street Station.  Of course, K.K. voices her annoyance about being teamed up with ‘this’ schemer.  The anime uses ‘black-hearted’ instead and I am too lazy to determine which is the more accurate translation.  It is clear that K.K. has reservations about Steven and he is always replies with a level headed and logical reason to work together.

It is clear that K.K. has some sort of revenge/rationale waiting for the return of the Blood Breeds while Steven would rather not even have to do these sorts of things.  However, each time you go back and read or listen to their dialogue the more and more it sounds like old friends bickering and not two people who hate or dislike each other.  This is further emphasized, and will continue to be depicted this way where the two of them move completely naturally with each other as a team.

This is our first two page spread in all of Kekkai Sensen with them. Just - ah.  So good.

Two professionals at work, completely serious.  Notice how they went from their standard bickering to non-verbal actions.  Time and time again, we will see this with the two of them.  When the Blood Breed from the India Gate comes to HL, it is K. K. who first spots the possible vampire and Steven is the first one to the scene by car.  K. K. saves the girl and her mother and Steven is able to freeze everything in the last second.  He remarks he was cutting it too close while she snarks back he was looking to make a dramatic entrance.  His reply that it wasn’t like her praise dripping with abuse.  These two have a long history of working together.

She’s annoyed that they ended up together again (this has to be super common outside of the story on the pages) and we get the standard Steven line of “Now, now/ まあ,  まあ” trying to deescalate/console someone.   Yet, after their short bickering, they are down to business.  Can we just state that this entire dynamic is just awesome?  K.K. goes by the information Steven relayed to them via phone as they nervously decide how to proceed.  And even though K.K. is incorrect in her assumption, Steven isn’t a jerk about it.  They both pull out their mirrors without actually discussing it.

Teamwork.  I like good teamwork.

What is interesting is the first time that K.K. doesn’t end up with Steven.  When Leo and Chain are looking for the arms dealer who stole Zed’s special breathing apparatus, the rest of the team had to fight villains.  In that instance, K.K. is teamed up with Zapp.

At first she is thrilled to be working with Zapp.  He does an excellent job (but we all know that Zapp is 100% on the job when he’s on the job) and she praises him for a job well done and that she feels lucky to work with him.

Since this is a great way to transition to speak to him as a parent, she has concerned about his recklessness.  She’s being very honest and contemplative about this positive interaction with Zapp, when Zapp totally bales on her!  Zapp literally sprints off and thanks for taking charge and working with others to continue the clean up and she’s pissed!

What does this tell us?  That despite all of her verbal complaints and bickering, there is no way Mr. Anal-retentive would leave.  Instead, Steven would be there giving exact directions to them for the clean up while she could leisurely hang out of even take off to see her family.  This short two page spread shows us that she likely appreciates working with Steven more than she’d verbally admit.

Since after this chapter, I can’t think of another time where K.K. was paired up with anyone besides Steven in fights.  Though I can’t be 100% sure since I haven’t done a full re-read of the series yet.  But all of the big scenes in the Calamity Auction arc, they are teamed up together.  We don’t know what would have happened win the Noctova Smile arc b/c K.K. wasn’t present for the entire incident.

Another interesting short page that gives us more insight into her character is from the “Lunch” chapter where Leo, Zapp, and Zed struggle to decide where to eat.  While they are bouncing around the city failing to agree on a place to eat, Steven and Klaus are in a back alley meeting up with Inspector Daniel Law.

Law makes a dumbass mistake (again going back to her workplace gender dynamics observations) of commenting on K.K.’s physical appearance and her age.  He makes it clear that the HLPD is actively trying to snipe K.K. and he gives her a terrible misogynistic backhanded compliment that she’s got no boobs but a great shot.  Which immediately causes K.K. to fire a warning shot next to Daniel’s head.

You can’t cover that up by stating it was a compliment as Steven simply smiles and that K.K. still was able to keep it to a warning shot.  Funny how Steven is using her skills as a way to press their own advantage implying that K.K. could have simply shot him and there wouldn’t have been any recourse - since the HLPD can’t track her.

What this also shows us, is that K.K. is playing a critical support role for Klaus and Steven.  Yes, they are very powerful together, but they didn’t go into that location alone and without backup.  Since K.K. is providing it for them.  The level of trust between these three characters is amazing.  Klaus wouldn’t go to play prosfair without her nor would he meet up with the HLPD without her in a sniping position.

An important part of K.K.’s character is that she is slowly revealed to be a mother, but that it is not the key aspect of her as a character.  When writing decides that a woman needs to be primarily framed as a mother it makes me cringe since that woman should not be defined by if she has children or not.  She should be defined by her whole self and different aspects combine into this.

The first major instance of this is towards the end of volume four of the manga.  The last one shot chapter is about K.K. trying to find a birthday card for one of her sons.

Leo has been roped into trying to help her find this super obscure and random card with a character who is very popular in the K.K. household but apparently no place else.

She adorably sings the theme song for the obscure series and Leo, the most ‘normal’ of the Libra crew has absolutely no idea what she is talking about.  Even though this is a joke on her that her kid has weird taste, it also demonstrates that K.K. knows what her kids are into, showing that despite her taxing job, she gets them.

The convenience store instead becomes a set up for an awesome shoot out between K.K. and a bunch of nefarious gunmen while she smooshes Leo out of the way.

The two page spread of her flying through the air above the aisles is just great as she deadpan makes her marks.  Looking to use the mirror to see where all her opponents are etc etc. 

I just love K.K.  We also have her getting emotional and even though Leo is trying to console her, again, he isn’t judging her as she expresses her frustration.  She still needs to maintain that straight calm face but and is already concerned at how he’s growing up and wants to give her moments of childhood joy.

I really like how she regains her composure as she puts everything in context.  She knows she’s missing part of his childhood and society already puts enough pressure on her to somehow be a mom and a fang hunter and DO ALL THE THINGS.  Which, obviously, she can’t.  This single chapter is laying the groundwork for the last chapter in volume 9, Bratatat Mom, where we get a slice of her life outside of Libra.

The chapter starts with a meeting of the in house SWAT/tactical team with Libra led by Steven.  K.K. looks awkwardly nervous as she slowly admits that she can’t support the tactical team that day.  Stating personal business to not get into the specifics.

The team is annoyed since it is clear that they rely upon her and highly value her skills. She comes clean admitting that it is for parents’ day at her younger son’s school and due to work, she’s never made it to any of their open houses!  She’s upset about this and also afraid that it will impact her role in their family as being a mother.  Think about this if it were a male character.  There is no way he’d be under the this type of pressure - furthermore, there is the judgement of parents upon their peers at those who are involved in the PTA and who is too busy etc etc etc.  The parent-school dynamics haven’t changed as much they should have; with the transition of women to the North American workplace in the 1970s.  And it isn’t even that, it is also the fact that she’d like to do something for her children since they are her kids.

Steven then steps in to diffuse the situation as we’ve grown to expect from him by this point in the manga.  He looks disappointed and admits that it isn’t ideal but she can go.  She cheerfully turns to excuse herself from the meeting when Steven then turns his personal manipulation to the max and guilts her that the other men may not make it and not see their children as well.  It is amazing that the most well known bachelor of Libra is able to achieve this so well.

It works and K.K. snaps threatening to kill Steven herself.  This is his ‘black-hearted’ nature at its finest.  Thus, K.K. comes up with a compromise - she pulls out all of the stops to coordinate with Patrick to get her all the weapons possible that she could remotely operate.  We get a scene of K. K. with her loving and adorable husband who is comforting her when she told her son that she’d be at parents’ day.  I love how this entire scene shows us that despite all that she does, he chose her, and also wanted to build a family with her.  K.K. knows how to choose them!  Win for healthy relationship!

He’s the best support spouse, and one of the best examples of a female led family/household.  That man is the house husband doing support and it is little elements like this that I love how Nightow writes female characters and their close relationships.  Despite the chaos of remotely supporting Steven and his tactical team, she gets to have hard hitting emotional moments watching her son with his classmates.  He may not understand it at that time, but it means the world to her.

This also sets up another mission that is a K.K.and Steven partnership.  Yes, she’s only doing remote support until she isn’t.  She realizes that one of the other parents is a Blood Breed standing right next to her.  Just like Steven does in Day In Day Out as he looks out into the night, K.K. berates herself for trying to enjoy herself in the moment.  Living her life like a normal person.  This shows that the two of them have much more in common than they don’t - both wanting normal lives, and not allowing themselves a break or the ability to forgive themselves for turning their fang hunter brains off for a second.

Yet, she returns to her senses and gets down to business.  Her original motivation is to protect the children.  She was able to inform Steven and his team of the Blood Breed at their location but then had to deal with the one she was chatting with . . . however, this is the only time that we’ve seen Steven fighting a Blood Breed solo and he’s getting his ass slowly handed to him.  The man knows he’s at a disadvantage and so does his opponent.  Steven is always either with Klaus or K.K.

And that is where the writing for this chapter is amazing as K.K. makes her move on the Blood Breed.  She is confused when he refers to her as ‘also’ being a fang hunter giving us the clue that he’s currently fighting Steven at the moment.  Right before he’s about to engage with her, his daughter finds him wanting to bring him down for lunch with her in the cafeteria.  This lapse in his concentration gives Steven the advantage he needed to break the head off of his remote robot.  There is a nice touch of the ice on his neck where it broke it as he collapses unable to fight back in front of the children.

Thus, even though they were not aware of it, the K.K.-Steven team succeeds in the most unlikely way possible!  I really wished that the two of them would have later been shooting the shit, bickering about something, like Steven being to relaxed and K.K. ready to go and this pops up.  And then the two of them realize it was their teamwork that allowed the mission to succeed.

I think it also goes to show how much Steven relies on/appreciates/needs K.K.’s talents for him to help complete Libra’s mission in HL.  K.K. may complain about his requests but ultimately knows that he’s a solid organizer and makes good, well thought out plans for the entire team to execute.  They also know how to both annoy and motivate each other which is another asset to them as partners in missions.

I already mentioned it in my previous post about Steven and the woes of running a secret organization, it is K.K. who gets him to stop his course of action with the escaped human-nonhuman fused being from the evil pot.  No one else is able to make him pause as he lets the team argue it out until K.K. calls him out.  That look on his face - he knows she’s right and K.K. is, I think, the only other member of Libra who can get Steven to change his mind.  That speaks volumes for how much he actually respects her.  This than comes back full circle to her shooting that warning shot at Daniel Law and Steven can only laugh at Law, rubbing salt in the wound since he’s one of the few people who understands her besides her amazing husband and Klaus.

So where does all of this leave us in regards to K.K.?

K.K. is a character who fills several different roles in the series but they do not define her or make her one dimensional.

K.K. as a fang hunter - she was first introduced as clearly powerful when she was chosen to be Klaus’ escort.  One of the few members of the team who has long range strikes and therefore, support she fills a niche that no one else can do with her 954 Blood Bullet Arts.  She frequently snipes able to disable enemies and does a great job as a distraction in Get the Lock Out! Though she did almost cause Steven to lose it when she was ready and willing to break into the main office. 

With the birthday card in the convenience store shoot out, we see first hand that she’s incredibly talented. 

I’ve also pointed out that other than acting as a support sniper, the rest of the time, she’s almost always working with Steven as her teammate and it again leverages the best of their abilities.

K.K. as a professional mother - much of the anxiety and drama around her has to do with her role as a professional and a mother.  How she’s worried that she isn’t there enough for her family; that she can’t do the same things that other parents can do.  The stress of likely being judged when she does meet other parents.  Yet, we know that one of her major motivations to do her job is to protect her immediate family and the future and all other families.  And that she has a husband who feels blessed that she chose him is top tier mature adult relationships and communication as a couple.

This even comes out when Leo thinks back to all the advice the team gave him if he were in danger and alone.  She joked that she’d snipe a barista if he threatened Leo at the local coffee shop, meaning that she isn’t just a mother to her own children but that the younger team members could use a little maternal love in the absence of their own parents.

K.K. as a female professional - this is slightly different than her as a mother, though the two are intertwined.  There are different aspects of the workplace that women have to navigate and they are never easy.  If a woman is single than she pays the tax of “Oh, since you don’t have a family you can do overtime.”  if she has a family than she gets the loss of skin in the game “Oh, since you have a family, you won’t be as committed to the organization’s success.”  As you can tell there is no way to win, it is more dammed if you are or dammed if you aren’t. When she shows up for the work party, she immediately realizes that she’ll be cast as the bad guy, noting the boys club which Zapp immediately tries to join where Steven and Klaus already are.  And as intelligent and gentlemanly as Klaus and Steven are, both are completely oblivious to this dynamic that leaves her on the outside.  Thankfully, this isn’t a frequent issue within Libra itself and I will continue to state that the ability of K.K. and Steven to work as a pair only improves as the manga progresses.  That speaks volumes as to their mutual respect of each other. 

Interestingly, we don’t see a lot of her interactions with Chain - I think this is a reflections of both their age differences with Chain being in her early twenties and K.K. being in her thirties but also the fact that Chain has a female friend group in the Werewolf Bureau.  In contrast, K.K. has her family outside of Libra.  Additionally, both women have different ways of expressing their emotions as Chain likes to keep hers a bit more distant (or so she thinks) while K.K. is more likely to let them out.  It may also feed into that bit of strong women workplace dynamics where it is sometimes best to leave each other a wide birth to avoid conflict.

Lastly, K.K. as an older female character who isn’t uwu-cute - Yep, there are no uwu-cutesie-waifu women in Kekkai Sensen.  And I as a reader like it that way.  She’s an honest character, living an interesting life, contributing to protecting the balance and has all these different unique aspects to her life.  All of this comes together to make a very human character in a series where totally zany shit happens all the time.

[brothersonahotelbed]

orpheus & eurydice????

spent an hour writing & this is what happened!! who knows!!! i love writing characters without names or any real backstories! anyway!!

***

I have long since given up on trying to escape the inevitable, and it didn’t take long for the finality of the future to settle in my bones like a harsh winter chill. I don’t bother trying to savor the champagne tonight or worry about how my hair looks. I should get a haircut, but there’s a part of me that hopes she’ll say something about the shaggy parts over my ears, that maybe she’ll get angry, storm off, never be seen again. This is a horrible thing to wish for. I don’t feel the guilt; that ship sailed months ago.

Months. God, it’d been longer than that. You don’t forget the way his eyes look illuminated by the car lights, and you sure as hell don’t forget the searing aftershocks of his hand when it brushed yours in the darkness of the theater. It’d been months, maybe longer. Or maybe we were set apart when we were created, just us two, as our maker decided our fates would be intertwined by fate’s red string. 

The string that binds us is red because it’s been saturated in blood. But when you’re in as deep as me, not even that fact is enough to deter you. This constitutes me as a horrible person, because tomorrow she’s going to be in white and she’ll be smiling like she didn’t know what hit her and I can just imagine her face, blooming brightly like the honeysuckles in the garden of the park where he told me those things and goddamnit, everything goes back to him, doesn’t it? 

The finality of the future weighs on my mind and slows my heart. The champagne loses its flavor, but I ask for another glass. She’s next to me, close enough that I can see every freckle on her exposed shoulder and I see that her lipstick has faded. I could begin to cultivate an entire list of her faults tonight, but I don’t allow myself the pleasure of doing so. She’s so ecstatic that her eyes brighten up her entire face, and I know that everyone has noticed. Her parents are on their best behavior because the sight of their daughter so blissfully happy is enough to quench their hankering for rivalry with one another. The grandparents, the siblings, the cousins, everyone is feeding off her energy so that the entire restaurant seems to be warm and glowing with contentment. I can’t ruin this, and I won’t even entertain the thought of it. 

He’s two seats across from me and has been doing an excellent job of fooling everyone. That was my request. He’s the type of guy that loves with his entire being, that throws himself wholly into it without so much as a single glance back. The only way he can stop loving is if he’s dead, and I’m inclined to believe that not even that would be enough to stop him. He’s insatiable but not desperate, foolish but not unaware. He knows his limits. He knows he has none. All this I know. I forced his heart into a kennel and shackled it to the bars in hopes that, just for tonight, things could be normal for us. I guess I was hoping to get a glimpse of what things should be like at this point in time: I’m in love with my fianceé and she is overwhelmed by our future, but no less excited for it. And my asking him to be my best man was easy and normal and didn’t make me feel like my heart was crawling with ants, burning in pain from their bites. 

But that is not how things are. His string of fate, wrapped tightly around his heart, is attached to my rib and I can feel it tug harshly in my gut whenever he so much as looks at me. Throughout the whole night I have refrained from even looking in his direction out of fear that our gazes will meet and I will ruin everything. 

The need to meet his eyes wrenches in my gut. We are Orpheus and Eurydice, and he will disappear if I look at him, if I let it slip that he is not my friend. I don’t know what he is to me, but he is not my friend. Friends don’t look at each other the way we do when everyone’s away, like we’re afraid that, at any minute, we could be over for good. Friends don’t hug with their chests pressed close enough that their hearts swell and mesh together. And friends shouldn’t touch each other the way we do, in the comfort of the darkness when we’re sure we’re out of their sight. Friends shouldn’t have to live in secret in order to protect the natural order of things. We’re not friends, but I can’t allow us to be anything more than just that.

I find a brief break in my excessive drinking and polite nodding to quickly glance at his side of the table. He’s not even turned in my direction, talking to someone on his left with which he seems to be having an engaging conversation. As soon as I let my eyes drift ever-so-slightly in the upward direction, waiting to meet their demise upon seeing his face, he immediately mumbles, “Excuse me,” and looks at me in one swift glance. The weight of his gaze is enough to hurt me physically. In fact, I don’t know how to breathe. Fear grips me with razor-sharp talons, piercing my windpipe, preventing me from taking a breath or, God forbid, speaking a word. 

He swallows. Brown eyes flicker with want, and I tell myself it’s just the effect of the candle placed in front of him. He does not want me. I do not want him. I want my wife and the freckles on her shoulder and her hands on my thighs tonight when this dinner is over and we’re alone. 

He’ll be alone too. And I’ll only be able to get hard if I think about him. 

So it goes. 

He blinks, once, twice – I’m just staring into his eyes at this point. I’m not being subtle. The candle’s flame sways in his direction, then mine, and while everyone’s conversing around us we are having our own conversation, privately, via our shared string. He tugs on it once, my gut reacts instinctively. I blink, his mouth twitches, his eyebrow creases slightly, in a way only I would be able to notice.

You’re sure about this? he asks. He doesn’t suggest anything else which tells me that he already knows the end result. He knows that I know it, too.

I nod. It can’t be any other way. 

He knows this. A flicker from the candle, a few blinks of his lashes, and it finally settles. The smile tugs at his lips and he nods to me as well. 

Then it’s final. 

There’s neither bitterness nor sorrow. It relieves me to know that all along, he knew this wouldn’t work either. 

Her hand’s on my thigh again, rubbing the fabric gently, but with intention. I tear my eyes away from him and turn to her. She beams up at me and flutters her lashes, tightening her grip on my thigh just a little. Again, intentional. Experience with him has taught me that this is a sign, so throughout the night I encourage her behavior and try for the millionth time to spark something in my gut for her. I try to imagine that him, my Eurydice, is but dust under my soles and not currently boring holes into the back of my head as I request more champagne from the waiter. My Eurydice is so needy, but he is dead. He is dead, I tell myself, and Eurydice’s death is how the story became popular in the first place. My Eurydice, with his eyes of dark brown ochre and his heart always bursting from affection, will have to die in order for me to make this work. I need to make this work. But I need him more. Don’t I need him more?

That can’t matter anymore.

***

The next day, I wait patiently for the red string of fate that connects us to unravel. To fray, to snap, to do something. The whole ceremony passes and I am focused on it and on her. My new Eurydice, the one I can look in the eyes without fear of losing her. She is radiant. I tell myself it is important that she looks radiant, because this means she loves me. And who doesn’t want to be loved? 

I kiss her and we are married as easily as it is to breathe. I imagine that the Fates are unwinding a new spool of string to connect her rib to mine, now that we are bonded for life. 

And I was right. At the reception, as she discards her shoes and begins dancing to songs that I can learn to love, I feel a familiar tug in my gut. Wrapped around my rib is a new piece of string, this one strong and taut. My fingers pass through skin and muscle to graze the rib that supports my end of our shared string, and I finger the neat wrapping with fondness, with relief. This rib is a bit heavier than my other ribs from the weight of the string, but this is not much of a burden to bear. I am not worried about feeling heavier as long as the heaviness is from love and nothing else. 

I am surprised to find out that the rib above is heavy as well. I push my way upward and graze it, finding a string wrapped around this one too. The string that is connected directly to his heart. 

It is still intact, with no signs of wear at all.

Before I can tell myself otherwise, I pinch the string between my fingers and find it warm to the touch, almost hot. I tug on it just to see what’ll happen and find that the other end of the string tugs back. I crane my neck for him, but the dancing bodies and dimmed lights make it hard to find him. I panic for a moment, but it soon becomes clear that this is futile. I never had to let him go. He’ll always be wrapped around my ribcage and he’ll keep on loving me until he dies and right there, in a room full of dancing, my heart swells with longing and painful sorrow. He’s my Eurydice – I can’t see him but I still love him. He’s gone but he still loves me. And that’s the pain of it all, I finally understand. I love him and he loves me and neither of us will ever know because we are each other’s Eurydices. We are ashes in each other’s wakes, we are dead because of our own choices. And we are cursed because we never stopped loving.

[ashtrayfloors]

The past couple weeks have been pretty intense, emotionally. Good, bad, weird, all three, but intense all ‘round.

The Monday before last, E. shared a post of J.L.’s on Facebook & I had to go thru the thing I’ve gone thru so many times already: Do I tell her he abused me & risk her disbelief & the loss of our friendship? Or do I say nothing & just feel super super gross forever & probably lose the friendship anyway because I’ll feel too uncomfortable hanging out with her while knowing she’s friendly with him? I decided to tell her, and ultimately she responded the way I’d hoped she would, but I was up half the night feeling nauseous & panicky. This is like the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to go through this re: J.L. Which, I guess, is not shocking; he’s a well-known guy in the Milwaukee DIY/arts scene. So yeah, not shocking, but it still sucks that I have to keep going thru this.

In the wee hours of that Monday night/Tuesday morning, just before I finally fell asleep, was the blood moon/eclipse. & when I woke a few hours later I was bleeding. That day was the midterm elections & I wanted to make a joke about I’ve got your red wave right here or something. Speaking of—boy, am I glad that the promised red wave did not happen.

That day, and for a few days after, I went thru a bout of mania the likes of which I haven’t seen in a while. There’s still a part of me that wants to fall back into the old self-destructive tendencies. Y’know, they get manic & wanna get stupid drunk about it, or fuck a stranger about it, & they get a little ornery that they can’t. But it is fortunate that, these days, I can sometimes harness my manic energy in more positive ways. I used this bout to get a bunch of housecleaning done, & work on my novella, & then... I was listening to Endless Possibility, the tribute to Jack Terricloth, & there were all these clips of him talking, & in one of them he said: It’s hard to live in the past, it’s hard to live in the future—we live absolutely in the moment. Now is the only time. Do not ever wait. The only answer is yes. & hearing that spurred me into beginning to put the finishing touches on the revised & updated edition of What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk.

Saturday the 12th we celebrated D.’s 11th birthday. His actual birthday was the 13th, but we decided to celebrate with my parents that night, at my mom’s studio, so we could watch the holiday parade. My mom saw my new haircut for the first time. She’d seen me a couple times already since I cut it, but I’d hidden it with a scarf or hat because I knew she’d make a comment & I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. Sure enough, when she saw it, she visibly winced, then said: “Oh, Jess, really? I keep thinking you’ll grow out of doing that kind of thing.” My response was: “I keep thinking you’ll get used to me doing this kind of thing.” Then she said: “I mean, it’s your hair, you can do whatever you want, but you look so pretty with normal hair.” I just shrugged, cuz we’ve had this ‘discussion’ (& other, similar ones) approximately 5000 times in the past 28 years & she doesn’t get that I’m not trying to be pretty. I mean, yes, I like to feel pretty sometimes, but a. I certainly don’t want to be pretty in a conventional way, and b. overall, I am not going for pretty. I’m going for jolie-laide. I don’t want to be merely pretty, I want to be hot & a little intimidating.

I don’t know. She & I have been having some problems lately, in general, & they’re all the same troublesome dynamic we’ve always had. I love her but sometimes her comments & passive-aggressiveness just exhaust me.

The next day, between cooking, reading, & playing with the kiddos, I had several moments of professional jealousy/envy. I got really down about the trajectory of my career vs. other people’s careers & felt too sad about it to work on my novella that day (though I did work on a prose poem about why I wasn’t working on my novella).

But, the very next evening, I attended Library of America’s (virtual) lecture & Q&A with Todd Tietchen & Jean-Christophe Cloutier, the editor & translator, respectively, of LOA’s book The Unknown Kerouac. It helped me get past feeling sorry for myself. For many reasons, not the least of which was their mention of Jack writing: I hope it’s true that a man can die, and not only live in others, but give them life. Which in turn made me think of Sarah Manguso’s essay about the true purpose of being a serious writer: If people read your work and, as a result, choose life, then you are doing your job. It made my envy of others’ successes seem petty, made me remember— My purpose is not to receive accolades, my purpose is to write & to get my work out there so that the people who need it can find it, & it can give them life.

So, after the Q&A ended, I got back to work on my memory project. (Kerouac considered his entire oeuvre a memory project, a la Proust, & I see myself/my work in that same lineage.)

Thursday, I went to the Racine Art Museum with my mom. We did that last year near her birthday, too, and it was so nice that it has become our new tradition. I always love going to RAM; I feel so blessed that we have such a great art museum in this mid-sized midwest town. The new exhibits that have been added since I went there back in August are phenomenal. & the zodiac-themed virtual community art show my piece is part of? They had an iPad mounted on the wall, scrolling thru all the pieces in the show, & it was really fucking cool to see mine there. I know it was only on a small screen, but still. To see my art in a real fucking art museum? Kinda mind-blowing.

In other news:

Some of my nearest & dearest have been going thru some health scares. (Thankfully, I now know for sure that one of them was just that—a scare.) Little C. has been relentlessly moody, & I guess I’ve been pretty moody, too. I’ve been horny a lot & also sad a lot.

I’ve got a new crush. I know nothing can, or will, ever come of it, but I don’t mind so much. Crush energy, much like mania, is something I’ve learned to harness in more positive ways, most of the time. I don’t need to pursue my crush, I don’t need to pine, I can make them my muse & channel the energy into writing & art. & I’ve been deep in nostalgia—what else is new—longing for a hundred thousand people, places, moments from my past. Currently, I’m missing the winter I worked in a flower shop in Chicago, & the winter I ice skated once a week in downtown Milwaukee. But, at least nostalgia is another energy I can channel into art. My whole life is a memory project.

[changingplumbob]

York Household: Chapter 7, Part 4

Yorks are all done! I know, I'm also amazed I managed to limit it to 4 parts. In this part Deanna thinks about her future, preteen Kelly arrives on the scene, and I try to have a science fair (emphasis on try)

Paris is Deanna's girlfriends so of course she's gonna get a 16th birthday cake and customary makeover. Kelly may be evil but I'm trying to help him get friends. He still doesn't see the point in being friends with family though.

Deanna: Thank you so much for agreeing to this

Joey: No sweat sis, happy to bake

Calista: So strawberry

Deanna: Of course, she loves pink

Joey: So we're making your girlfriend a non-birthday, birthday cake

Deanna: Basically, shouldn't you measure that

Joey: Trust the process De, and grab a bowl

Deanna: Me and cooking don't make the best pair

Calista: Come on honeybug, it's a chance to learn

Deanna: I won't have to toss stuff around

Joey: Only if you want to

Deanna: I suppose I could do icing, that seems simple enough

The three manage to successfully cook together, only took 2 sim hours

Deanna: What are you doing Joey

Joey: Don't you have homework to do

Deanna: I suppose

Homework today is a breeze despite Joey hurtling around the kitchen

Joey: Ta da, a back up

Aaron: A back up?

Joey: Yeah, if someone eats the cake strawberry cake, since it doesn't have a topper, you have a back up

Kelly invited over Anya after school today and she is in a bad mood. While most of the family is in the kitchen Kelly tries to take her mind off things. Turns out there's not many kid activities, shocking. Video games it is. The game makes her feel better but now Kelly is mad at losing the game.

Kelly: What are we doing

Anya: Cloud gazing

Kelly: There's no clouds in the sky though

Anya: So bask in the light rays and use your imagination, there's a warthog

Kelly: And a pack of hyenas coming to eat him

Anya: And an elephant to stomp on them

Kelly: Blood goes everywhere

Anya: You're so weird

Deanna: Wait, it's cheer day? Or is it football day?

Paris: Played sims, never dressing for the occasion

Deanna: Notice anything

Paris: Someone left a free cake on the table

Deanna: It's for you silly. You're 16 now

Paris: Aww you remembered

Deanna: Want to dig in

Paris: Everyone, come have my cake

Reece: Did you actually make this

Deanna: Well, Ma and Joey mainly, but I made the icing

Paris: Cake for breakfast, I feel like such a rebel

Tamika: You don't want any Lilith?

Lilith: I need to think about my football physique

Reece: Way to make me feel bad for having some

Noe: You'll be fine dude

Paris: Thank you for this

Deanna: I'm glad you like it

Tamika: So what will you do with your 16-ness

Paris: Nothing crazy

Noe: Crazy is good

Paris: I got an advance on my clothing allowance so I might check out what Thriftea has

Deanna: Will you change your hair? Add some pink?

Paris: Wait and see

First class of the day. Samir walks in late without a shirt... I'm guessing this is his fitness outfit or whatever the category is called. When he sits down even Noe gets flirty despite being straight, Reece gets uncomfortable. This can't be appropriate school attire but the teacher doesn't flinch.

Business class carries on with the students paying various amounts of attention. You're meant to be on the path to embracing the hustle and bustle guys! When the class ends Deanna checks in on her girlfriend. After the cake neither of them is feeling hungry so they decide to head outside to relax.

Foreign languages is harder than normal as the teacher doesn't prepare the whiteboard. It doesn't last long though, then Deanna and Paris are free to go shopping. After browsing through a few racks, and trying on some outfits, Paris finds some she likes. She also gets a haircut and new makeup.

Back home, now preteen 10 year old Kelly is surprised to find his older sister Devin at the door. Initial joy turns to dismay when he hears she's there to babysit him until an adult gets home. Feeling he's quite old enough to look after himself he begins insulting her and giving his best arguments.

Arriving home to the nonsense Aaron puts his foot down. First off Kelly is grounded for being mean. Imagine my surprise to discover grounding can also include banning devices and toys. No TV for Kelly. Next up he gets put in a time out for arguing with his sister. Reluctantly he sits down.

Kelly spends his time out fuming over the situation. His pa is a lawyer, all he does is argue with people for money. Why is it that when Kelly argues it's suddenly bad behaviour? He knows he only has level 3 mental skill but how does that make sense? As soon as he's free he speeds off on his bike.

Finally the Science Fair Deanna requested is here! Unfortunately it goes about as well as Reece's football day, i.e. a comedy of errors. First off all students seem to stay indoors, knew I shouldn't have placed that many computers. Deanna completes what I think is a game submission for the contest?

Deanna buys a computer team shirt, I go to CAS to style it properly as the weather changed. When I get back the competition judge and vendor leave. Then some students and other faculty members appear. I get Deanna to do another competition entry but can't submit it and the event ends with no winner.

When she gets home she goes right to bed. Her parents are already asleep so guess what Kelly is doing? That's right, he's watching the TV despite being grounded, and laughing manically about it. He manages to not get caught and heads to bed happy.

Exam day, best day of the week, or not. I tend to always follow my sims to exam day or they end up failing regardless of if they have studied or have a good grade. Lunch starts and I begin my normal snopping on background sims. Why does Samir look so sad? Reece is talking to a Lothario, that's why.

As fun as it is to snoop on background sims it is still Deanna's rotation. She is feeling extremely confident today and doesn't hold back on PDA with her girlfriend. Tamika is feeling pretty stressed so Deanna tries to calm her. It doesn't work so Deanna runs through some tips for their next exam.

These two are both looking overconfident and I love that for them.

Deanna: Did you study for this

Reece: I am a genius but yes

Deanna: How are things going with Samir

Reece: I'd rather talk about you

Deanna: Since when

Reece: Since the watcher saw you queue up a talk about marriage interaction

Deanna: How would you know that

Reece: Genius sims get to know we're in a simulation now

Deanna: It got cancelled, did the watcher tell you that

Reece: Still, you wanted to talk about it

Deanna: Maybe, I just hate to think of her alone in that foster home. I'm aging up next time it's my rotation, I have to start thinking of the future

Reece: I know what you mean, can't be teens forever

After school it's still a beautiful summers day in Willow Creek so Kelly again takes off biking around the neighbourhood. Paris comes home with Deanna after school. The two sit and flirt and Deanna thinks about the future. She's sure she's in love, but can she and Paris be this happy forever?

Aaron has not had a great work day so when Calista arrives home she asks him out on a date. It's Friday and their rotation is ending so completing or not completing work tasks will have no effect. They head to the Willow Creek lounge where I basically shoved a pile of activities under one roof.

The couple spend time catching up, flirting, and gossiping about coworkers and their kids. They also make use of the karaoke machines, singing a poor duet happily. That's the end of the Yorks this rotation. Next time Deanna ages up, and Kelly might finally get his sleepover.

Previous Part ... Next Part (Chopra)

[realisticjojoxreader]

For writing requests: Hugging the Crusaders!!!!!!!! 😳🥺👉🏻👈🏻

this was very fun to write lol these guys suck

stardust crusaders x reader (?), part 3 obviously, 1.4k

JOSEPH:

You ask for a hug and he obliges instantly, starved for affection since his grandson will barely speak to him. His arms are warm around you, stronger than they should be at his age, and he holds you tight, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. It feels like you’re the center of his universe.

Taking a deep breath, you wrinkle your nose. What is that smell...? Is that his aftershave? It’s like dust, almost, mixed with wet paper. Where on earth did he get something like that? Why does he use it? It stinks.

The hug is so comfortable, though, and you feel so loved, that you can ignore the weird old man smell. His shirt is scratchy against your skin.

After a long moment, he releases you, hands brushing gently through your hair. Then, something snags, tugging on your hair. Hard. Like, really hard. It actually really fucking hurts. You recoil instinctively, which just pulls your hair even harder, making your scalp burn.

“Oh no!!” screams Joseph, so loudly that you flinch, which just tugs your hair yet again, and you yelp. “Oh shit!! My prosthetic hand is caught in your hair!!”

“Why aren’t you wearing your glove?!”

He hisses apologetically. “I, uh, took it off when I went to the loo.” Oh my god, ew. What the fuck, dude? For a long moment, he stands there trying to undo what he's done, wiggling his fingers in your hair completely ineffectually. “I don’t think we can untangle this ourselves," he says eventually, taking the L. "Let’s go get my grandson.” He turns toward where the others are all standing and takes a slow but confident step forward.

Then Joseph, graceful as ever, trips over absolutely nothing and falls like a sack of bricks. You thoughtlessly brace yourself with your Stand to make sure he doesn’t drag you down, too, forgetting that his hand is very much still stuck in your hair. He falls and takes a hand-sized chunk of your hair with him, leaving you partially bald and sobbing from the pain.

You collapse to the ground, screaming, and the others rush over, finally noticing that something’s happening over here.

“Oops,” says Joseph, holding up a fistful of your hair.

“Nice haircut, idiot,” says Jotaro, looking at you with a tiny smile on his face, like today is Christmas and your partial baldness is his gift from Santa. God, fuck the entire Joestar bloodline. You hope DIO kills them all. They'd absolutely have it coming, though you'd miss Holly.

The only reason you don't abandon them is a promise from Joseph that he'll cover all your expenses until you're back home.

ABDUL:

You ask for a hug and he squints, for second, as if unsure you meant it. When you smile encouragingly, he smiles back and steps forward to wrap you up in his arms.

The hug is warm, like sheets that have just been pulled from the dryer, complete with the clean smell of fresh linen. You’re not sure how he smells so good, seeing as you’ve been traveling in the desert for days, now, and everyone else stinks to high heaven, but you won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

His jewelry rattles as bit as he starts to sway, still holding you tight. You’ve never felt so safe before, especially not since the group made it to Egypt, closing in on DIO in Cairo. As long as you stay in Abdul’s arms, nothing bad can happen.

He pulls back a bit to look you in the eyes. His expression is so hopelessly kind that you have to look away, overwhelmed with it. “Look at me,” he says, voice soft as anything, and you oblige. He says half of your name before his face contorts, as if he’s in pain.

“Abdul? Are you—” you get cut off when Abdul sneezes, right on your face, right into your open mouth. “FUCK!” God, it was so wet, you're going to fucking lose it. You can’t help but punch him in the shoulder.

Because he’s a nice person, Abdul is horrified by what he’s just done to you and also graciously ignores you hitting him. “I’m so sorry!”

It was an accident, so you really can’t get too mad, but you’re still upset. That was so fucking gross.

Something smells weird, now, too. Like smoke.

“Hey, noroma,” says Jotaro, calling you the little nickname he has for you—you don't know what it means, but you're the only one he calls that, which you kind of love. It means you're special to him. Him and the others are finally back from the gas station convenience store, arms full of snacks and water. Jotaro looks bored as ever when he tells you, “Your jacket’s on fire.”

Ah. That explains the smoke smell.

Ultimately, your jacket is ruined and you have minor burns on your wrists. You ask the Crusaders to drop you off at the Cairo airport, because you can’t keep fucking doing this, not after what Joseph did to your hair yesterday.

But then Polnareff makes some revolting-ass puppy dog eyes at you, imploring you to stay, and for some reason, you cave. Anything to get him to stop making that awful face.

POLNAREFF:

You ask for a hug and he grins at you, big and stupid and pleased as punch. That's the expression he makes any time anyone is ever nice to him.

His hug is a little awkward, like he's not used to having someone so close to him. It'd make you feel bad for him if he didn't stink to high heaven. You kind of expected that—he's French, after all—so you're able to ignore it, for the most part. It's not like the others smell like a bag of roses, either, except Abdul, because he rules. (Destroyed jacket and burns that still smart something awful notwithstanding.) It's been a long journey.

After not very long at all, Polnareff starts to get antsy, almost vibrating in your arms. What is he, five years old? Can't he relax long enough for a single hug?

Then he starts giggling, which puts you on edge instantly. Nothing good can come out of him when he's snickering like that.

Before you can pull away, though, you find out why he's giggling.

He's still cackling when he presses his wet, sweat-soaked palms against the bare skin of your arms. You violently recoil and, with more anger than you felt even when Joseph partially balded you, you punch Polnareff right in his stupid fucking nose.

Blood erupts from his face like a geyser. Before you can even laugh at him, something hits you with the force of a moving train. It feels… naked?

Oh. It's Star Platinum. Great. Great! That's just what you needed today, to get your ass beat by Jotaro and his mostly-naked guy of a stand.

Maybe DIO's taking applications.

You almost walk off yet again, but Joseph reminds you of his promise and promises that you're allowed to sit in the front of every car from now on. He also stops Jotaro from kicking the shit out of you, so you stick around, though you suspect you'll regret it.

KAKYOIN:

You ask for a hug and he looks at you like you have two heads. “Me?” he asks incredulously, looking around as if searching for the person you were really talking to. The others are all in the restaurant's restroom right now.

“Yes, you. Who else?” There’s literally no one else around.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t really do hugs. Could you go ask Jotaro or something?”

JOTARO:

Instead of asking for a hug—you know he'll just say no—you ambush him with one, waiting for him to turn the corner and walk right into your open arms. This wouldn't normally work, but you made sure to spring your trap when he was in a heated (though still playful) argument with Polnareff about whale sharks.

Just as you planned, he notices you far too late to stop you, and you grin wide as you wrap your arms around him. He feels solid and warm. You never want to let go.

Jotaro doesn't give you much of a choice.

"Ew," he says before summoning Star Platinum, who grabs you by the scruff of the neck like a naughty kitten. "This is why I call you noroma. Fucking dipshit." And with that, Star Platinum flings you bodily into the dirty ass canal running along the side of the road.

DIO is, in fact, taking applications. You get rejected.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

lip sync your way into my heart

( @thecomfortofoldstorries and I got into a fun head-cannon debate last night about Tik Tok POVs and this is what happened)

--- Jaskier has never really been in the loop when it comes to social media. He was behind the curve when he made his Tumblr and he was two years late to sign up for Twitter. It’s no surprise that he finally downloads Tik Tok and makes an account several months after it’s become a viral platform.

That also means all the good usernames are taken; Jaskier types in @buttercup-bard, sees that it’s available, and calls it a day. This isn’t an app he’s going to care about. It’s just to waste time during his forty minute commute to and from campus. 

Alas, he has ADHD...and this shit is addictive.

Especially, he hates to admit, the thirst-trap hotties who do weird, obscure, edgy POV videos. Jaskier knows they’re aimed primarily towards teen and young adult women but he’s a red-blooded Redanian gay. He’s horny. He can watch a few POV Tik Toks on the bus and thirst after pretty boys with big muscles...as a treat.

By Jaskier’s second week of classes he’s found a definite favorite Tik-Tokker (is that what they’re called? Or is it influencer? Jaskier doesn’t care). The guy is gorgeous. He has beautiful honey-gold eyes and long, silvery-white hair; which is appropriate since his handle is @whitehairdontcare. He makes a wide range of content, too. Perfect for Jaskier’s Concerta-focused tastes. There are some dances here and there and some Q&A videos, but for the most part he does POVs. 

Jask and his roommates, Essi and Priscilla, have spent many happy hours poring over Mr. White Hair’s account, watching and re-watching their favorites from his vast repertoire of content. Essi loves his weird, edgy-boi shit. Stuff with titles like “POV: I fight the bully who insulted your haircut” or “POV: you make a deal with the devil for true love”. Stuff that Jaskier would have been into when he still listened to My Chemical Romance on the regular (okay, he still does, but don’t tell Essie). 

Priscilla is a huge fan of Tik Tok dances. She follows every challenge and ranks her favorites, compiling them into a YouTube series that’s more for her self-gratification than anything else. Mr. White Hair is generally towards the top of her list whenever he deigns to follow a trend that doesn’t involve badly applied makeup blood smears. The guy clearly works out and the definition of his body (and the movements of said really hot body) make the dances look so much more fluid and fun. Jaskier and Priscilla clearly share a brain-cell when it comes to appreciating Mr. White Hair’s hotness.

Jaskier’s favorites, of course, are the cute little POVs that lie scattered between all the edgy ones. Stuff made for the softies of Tik Tok. Stuff made for boys like Jaskier. “POV: I fix your car for you” is the one he’s probably re-watched the most. Mr. White Hair is lying on his back beneath a jacked-up blue car, oil smeared in a few strategic places on his face, chest, and arms. At the very end of the Tik Tok he moves the wrench out of the way of his face completely and winks directly into the camera.

Jaskier hates to admit it, even to himself, but no matter how many times he’s watched that stupid twenty-give second video, that wink drops his heart straight down into his shoes and fills his stomach with butterflies.

---

“Hey do you guys carry fake blood here?” an almost terrifyingly deep voice asks from behind him. Jaskier twirls around on his heel, Retail Smile firmly in place, and loses his shit the moment he sets eyes on his latest customer.

It’s Mr. White Hair.

Here. In the middle of the aisle of the Party City where Jaskier works every weekend. He’s either going to throw up or pass out or both. 

He doesn’t though. Instead, the Demon Lord of Retail possesses his body momentarily and nods, “Right over this way!” He leads the insanely attractive influencer over to the year-round section of Halloween FX makeup and gestures towards the shelf filled with various fake blood capsules, bottles, and packets. 

“Thanks,” Mr. White hair smiles. Jaskier nods again, silent, and drifts back towards the counter in a daze. He’s the only one on shift right now (it is not a very busy Party City) and he knows that he can’t pass out on the dirty tile floor or he’ll get fired (and perhaps tetanus). He just needs to power through the next few minutes and then he can crouch next to the helium tank and freak the fuck out.

But not until Mr. White Hair is gone.

Just as Jaskier is re-learning how to breathe normally, the sexy internet star makes his way towards the counter with an armful of products and the retail worker loses it again. Thank god for the ability to compartmentalize.

“So, just these for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem! I love your Tik Toks by the way,” Jaskier replies automatically. His eyes widen slightly. Why the fuck did I mention his Tik Toks!?

“Thanks,” the guy says and blushes. “I didn’t know they’d gotten so popular.”

“You have like two million followers?” Jaskier laughs. “I think that makes you pretty popular. Maybe even famous.”

“Oh yeah...right.” 

“Anyway, your total is going to be twenty-one fifty.”

Mr. White Hair pays and Jaskier bags all his fake blood, wondering the whole time exactly what kind of content he can look forward to seeing. More of Essi’s edgy shit, apparently. As he’s handing the plastic bag over the counter, Jaskier smiles and works up the courage to ask, “Is your hair naturally white? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just really pretty.”

Geralt’s face goes slightly pinker than before and he nods. “Yeah. Weird genetic thing. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right on,” Jaskier beams. “Well, it was nice meeting a famous person. Thanks for stopping in.”

“Thanks for helping me out,” the Tik Tokker replies. Jaskier watches him exit the store before ripping his phone from his pocket and dialing Essi. He needs to talk to her before he spirals into a giddy panic attack.

---

“Hey Jask have you seen that hot guy’s latest Tik Tok?” Priscilla asks, lounging across her futon like a queen. Jaskier looks up from his copy of The Collective History of Aedirnian Funeral Dirges and wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?”

“You should go check your phone. I think you’ll be happily surprised.”

“Oh-kay,” Jaskier says, drawing out the ‘kay’ for as long as it takes him to get up from his seat on the floor and exit the room. He retrieves his phone from the charger in the kitchen and returns to Priscilla’s bedside. He opens his new favorite app and pulls up @whitehairdontcare’s page. There’s a new POV from earlier this morning and Jaskier taps on it. 

His eyes go round when he reads the caption: “POV: You’re the cute cashier at the Party City and I’m bad at flirting”. 

Mr. White Hair is staring into the camera with those beautifully golden eyes, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand while he lip syncs to whatever song is playing. He’s wearing a tight, navy blue v-neck and Jaskier can see the movement of every one of his ridiculously defined muscles as they flex. The silver wolf’s-head necklace Mr. White Hair always wears around his neck is in its usual place, dangling down between those perfect collarbones…

Jaskier takes a shaky breath and glances up at his friends, who are staring back at him with wide eyes. “It could be about anyone.”

“How many Party Cities do you think he went to yesterday?”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Jaskier snorts. “He’s a social media influencer and I am one semester away from finishing my degree and my thesis. Why would he ever want to be with someone like me?”

Essi rolls her eyes and Jaskier goes back to his homework. 

---

Later that night, alone in his room, Jaskier plugs his earbuds into his phone and watches the Tik Tok over and over. He finds the song Geralt used and adds it to his Work Is Tough playlist, which he’s allowed to play over the loudspeakers at the store so long as he’s working a solo shift. 

He watches Mr. White Hair’s plush pink lips move around the words and dreams of kissing them someday, as far-fetched as that scenario is (because this video is definitely not for him, that’s impossible):

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.

So won't you kill me, so I die happy.

My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury,

or wear as jewelry; whichever you prefer.”

Fucking Dashboard Confessional. Of course. One of Jaskier’s favorite bands from his emo days in middle school. If this really was for Jaskier, if this really was a legitimate attempt at online flirtation by Mr. White Hair himself, it was working.

 Jaskier buries his head in his pillow and sighs. 

[kirieshhhka003]

can i have nsfw alphabet for prosciutto if thats fine 😗👉👈

Thank you for your request, my lovely anon💚

Note: in all NSFW alphabets I describe how this character acts during sex with different partners, NOT with someone they love

Warnings: NSFW

Prosciutto NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Prosciutto is very attentive lover, even though he doesn’t want to look like that. He cares about partner’s well-being and does everything he can to make them feel comfortable

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Lips is the body part that attracts Prosciutto the most. He prefers them to be plump and soft, maybe with some bright red lipstick or lip gloss. On himself Prosciutto doesn’t have any particular body part that he likes the most, he spends a lot of time in gym and his whole body looks great

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He produces pretty small amount of sperm, it’s very thick and salty. Prosciutto’s favorite places to cum are partner’s face, mouth or inside of them

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The whole La Squadra decided to spend an evening at their favorite restaurant, to take their minds off of the work. Everyone was drunk and Prosciutto decided to go outside the restaurant for a smoke. When he was finishing his cigarette Formaggio joined him and they spent about half an hour talking about everything and nothing. One moment they both got silent and just stared at each other. The next second Formaggio was pressing Prosciutto into the wall and massaging his ass while blonde was unbuttoning his shirt. They heard someone’s loud steps and Ghiaccio’s angered voice berating those two for missing for that long. They let each other go and acted like nothing happened

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think that Prosciutto is in his late 20’s and, of course, he’s experienced. He’s an attractive man, lots of women and men dream about night with blonde. He definitely knows what he’s doing and what he should do to make partner squirm and tremble from overstimulation beneath him

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Nothing too weird, his favorite positions are doggy, cowgirl, missionary and 69. But if partner wants to try something new, Prosciutto doesn’t mind helping them out with that

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Prosciutto is not a big fan of jokes or puns during such an intim moments. He may comment on something to make partner relax and feel more comfortable, but prefers to hear their moans, not a “hilarious” joke their friend told yesterday

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s always clean-shaved down there, and expect the same from his partner. Some interesting intim haircut may work for him, but he prefers no hair. Prosciutto is a blonde, so hair on his whole body is also blonde

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Prosciutto is a passionate lover, but is also very caring. He won’t ever lose his head and hurt his partner in a heat of the moment. Blonde loves to touch, stroke, rub their body almost lovingly, it brings him joy to please somebody

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t jacks off often, he just doesn’t need it. If Prosciutto feels need in someone’s closeness he just orders some hookers that help him out with his little “problem”. But there are moments when he gets bored at home and masturbation is a great way to busy yourself

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Prosciutto’s kinks include: BDSM, domination over him, degrading, face slapping, role play, bondage, anal sex, fingering, blindfold sex and temperature play

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He feels most comfortable somewhere secure, in a place like a hotel room or his house, but he never invites partners to his home. He may even go for outdoor sex, but only if he knows that nobody gonna catch them doing the do

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Prosciutto is bisexual, but mostly prefers women or feminine guys. He has a thing for plump lips and thick thighs. If partner have both - blonde is all for them with a tent in his pants

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Everything related to human body liquids like blood or water sports and including food to sex. Prosciutto doesn’t understand why woul someone eat while fucking? Eating from someone’s body sounds gross to him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers receiving over giving, but loves when female partners sit on his face while jacking him off. But even though Prosciutto likes penetrative sex more, than oral

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace changes depending on how close he and his partner are to orgasming. When he reaches his high during sex his thrusts from slow and sensual change to fast a rough. He becomes a little bit harsher, biting on partner’s neck, leaving marks and hickeys and then gently kisses and licks all the bruises he left

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are good way to blow off steam after or before hard mission, quick blow job or short fuck helps to clear up thoughts. Prosciutto prefers to take his time in a bedroom, but sometimes quickies are real blessing and give him powers to live this hard day

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Prosciutto has tried out a lot of things and it’s pretty hard to impress him with something. He’s up to almost every idea or kink his partner have and gladly discovers something new

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually Prosciutto lasts for three rounds 10-15 minutes each, but it really depends on his partner, blonde can go for the whole night if they want him to

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Prosciutto has a pair of handcuffs, flopper, gag and ton of bondage stuff like ropes and belts. Blonde has a whole collection of lubes, they’re all different color and smell, with cooling effect, some contain aphrodisiac and some are even with fritter

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Blonde doesn’t like to tease his partners, but he loves when they do that to him. Prosciutto loves to feel dominated, to feel like he has no right to choose what to do with his own body. Partner may edge him how hours - it’ll only bring painfully sweet pleasure to blonde male

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Prosciutto is quiet most of the time, bud he gets louder and louder as he reaches his orgasm. Blonde let’s out quiet growls and moans but most of the time his mouth is busy kissing and marking partner’s body and whispered something dirty into their ear

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Prosciutto loves to kiss, for him it’s even better than sex at some point. He’s great at it and definitely knows what he does, his kisses are passionate and sloppy, blonde loves to hear quiet smacking sounds and partner’s soft moans. Prosciutto gets goosebumps from the feeling of soft lips right next to his, from the sweet taste of partner’s lipstick on his tongue

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Blonde is about 6 inches when fully hard, his cock is more on a thinner side, not very veiny, not curved. The tip is very pink, the same size as a shaft and super sensual

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is normal for his age. Prosciutto is not a teenager in his puberty, he knows how to control his libido and doesn’t walk aroun with boner only because someone attractive winked at him

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Prosciutto doesn’t like to sleep after sex, he prefers to spend this sweet time smoking, cuddling and kissing with his partner. Usually it ends up with new sex session, but it’s a whole different story~

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

[ddarker-dreams]

Yandere Behavior: Narancia Ghirga

⋆ ˚｡ Yan MBTI: RDML⋆｡˚ ⋆

Narancia isn’t a subtle yandere. He utilizes his own type of manipulation, one that’s overt and easy to call out. He won’t pick up on the fact that his actions and words could be classified as manipulative, he’s speaking whats on his mind without a filter. Narancia’s a talk first, think later type. Knowing that his honest words are making you conflicted would sadden him, as he’s only getting the point across. Relationships are a new field to Narancia, that he doesn’t know how to navigate with ease. 

He stumbles over himself, promising to change and improve for your sake. It’s not that you pointing out his words as manipulative convicted him, it’s that the fear of losing you that drives him to hastily cover it up. All of those murky feelings are still underneath the surface, ready to be stirred up at any time. It’s hard to know which one is worse, as he evolves his act around you. 

Before, he’d blurt out what bothered him. When you smiled at others, spent too much time with people who probably have ulterior motives. Your patience is your downfall, taking the time to explain to him that these aren’t normal feelings does nothing. All he’ll take away from it is that being open displeases you, so he grows painfully sulky. Internalizing all of his negative emotions so you don’t chastise him again. From the way he avoids your eyes and makes his smiles forced, it doesn’t work out as he intended. 

At a base level, he looks up to you. He finds your strength in different aspects amazing, and will make sure you know that. Any of your hobbies are important to him now, same goes for your interests. Narancia latches onto you and has no intention of letting go, almost like a parasite. He wants so badly for you to return his feelings, placing unspoken expectations on you in the process. Ones that you normally break, given how ridiculous they are. 

He’s given thought to kidnapping you, but honestly, it made his brain hurt. There are too many aspects that he’d need to account for, and by god, would it make you heartbroken. Just the thought hurts him. So he lets you do as you please, pouting to get what he wants from you. It comes off as innocent, like he doesn’t intend for it to make you conflicted. What’s worse is that he doesn’t, making you even more confused. Slowly yet surely he’ll wrap himself around you, never letting go. 

Narancia could never come to terms with you not returning his feelings. He lives in his own little world where sweet [First] is his lover, his partner. Before you even know him he has your picture saved as his lock screen, bragging to Mista and Fugo how cute his significant other is. It might be endearing if not for the creepy, stalking undertones. How did he get so many pictures of you anyways...? 

If you ever managed to upset him, he’d take it out on some poor soul. Hurting you is the last thing he’d want to do, so he sulks away and unleashes his violent urges elsewhere. That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, he’ll still use Aerosmith to track your movements and ensure you’re not doing anything he wouldn’t want. 

Narancia isn’t the best with money management. He’s seen in plenty of movies that guys give lots of expensive gifts to people they like, so he tries to emulate it! He’ll splurge on you, forgoing meals if it means he’ll have enough to buy you pretty roses. Those are romantic, right? You’ll like the flowers, and then like him by extension... right? 

He’s very sensitive about his education level. The only time you might ever get him to snap at you is if you bring it up, even without ill will. To him, that weakness is one that he thinks you would mock. Narancia is bright in his own right, but that doesn’t stop him from being insecure. Avoiding this topic is for your own good. It’ll be the only time you ever see Narancia upset with you. He might even start sniffling before he runs off, it’s a sad sight. 

He compliments you on everything. From your smile, your hair, new perfume, anything. Narancia might not notice small details, but expect your new haircut or outfit to be showered in stuttered out compliments. He’s swelling with pride at how you’re all his, whether you’re aware of that little fact or not. 

Patrols are done around your residence at night. He tells himself that it’s to ensure your safety, but... it’s more self serving than that. He likes knowing where you are at all given times, that you won’t betray and leave him like so many others have. It’s what plagues his thoughts and nightmares, the mere idea that you would up and disappear. To soothe this deep worry, he watches you on his radar. 

Physical affection is what he wants to indulge in, should you let him. Just know that once you give him a taste, he’s gonna be coming back for more. Holding hands, wrapping an arm around your waist, rubbing his face against yours... there isn’t anything better in the world to him. Whenever he makes you blush he’ll point it out and laugh. Not because he’s mean spirited, but because he’s so overwhelmed with your cuteness. 

If you two were to argue, he’d lose sleep over it. Neglecting his health, feeling no motivation to eat or take care of himself. All he can do is mull over the fact you were disappointed in him, and that you might leave him for it. The next time you meet there are bags under his eyes, and his smile seems strained. He wants to make it up to you, and that’s what takes priority. 

Narancia is one of the most clingy yanderes from part five. Should you ever want to make a grocery store run, or want to jog around the neighborhood, he’s volunteering to go with you. Narancia is attached at your hip if he’s not working, and he won’t be shaken away easily. Spending time with you is so much fun, after all. 

Quotes.

“Ah, there you are! I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I hate it when we have to be apart for too long... it makes me feel really weird.” 

“Let’s spend all day together, okay? I’ve been looking forward to it forever.” 

[astrovian]

Richard Armitage interview on BBC Radio Northampton for Uncle Vanya (26/10/20)

Full transcript under cut

So he’s won awards for his role as Lucas in Spooks, as the dwarf prince Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit, and earlier this year he had us on the edge of our seats as the lead role in the brilliant Netflix series The Stranger. I love The Stranger. Did you see it? I thought it was absolutely brilliant. He’s brilliant in everything he does, I love Richard Armitage. Such a nice guy as well. Well with the pandemic interrupting it’s sold out West End run, Richard is part of an all-star cast bringing Chekov’s iconic play Uncle Vanya to our cinemas and homes as part of a brand new production. Ahead of today’s show I spoke to Richard about the play, and a bit about what it’s like to be a stage actor in Covid Britain.

---

How you doing?

Very well, thank you. This is an absolute honour to speak to you. Congratulations on a wonderful production.

Thanks! Did you see it?

I did! I did! Um-

Amazing.

-if I describe my morning to you, I woke up with a slight whisky hangover pondering my place in the world, and the first thing I did was open my laptop and watch Uncle Vanya, and *laugh* I have to say it was quite-

Oh, how was Vanya on a hangover? That’s probably like most of the characters in the play have a hangover, don’t they?

*Laugh* Well this is the thing – I found myself thinking ‘this is quite life-affirming’, because I was reflecting how human experience hasn’t really changed that much since 1897, and I just wondered as an actor whether Chekov’s understanding of human feelings – it must appeal to you, hugely.

I think that’s why actors go to Chekov, and actually he wrote so few plays compared to other playwrights that what he did do was really define how we approach character. Really, I mean he worked with Stanislavski, it’s the root of, of Western theatre and, and how we construct characters because he’s focused on the lived experience, rather than the plot so much. So most people kind of say “what’s Chekov about?”, and it’s really hard to describe what it’s about. But it’s about human beings and how they – how they bounce off each other and how they attract and how they repel.

Is it completely mad for me to say that, that watching it, it was my first introduction to the play and my first introduction to Chekov, I, I found myself thinking ‘well, this is almost like Big Brother’. It’s like watching a group of people relate in various ways in a claustrophobic lockdown, getting on each other’s nerves, and digging into old wounds, and then I found myself thinking this is, this is so timely for the, the Covid world we’re living in. Did that strike you?

It’s – uh, I, I guess until we started to experience what lockdown was like, suddenly again the play took on a relevance. I mean the last week of performing, when the, the sort of talk of the virus was, was emerging y’know in, in our world, and y’know I’d been speaking these lines for ten weeks as the doctor talking about a pandemic, and he’s turned to drink and he can’t deal with the trauma of losing patients, and suddenly the relevance was, was very high. But also in lockdown, I suddenly realised ‘now I understand what these characters have been going through’. So the – the chance to come back and, and sort of bring all of that experience into y’know, the re-staging of the play film was, y’know, it was really special to be able to do that.

It was really moving at the beginning, because you see your fabulous co-cast members returning to the theatre in face masks, and it was quite easy to find yourself a bit choked. What it a very emotional reunion?

It was because I was not able to be there. *Laugh* ‘Cause I’d just flown in from New York like with, with literally hours to spare before I had to lockdown for two weeks quarantine. So I couldn’t do that, I – I had to join a read-through on a computer via. a Zoom call, so I felt like I was being held back away from my friends and fellow actors. Which was useful for the doctor, ‘cause when he comes back into that house, that’s sort of what’s been happening to him. But every moment there was something to hang on to in terms of the emotions and, and what we’ve all been through.

The – the dialogue is so brilliantly natural, especially from a, a newbie to this world. And I, I think you describe yourself at the beginning, as Dr. Astrov, as feeling a bit wonky-

Yeah.

-and then we hear Toby Jones’ Uncle Vanya complaining about various people wanging on, and-

*Laugh*

-it’s brilliant, it’s moments that make you giggle, and I just wondered how important you think these linguistic touches are to help the drama engage a new audience?

Well it’s always gonna be a translation because we’re not performing in the original Russian, and y’know, that depends on which playwright decides to tackle it, and we were so lucky with Conor McPherson, ‘cause there’s a little bit of the Irish kind of glint in his eye that comes through that dialogue um, so these, these little touches make it feel like we’re just – it’s just us, it’s not y’know, characters a hundred years ago in a stuffy drawing room. These are, these are – it’s us y’know. We’re still the same, and we’re still dealing with the same problems, um weirdly within the state of – within the space of three months those same problems seem to be sort of really prominent, and rather than watching people dealing with a pandemic in a collapsing environment and thinking ‘Oh, that was an interesting history lesson’, it feels like ‘Oh, this is now, these are still things that we are having to, having to navigate right now’.

Whilst I’ve – I’ve read that you don’t necessarily identify as purely a, a method actor, you have talked in the past about how deeply you try to embody the characters you play, and I just wondered how difficult it was to come back after the break and once again put on this skin of the frequently despairing Dr. Astrov?

Um, I came back with, *laugh*, with a taste for vodka that I’d-

*laugh*

-I’d maintained from doing the play, um I came back with no haircut, so y’know, I was – I was sort of *laugh*, I hadn’t put him down really to be honest. I’d, I’d thought about him a lot, and during the course of my research I’d found this diary of a doctor who had worked through his life and through various epidemics, and was really at the end of his tether as to what the point of medicine, and uh, I used a lot of his references to, to sort of try to understand what maybe our NHS workers were going through, and still are going through. Y’know, how do you – how do you go home at night after seeing people in such, y’know, such extreme circumstances without a cure. Y’know, that’s something that we find very difficult to get our heads around because there’s always a pill for something, there’s always a remedy. And these Russians were – were dealing with tuberculosis, for which there was no cure, and typhoid and, and having to, to y’know, having to deal with the fact that most of the time they were death sentences, and we – we have lost that, y’know, we – we have quite luxurious existences compared to them. So to, to be living with something which people don’t have answers has, has really shaken us up I think, and that’s contained in the play.

At the end of the production the matriarch, uh, Anna Calder-Marshall’s Nana, blows out the candles that light the stage and it, it felt to me as though she wasn’t only putting the – the play to bed, she was almost putting theatre life to bed in some way until this bleak winter is over. I just wonder how sad it is for you to see the way the arts are suffering in this pandemic.

It is really, really sad, and I – I, y’know, I’ve been able to carry on doing various kinds of work, but I, I know that there are a huge amount of people out there who work in those theatre buildings that only work in theatre, that can’t go back to work right now. But at the same time, I’m – I’m an optimist, and so I look towards Sonya’s speech about work, and we will endure this and we will come back. Y’know, it might be the middle of next summer, who knows, but I think when we’re – we’re all waiting to have those dust cloths pulled off us, y’know. Um, and we will see diamonds in sky and it, it will come back to us. But in the meantime we’ve just gotta find a way to survive this period, and most people that work in the arts do have ways of doing that, because there are periods of time where you find yourself not working and you have to be very resourceful. And I just hope people can hang on and they’ll – they’ll return when we all do.

Richard Armitage, I – I’m not surprised the run was sold out, Uncle Vanya, and my first experience with the play, my first experience with Chekov. It was absolutely brilliant and I loved every minute of it. I’m, I’m going to get my – my wife’s gonna watch it this weekend, and uh – I hope everyone takes the time to experience it, and just thank you so much for being on the program.

Thank you for having me. And just let me say that it’s the 27th of October and thereabouts for various screenings in your cinema, and going to the cinema is not a terrifying experience, I’ve done it. It’s – if you play by the rules and wear a mask, it’s, it’s actually like a little bit of normality.

Perhaps even sneak in a vodka *Laugh*

*Laugh* Absolutely.

Thank you, Richard.

Thank you.

---

Ah, Richard Armitage, such a legend, lovely guy to speak to. And I’d really recommend it, I’d, I’d heard of Uncle Vanya, and of course I’ve heard of Chekov, but forgive me being a bit of a film philistine, it’s not something I would’ve taken the time to investigate. It’s REALLY good. It’s really funny, it’s really fresh, it feels like a – it’s not a history lesson y’know, it feels, as Richard said, like you’re enjoying character speaking to each other now, and all the issues that they raise feel very current and contemporary. I loved it. Um, you can go to unclevanyacinema.com to find out where it’s playing, but it does certainly look like the Odeon Kettering and the Savoy in Corby will be showing it.

[yodawgiherd]

You Were Never Truly Gone ch.7

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Slowly but surely, we move towards Hizuru... And the end.

“No”

Kiyomi took a step back, her eyes the widest Mikasa had ever seen.

“No…”

Ignorant to her pleadings Eren took a step forward, closing the distance.

“No, no, no…”

It was a mantra falling from the older woman’s lips, repeated over and over in hopes that it will rewrite the reality, change what she was seeing. The man that destroyed her home country – nay, the whole world, the man that she feared more than death itself, the man that was the sole reason why getting Mikasa to move was difficult, the man who was dead and the whole world celebrated the fact.

The usurper, the devil, her worst nightmare.

Even with the sorry excuse for a beard and new haircut it was undeniably him, Kiyomi would recognize those eyes anywhere. Sure, they were missing the maniacal glint she remembered, but still. This was no Aaron, Mikasa’s friend – this was Eren Yeager.

With every step he took towards her, Kiyomi took one backward until her back hit the ship’s railing. Looking back, she briefly considered jumping over it in hopes to escape him, yet her mind quickly debunked such a coward’s exit. Whatever this was, Kiyomi Azumabito would overcome it, she came this far. Fingers clutching at the metal, she pulled in some air through her tightly wound throat, ready to call for help, for her soldiers to come and immediately kill this monster in human form, but the words never left her mouth.

Because Mikasa spoke first.

“I don’t know if I have to say it - if anything happens to Eren our deal is off. Immediately.”

Kiyomi, too shocked to speak, looked at her, seeing that Mikasa was completely serious. Her eyes were ice itself when she continued, unphased.

“If you harm him, I swear that I will kill you myself before leaving forever – I don’t care in the slightest about what happens to the world with me gone. The Yeagerists can burn Paradis, the war can consume it, Hizuru can devour itself in its never-ending power struggle.”

Sweat, cold sweat was trickling down Kiyomi’s forehead as her mind weighed the pros and cons.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m a normal human now.”, Eren extended a palm towards her almost like a peace offering, “should I cut myself to prove it?”

“Don’t insult me, I’m not that stupid,” Kiyomi scoffed, “I know that you shifters can hold off the healing if you want to.”

“That is true, but he’s not lying.”, Mikasa stepped in, “Everyone lost their powers after the rumbling, you know that much, so why should Eren keep his?”

“Because he is supposed to be dead?!”, Kiyomi hissed, “His head being cut off is what even enabled any peace talks in the first place, he can’t just resurrect and….”

“That’s the thing – I didn’t.”, Eren spoke up, “Eren Yeager is truly dead, gone forever. Right now I’m Aaron, Mikasa’s friend and someone you never met in your life.”

His eyes were staring into Kiyomi’s now, and damn his gaze was intense.

“You are afraid and for a good reason, but there is nothing to fear from me anymore. I’m just a guy, and what can one man do in a country that practically belongs to you? I can’t re-start the rumbling simply because I wish it so, there are no more titans left anywhere in this world.”

Her throat dry, Kiyomi managed to croak an answer.

“No powers then?”

He shook his head.

“None.”

The facts were doing a small dance in Kiyomi’s head, turning left and right as she stared at them from all angles. If he had no powers, why tell her? Wouldn’t it be better for him if Eren kept her in suspense? Let her believe that he was still the titan, to blackmail her, scare her?

Then again….

All titans did disappear, so he was probably saying the truth. Kiyomi didn’t understand why he would ever give up such a weapon willingly, but she was not the one to question her fortune – it meant that she was dealing with Eren Yeager the man, not Eren Yeager the founding titan.

Bah, so what – Mikasa was the one she wanted, not him. Looking at the pair, seeing them together it brought back the unfortunate fact the Ackerman girl told her back during their negotiations.

“So… this means that you two are lovers?”

It was funny, seeing the literal devil and the world’s strongest soldier exchange a shy blushing look, yet in her current mental state Kiyomi couldn’t fully appreciate the sight.

“Yes.”, Mikasa reached out, intertwining her fingers with Eren’s, “ We are.”

The old woman always had a suspicion that something is going on between the two of them, ever since she first came to the island, and a part of her was scared that the “maiden” she was supposed to deliver back home was tainted already. Well, it did happen, although much later than she thought.

No matter.

She didn’t need a blushing virgin to present to the ruling council, she had this-  a strong soldier, a beautiful woman, a hero to most of the world, and most importantly an unquestionable Shogun’s descendant. Deflowered of her innocence, sure, but that was nothing compared to the blood in her veins. Through her, the royal line would be restored and Hizuru would once more have a symbol to unite behind, a thing they sorely needed in these trying times following the rumbling.

Now with finality, Kiyomi was fully considering her options.

She could call for help and have Eren killed, heavens know that he deserved it. If he was a normal human, as he claimed, he would die without any issues. After that, she would order her guards to capture Mikasa and lock her up.

What then?

Would she present the blood of the Shogun in chains? Kiyomi couldn’t say that she truly knew Mikasa Ackerman, still there were things she did know – for example, the old woman was sure that Mikasa would never forgive her. There would be no peaceful wedding, and god forbid any wedding night. Sure, they could drug her, or maybe try to persuade her but Mikasa had a will of steel. She would most likely kill her new husband, escape her cell and then come for Kiyomi.

Scary thought, it made the old woman shiver.

If not that….

She could have Eren captured and use him as a bargaining chip with Mikasa. Force her into the marriage under threats of torture or death to her lover, use their bond against her. The problem would still be present – Mikasa wasn’t the forgiving kind. She would probably wait years until Kiyomi dropped her guard or until she gained enough influence to overthrow the old woman. Then she would free Eren and there would be a slow death waiting for her, deep under the royal palace with nothing but the dark corners to hear her scream.

Ok, not that either.

Kiyomi had to remind herself that neither of these options was even guaranteed to play out as she envisioned it to. Maybe Eren didn’t have powers anymore, but he was still an ex-soldier, an elite one too, and Mikasa was an Ackerman and a literal goddess on the battlefield. There was always the possibility that they would overpower the guards and escape together, never to be seen again.

Returning home empty-handed, now that was something Kiyomi didn’t want to happen.

Which left her with the last option.

Go along with it. Let Eren hide in Hizuru, let Mikasa have him as a secret partner. The city was Kiyomi’s playground, she had more than enough resources to make sure her conditions were met. And as long as Mikasa produced the Shogun’s heir, then why couldn’t she have some happiness in her life too? If she was happy, then she would be obedient, and wasn’t that everything the old woman wanted?

What was there to lose?

Kiyomi hated it, hated this opinion because it meant letting Eren live and be with the woman he loved. She hated it - he didn’t deserve it, he was a monster and death was his rightful punishment. She hated it because it was the most logical route, one that yielded the highest chance of success.

The things she does for her country….

“Very well,”, Kiyomi said out loud, addressing Mikasa “As long as you uphold the limitations we talked about, I will not try to take him from you.”

Steeling herself, she took a step forward and jabbed a finger into Eren’s chest. Please don’t tremble.

“You will behave, or I will have you imprisoned on a moment’s notice. It’s no secret that I would prefer you dead, but since lady Mikasa has ties to you for some reason, that option is off the table.”, she jabbed him again with added strength, “If you step out of line, I will have you punished. Understand?”

For some reason, her threatening tactics didn’t seem to reach Eren, who simply stood there with a completely blank expression on his bearded face.

“Yes, I do.”

Fine. In the end it truly didn’t matter as Kiyomi had nothing to gain from exposing Eren Yeager to the world. Having him killed for the second time would do nothing for the stability in her country, she needed Mikasa for that and she needed her compliant. If that meant hiding the world’s worst enemy…

So be it.

“Then nothing changes in the original plan.”, her eyes found the Ackerman’s gaze, “Does it, lady Mikasa?”

The raven shrugged.

“No, everything is as it was.”

“Very good. I would ask that you give me some space, I do agree to let you live but I don’t want to see you right now, Yeager.”

Taking a step back, he had the audacity to give her a shallow, perhaps mocking, bow.

“As you wish, lady Azumabito.”

Together with Mikasa they disappeared back towards the cabin the Ackerman girl had for herself, leaving Kiyomi with nothing, only her thoughts. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she looked back towards the ocean with the mind swimming.

She really craved a smoke right now.

Eren and Mikasa didn’t talk until they were in the privacy of her chambers, quite a luxurious cabin that was much better than the cargo hold. Once there, Eren tugged on her hand and pulled Mikasa into an embrace, whispering only for her to hear.

“You are quite the actor.”

“Oh please, you are the one to talk – those slow steps you took towards Kiyomi?,”, she snorted, ”Terrifying.”

“You said that you wouldn’t care about what happened to the world. You, who saved it and would do anything to keep the peace.”

“Well, the most important thing is that it worked, my plan is going along swimmingly.”

“Indeed, you are a genius Miki, but I have to remind you that we are not out of the woods yet.”

“I know. It’s no use to worry about that now, let’s take it one step at a time, shall we?”

Humming in agreement, Eren’s eyes traveled all around the room until they landed on Mikasa’s big bed, the covers adorned by the crest of her clan. A new idea forming in his mind, he grinned before getting her attention with a quick kiss.

“Wanna piss Kiyomi off?”

“What do you mean?”, following his gaze, Mikasa saw that Eren was looking at the bed, a smile on his face.

“We could let her know just how much we love each other….”

Oh, she liked that train of thought.

“Do go on…”

The night was falling, the ship being oddly empty when Kiyomi walked the corridors. There were a few guards who saluted her, sailors who quickly got out of her way as if sensing the dark thoughts. The cloud was still hanging over her head and she couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, how it jumbled her whole plan.

Eren Yeager was alive. Eren Yeager was alive. Eren Yeager was al…

A frown appeared on her face when she saw a soldier leaning on the railing with a lit cigarette in his hand, an uneasy expression creasing his features. She knew the man, and he was not supposed to be smoking but on duty.

“Captain!”, she called out, “Aren’t you guarding lady Mikasa’s cabin?”

The soldier went white in the face as he quickly saluted, the butt of the cigarette hastily thrown the ocean.

“Yes ma’am! However, there were certain…” he gulped, “circumstances that made me take a small break.”

Kiyomi’s brows furrowed. What was he talking about? What was Mikasa doing?

“Such as?”

“I... I mean… I wouldn’t…”, the man was sweating profusely, babbling like a baby and Kiyomi was running out of patience.

Especially after being traumatized by god damn Eren Yeager today, she wasn’t in the mood for games or tight-lipped subordinates.

“Speak!”, she barked, “Or I will have you on shit shoveling duty for a year after we get back to Hizuru.”

“W-Well La-lady Mikasa and her f-friend are.. engaged in… you know….”

“What? What are you…”, and just then it dawned on Kiyomi, the blush, and impaired speech, the way he avoided her eyes. It fell on her like a rock, and she asked in a voice that mirrored how she felt.

“Are they having sex?”

The soldier clicked his heels together as he straightened into an absurdly perfect salute.

“Yes ma’am! Very loudly ma’am! I felt like I was intruding, so I gave them some privacy ma’am!”

Oh…

That was about everything Kiyomi could handle today. Walking over to the soldier she extended her hand and luckily he understood the gesture, quickly giving her a cigarette and lighting it for her. Leaning on the railing next to the flabbergasted man, she smoked in silence, staring into the darkness.

Underneath them, the boat silently carried this whole circus towards Hizuru.

Kiyomi smoked one, two, three cigarettes before calling it a day and retreating to her cabin, only to discover that another unpleasantry awaited her there.

Apparently, being an Ackerman and a former titan shifter gives you some insane endurance. Unfortunately for her, Kiyomi’s cabin was located right next to Mikasa’s and she could very clearly hear just how much the pair were still enjoying themselves. To make matters worse, it went on for hours and the old woman couldn’t rest because of it, despite being exhausted and mentally drained.

Instead of peaceful sleep she stared at the darkened ceiling, listening to the moans, giggles, groans, screams, and muffled conversation between the future Shogun’s wife and the cursed island devil.

This was purgatory for all her past sins, must have been, and Kiyomi felt her eye twitch in irritation. How much damn stamina did those two have? Would they ever get tired of this? Would Kiyomi be allowed to sleep tonight or would her whole night be spent like this, stuck in limbo with nothing but a rhythmic banging of the headboard against the wall accompanied by the bed creaking and the telltale sounds Mikasa was making.

Didn’t help that the name she was moaning was of the man Kiyomi despised - It would seem that Eren stopped being Aaron in the heat of passion.

Just as she was about to bang on the wall, damn her dignity, they finally stopped, growing silent.

“You think she heard us?”, Mikasa muttered, exhausted beyond belief.

“She had to,”, Eren grumbled, in no better shape himself, “You were so loud that I’m pretty sure the whole ship knew what we were doing.”

If she wasn’t totally flushed already, that statement would make her blush.

“That was kind of the point.”

“It was nice of you though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now Yams knows what’s up, despite not being able to see us.”

Gasping, Mikasa slapped Eren’s chest and he laughed and nuzzled her sweaty hair. They were both like that, dirty, and overall quite disgusting. Like that mattered, considering the paradise they took each other to.

“C’mon, we should get cleaned up.”

“Should change the bedding too…”

“Why? Have someone else do it,”, gently, Eren traced the curve of Mikasa’s spine with careful fingers, counting the bumps, “You are a princess, you should get used to having people clean up your mess.”

“You know that I’m not like that….”

“I do, but why not abuse your status a little.”

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, not missing the spark of laughter in his face.

“You’re evil.”

“Of course, I am the island devil after all.”

Giggling, Mikasa angled her head and waited until Eren got the hint, giving her a tired and slow kiss.

“You know, what?”, she murmured against his lips, “You’re right, let them clean it.”

The laugh that bubbled from Eren’s chest was addicting to listen to.

“See? You are finally learning, your highness.”

“Shut up.”

“As you command, my queen.”

“Eren…”

“Yes, my lady?”

She groaned, hiding her face in his neck yet Eren wouldn’t let her rest, kissing all of her skin he could reach with tiny pecks. Maybe it was the kisses, maybe it was the way he held her, maybe it was because they were both naked and Mikasa did like what he was packing. Whatever the reason, the embers she thought exhausted smoldered deep in her belly.

“Babe?”, she drawled, immediately getting his attention because Eren knew that voice she used.

It was the sensual one that sent shivers down his spine whenever the raven spoke.

“Do you think that Kiyomi finally fell asleep?”, she asked.

“I guess? Maybe? Why do you ask?”

“Well…”, with a quick move she straddled him again, reclaiming her rightful position on top.

Seated as she was, Mikasa reached blindly between her legs to touch his length, finding it half-hard already – such power her bedroom voice had over Eren’s body. To be honest, she did like that control. Mikasa leaned down until her nipples brushed Eren’s chest and her lips were practically touching his, rubbing together when she spoke.

“Let’s wake her up then.”

[grandmother-goblin]

Hangman’s Mercy

Chapter 1

Summary: After the war, Levi remembers how he fell in love with the executioner.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, Decapitation, Suggestive Themes, Language, Period-typical Sexism.

On a summer morning, outside an oceanfront cafe, Levi longed for the executioner's embrace. Seagulls cawed on the distant beach and the gentle ocean breeze blew salty air over his steaming cup of tea. Chamomile; the executioner's favorite. Especially with a little honey after a stressful day. They spent countless nights together, sitting across a candlelit table when neither of them could sleep or in each other’s arms, with a hot pot of chamomile tea between them. God, he missed those days. 

The chamomile tea at the Marelean cafe did not taste as sweet, even with honey. Maybe that was just because of the company. Not that Levi minded the overzealous journalist scribbling in his journal across from him. After all, he paid well, and it wasn’t like Levi had much to do after the war. Despite the massive loss of life, humanity trudged towards a new sense of normalcy only weeks later. Businesses had to continue, people needed a new sense of purpose or just a moment of peace, and society was never one to stay still. Levi still had to make a living in a world without titans, so when a fast-talking kid with a fire in his eyes offered to pay him for interviews he took the opportunity.

The young man, Marty Chase, tapped his pen against a pile of notes with a nervous energy. Levi took a few days to get to know Marty’s work before he agreed to a biography, and the kid checked out. Marty co-authored three bestsellers before the age of thirty, all biographies of Marelean warriors. Levi did not know any of the subjects, but he felt like he did after a few chapters into his works. How he wove together someone’s life with just interviews and notes, Levi did not know. Some sort of creative witchcraft he would never understand. 

Marty flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and clicked his pen. “When I was listening back to our last session, you mentioned an executioner a couple of times. Tell me about that.”

“What about her?”

“Her?” Marty made a note and underlined the fact the executioner was a woman several times. He flipped back through his notes, finding some highlighted passages in the ink. “How did you know her?”

Steam rose from his teacup, and Levi watched as it disappeared into the wind. He hadn’t realized he mentioned the executioner enough during his interviews for Marty to take notice. In fact, he tried to leave the executioner out of it as much as he could. Those who read his biography wouldn’t give a damn about that. Why would they? They wanted to know about his military experience, his title of Humanity’s Strongest, about Eren Jaeger, the military coup, what he saw, and what he experienced. They wanted to know what his comrades could no longer share. Without bringing her into it, they could know all of that. Would she even want them to know? 

Levi tasted the chamomile on his tongue and closed his eyes, wishing it was as sweet as he remembered on her lips. He could not ask her permission to share her part of the story. It was impossible. Levi turned the warm teacup in his hands and sighed.

“I almost asked her to marry me.”

The incessant pen clicking stopped. Marty stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape like a fish out of water. Marty dove into the fat briefcase he lugged around and retrieved that stupid little recording device. It was slightly bigger than a deck of cards with black casing and a roll of tape inside. “And you thought you could just leave out that teensy-weensy, tiny, detail?”

Levi shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d care about that.”

Marty rolled his eyes, as if Levi said something ridiculous, like cats could be herded or the moon didn’t exist. “This stuff is the heart of a good story, no pun intended,” he said. “You’re pretty extraordinary, Mr. Ackerman, no two ways about that. But, people like you seem so far out of reach to an average guy like me. What we need is something to reel you back in. Something to tell our audience, ‘hey, this guy is as human as he is amazing’, and what’s more human than romantic love?”

“Taking a shit?” 

Marty set his pen on the table and eyed him like a disappointed teacher looking at the class clown. “If you really don’t think she’s important, you don’t have to tell me about her.”

“Don’t give me the guilt trip shit, Marty.” Levi finished his tea and set the empty cup at the edge of the iron bistro table. “You have plans today?”

“Not if you have a story to tell me.”

“Then get me another cup of tea. Lavender and bergamot, no sweetener.”

Marty beamed like Levi had offered a pot of gold instead of a day's worth of work. Though to Marty, those two were likely one and the same. His book about Reiner’s time in Paradis sold out in some of the biggest shops Marley offered. Well, Levi hoped the paycheck would be worth both of their time. 

After Marty returned with the tea and a heart-attack inducing amount of coffee, he pressed the little red button on the side of his recording device. He leaned in close to the speaker and rattled off his typical prelude to the recording. “Levi Ackerman. Tape thirty-two. Who is the executioner?”

Levi sipped his fresh cup of tea, thankful for the bit of caffeine because he knew he’d be needing it. “Don’t turn my biography into a romance novel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Ackerman,” Marty answered without missing a beat. He clicked his pen and tapped it against the first line in his notebook. “Now, tell me how you first met the executioner.”

Levi held his cup of tea just above the table, not sure if he was going to set it down or take another sip. He guessed he had nothing to lose by sharing their story. “Twenty-five years ago, I saw my first beheading. I was still just a kid scraping by in the Underground…”

Levi, a tiny, twelve-year-old piece of garbage, had only been on his own for a few weeks. Kenny taught him just enough to take care of himself and drop-kicked him from the relative safety of the nest to the dogs. With Kenny, awful as he was, Levi at least felt a sense of safety with an adult around. Once that was ripped from under him, it took him a while to regain his bearings. 

The Sunday market was the perfect place to pick pockets and swipe valuables, whether they were from a vendor or a customer. The place was so crowded, a small kid like him could disappear in an instant. He just needed to find the right target. Ideally, someone who looked like they didn’t belong Underground. Someone who would be unused to the dim lighting, the stale air thick with the smell of smoke, and the echoing chatter of thousands of people crammed into one place. Few people from above ground went to the Sunday market, but there were enough to make them easy pickings. 

On the outskirts of the market, right outside a general store where Kenny used to buy his liquor, sat a young girl atop some supply crates. One look at her, and Levi knew she was the perfect target. Clean clothes? Check. Shiny hair? Check. Dirt-free face? Check? Alone? Also check. The pretty, sun-kissed face was also a dead giveaway. The brown leather satchel on her lap, scratch-free with shiny copper buckles, would be a great steal. He just had to get a hold of it.

Levi smoothed his ratty, moth-bitten coat and checked his hair in a dusty shop window. Well, he did not look so bad that the girl would run away from him screaming. At least he hoped he didn’t. Not that he cared. Normally, he would go for a more covert approach, one where his target would never know he was there, but there was no way he could take the bag right off of her lap. He’d have to get her to put it down. 

With his heart beating faster than a bat's wings, he approached the girl. When she smiled at him, his breath caught in his throat. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He focused on the bag. Even if there was nothing good in there, the bag itself would be worth something, whether it be money or for his own use. 

Unable to keep eye contact, he swallowed and looked at his shoes, restless fingers pulling at a loose thread in his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice breaking in a way that it hadn’t before. He cleared his throat and willed the heat from his face. What was wrong with him?

The girl leaned on her bag. “Hi,” she said with a pretty, white smile. “I like your haircut.”

His eyes widened at the unexpected compliment and the blush he swallowed before heat rushed right back to his face. Thank the walls the Underground was dark, because he was certain she would have laughed if she saw the color on his face. “Thanks, uhh—” he toyed with the thread in his pocket. “I, uh, like your face.” Stupid. Idiot. Maybe if he ran away right now, she would forget about the whole thing.

She covered her mouth when she giggled. It was the cutest thing he had ever heard. What the hell? Was this what Kenny meant when told Levi that girls would stop being gross one day? What a joke. A terrible, awful joke.

He needed to act fast. Plan A: get the girl to stand. Maybe she would put the bag down for a second, long enough for him to grab it and run. He scratched the back of his neck and eyed the crate she was sitting on. “I need to get to that box.” 

“Oh.” The girl straightened, one hand still on her bag. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way,” she said and pushed herself off the crates, her long green skirt billowing behind her. Unfortunately, she looped the handle around her forearm, keeping it close.

Well, that did not work. Time for Plan B. Levi looked over the crate and found a serial number. He pretended to examine it for a second before he turned back to the girl. “Can you help me move this?” he asked. “I think I need the one below it.”

Still smiling, the girl set her bag down and dusted her hands off on her skirt. “Sure. What should I do?”

Perfect. “Grab that side.” He pointed to the side of the crate furthest away from her bag. Without question, she tucked her fingers under one side of the crate while Levi lifted the other. Sure, he could have just snatched the bag while she had her back turned, but that was too risky. He wanted a little more of a head start before she followed him. 

Levi lifted the top crate well off of the bottom one, and the little girl followed, shuffling her feet against the cobblestone. Her skinny arms strained and her cheeks colored with exertion. There was his chance. 

His fingers released, and Levi’s end of the crate crashed into the ground. The girl faltered and Levi acted before the girl could even let go of her half of the crate. His deft hands swiped the bag as he darted past. Too easy. Way too easy. Levi couldn’t help but smile to himself as he swung the bag over his shoulder and the girl shouted after him. Levi circled around the edge of the market to put some distance between him and the girl before he ducked into the thick of the crowd. 

In the bustling marketplace, Levi swung the bag onto his shoulder and blended in among the other patrons. No one gave him a second look, like he was just there for a bit of shopping, like everyone else. Easy, he thought to himself. Even if the bag had little in it, the bag itself was nice. Sturdy, with lots of pockets and a comfortable strap. Maybe he’d even keep it for himself instead of pawning it off. 

When Levi ducked through a small crowd near a pastry stand, he felt a sudden tug at the back of his jacket. His collar caught his throat as he was yanked back, and a hand the size of his head gripped his shoulder like a vice. 

“Say, my daughter has a bag just like that,” said a deep, gravelly voice as the grip on his shoulder tightened. 

Levi felt like his heart had stopped. No. What were the fucking chances. The surrounding people started to take notice of the altercation and backed away. People in the Underground knew Levi through reputation alone, and he had taken on men twice his size more times than he could count. Too late not to cause a scene. 

Levi grasped his knife and struck behind him, the blade making contact with the man’s flesh. The man groaned and Levi felt another hand on him as he was spun around. Levi’s heart jumped to his throat. This man wasn’t twice his size, he was even bigger. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought a titan had made it Underground. 

Under a bushy red beard that surrounded his face like a lion’s mane, he smiled, a gold tooth front and center of his grin. Levi briefly wondered how much the tooth was worth before he felt his knife plucked from his hand. 

“Get him, Ivor!” yelled someone in the crowd. 

Another man shouted. “Teach that shit a lesson, hangman!”

The hangman. The fucking hangman. Levi felt his blood run cold as he stared up at the monstrous man. So he was the man Kenny would talk about when he got drunk. The one man that Kenny actually seemed to fear. Not because he thought Ivor would hunt him down, but because Ivor would be the one to carry out his sentence if he was ever tried for his crimes. Remembering the way Kenny described how the hangman would torture his victims before the execution made Levi’s stomach turn.

“I’m not going to fight a child,” Ivor called back to the crowd. “Piss off. You’re not getting a damn show, you buzzards.”

The crowd did not disperse as more insults and jeers were thrown the hangman’s way. 

Ivor ignored the taunts. Instead, the hangman focused his pale blue eyes into Levi’s gray ones. “I made that bag for my daughter,” he said. “All it has in it is tea and bad handwritten poetry. I’d tell you to see for yourself, but she’d kill me if I let a stranger read her poems,” he added with a light chuckle. 

“Let go of me.”

One hand tightened its grip while the other let go, giving Levi what was supposed to be a friendly pat. “Aye, can’t do that until I get that bag back, son.” 

Levi tossed the bag on the ground. Whatever. He knew when to cut his losses. “Take it.” 

Still not letting go of him, Ivor placed a boot on the bag strap, keeping it secure. “Thank you, my boy,” he boomed and ruffled Levi’s hair. Ivor knelt as close to Levi’s level as he could, his trench coat made of thick hide bunching up at his feet. He smelled of bergamot and lemon, like he had doused himself in perfumes. Something about Ivor contradicted all of Levi’s expectations: respected and ridiculed, fearsome and jovial, a killer with kind eyes. Despite the iron grip on his shoulder, the hangman seemed… almost nice? Much more tolerant than most of the folks Levi came across, and definitely more so than the ones who felt they were wronged. Blood soaked through Ivor’s pant leg where Levi had slashed his knife, but Ivor did not acknowledge it.

“Take this, boy,” he said in a rough voice barely above a whisper. Ivor reached into his pocket and pressed a small, yet heavy, bag of coins into Levi’s hands, doing his best to shield the transaction from the crowd. “Stay out of trouble. If you don’t, you’ll be seeing me again, boy. And next time, I won’t be so nice.” 

Ivor picked up his daughter’s bag and finally released his hold on Levi, patting him on his certainly bruised shoulder. Levi stumbled back, reaching for the knife that was no longer there. Right. The hangman had tossed it aside. Levi pocketed the coins and stood his ground, waiting for an opening to grab his knife again. 

Around them, the crowd booed. They hurled words not even Kenny would have used the hangman’s way, and he stood tall and proud, stoic as a statue. When a piece of rotten vegetable pelted Ivor’s coat, he brushed off with a laugh as people in the crowd continued to taunt and jeer. The hangman turned to look at Levi once more, before giving a subtle nod towards a break in the crowd. Levi swore he saw the man mouth the word ‘go’ from behind his massive beard.

“Thought you were going to give us a show, hangman!” a shrill woman shouted.

Ivor tossed the bag over his shoulder. “You’ll be getting a show tomorrow.” He spread his arms with all the showmanship of a magician. “Now stop gawking and do something with your miserable lives, you scabs!”

With a slight limp, Ivor turned into the crowd. Not really thinking, Levi picked his knife off the ground and ran the opposite direction. He did not know where he was going, just that he needed to get out of the marketplace and away from anyone who saw Ivor give him money. Maybe that was the man’s true intention: to put a target on Levi’s back with the cash rather than true altruism. Why else would he give a kid who just stabbed him a satchel full of coins?

The woman’s voice rang in his head. Give us a show, hangman! He was the fucking hangman, and Levi had robbed the hangman’s kid. Levi never felt so stupid in his life. The human embodiment of Death had Levi in his grip, at his mercy, and let him live. 

With that gift, Levi ran and did not stop until he reached his lodgings. Levi locked the door behind him and slid to the floor to catch his breath. 

When his breathing settled, he pulled the bag of coins out and counted them. More than he expected. A lot more. Enough to get him food for an entire month, or even longer if he planned right. Levi closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wooden door behind him. What the hell kind of person gave a piece of shit like him such a gift? Maybe Ivor had something wrong with him.

Despite how Levi never wanted to see the executioner again, Levi found himself drawn to the town square the following afternoon. He never watched an execution before, but he knew where they took place. The crowd made for good pickings, as those who came to watch were distracted by the morbid spectacle and alcohol. Levi always took his pickings and left before the cart with the condemned even made it to the podium.

There were no gallows for hanging, just a raised platform with a block of wood at the center. People gathered a healthy distance away from the platform. Out of the splash zone, as one man said. Levi did not want to think about how that distance was determined, and stood behind two larger men as a human shield. He could see the podium well enough between them, so long as they stood relatively still. It would have been so easy to swipe something right out of their pockets, but he resisted. It was a day for observation, and observation only. He didn’t know why, but he needed to see the executioner in action. He needed to know it was, in fact, the same man he met the day before. 

Nothing he knew of the man, the little he did know, made any sense. Obviously respected, yet despised. A brute who didn’t flinch at a knife slicing his thigh and laughed off a jeering crowd. A man who made bags for his daughter, gave coins to a kid who stabbed him, and went off to kill a person the next day.

One man in front of him, with a stocky build and a mustache that looked like a push broom, puffed at his cigarette. “Any idea what this one did?”

His friend, a taller man with a ponytail, replied, “I heard she killed a few of her customers from the whore house. Poor bastards. Thought they were paying for a good time, then they’d get home and drop dead. Took them ages to find out why.”

“How many did she get?” 

“At least twelve, from what I’ve heard.”

“Shit.” The mustached man tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boots. “Executioner will let us know.” 

The man with a ponytail cocked his chin towards the main road. “Speak of the devil and he will come,” he said. 

Far down the end of the main road, a draft horse pulled a rickety wagon fixed with a rusty iron cage. The giant, red-haired hangman sat at the front of the cart, his boxy gloved hands gripping the reins as he shouted at people to get out of the way. Beside him was the little girl from yesterday, hugging her precious bag.

“Can’t believe he’s training her,” Mustache Man muttered.

Ponytail shrugged. “Not like she has many other prospects,” he said. “Being the hangman’s kid, it’s not like men will be lining up for her. Hell, I don’t know if a whore house would take her.”

Mustache Man hummed thoughtfully and lit up another cigarette. “Poor kid.” 

The wagon reached the podium and Ivor hauled himself down from the rider seat, the wagon creaking with the sudden loss of weight. Levi would not have been surprised if the ground shook when those massive boots hit the pavement like a fallen powder keg. Ivor turned back to the cart and gingerly lifted his daughter and set her down beside him. Without a word, the girl dug into her bag and passed a vial to her father before she went to the edge of the podium.

A man in a Military Police uniform lingered nearby. Probably acting as some sort of bailiff, Levi figured, judging by the official-looking documents clutched between his fingers. He ascended to the podium and shouted something to Ivor, who went to the back of the wagon. 

A desperate wail echoed over the crowd when Ivor swung open the metal bars. A frail woman with her hands tied behind her back scrambled to the back of the wagon, sobbing and pleading. Her hair had been cut short, but Levi recognized her from the brothel as a woman his mother would sometimes talk to. Her name was Ada, if he remembered correctly, and she was almost unrecognizable between the haphazardly chopped hair and tear-stained face. Kicking at his meaty hands, squirming away from his vice-like grip, Ivor pulled her from the cart despite her best efforts. 

Turning her away from the crowd, Ivor pinched her jaw and dumped the vial down her throat. He held her mouth shut until she swallowed as he whispered something in her ear. Sobbing, tears leaving salty streaks on her face and snot dripping from her nose, she stopped fighting him. Her shoulders slumped and her head hung like a rag doll, as if she had finally accepted what was coming to her. Guiding her by the back of the neck, Ivor led Ada up four wooden steps to the chopping block, his blocky hand grasping her arm when she tripped. 

The crowd booed and jeered as Ivor pushed Ada to her knees in front of the block. She stared ahead, her eyes already dead and her body slumping to the side. Ivor righted her long enough to tie a blindfold over her eyes before she slumped over again. The man from the Military Police rang a bell to quiet the crowd. When the chatter and yelling subsided, he read the charges brought before Ada. Like the gentlemen in front of him had said, she had confessed to poisoning at least a dozen men, all of whom were prior customers of the brothel. 

Once the charges had been read, Ivor pushed the woman down. With one massive hand on the back of her skull, he guided her neck, so it rested across the chopping block. The moment he let go, her head lolled to the side.

Releasing Ada to pick up the ax, Ivor watched as she slipped off the block completely. Her body curled up into itself like a frightened child, wetness seeping through her blindfold. He set the ax down on its head, holding it upright with one hand and motioning for his daughter with the other. The crowd grew quiet as the little girl joined him on the podium.

“Shit,” Ponytail drawled with more pity than Levi ever thought could fit into a curse word. 

“Yeah,” Mustache Man agreed, forgetting the cigarette that burned between his finger tips.

Levi could not hear what Ivor said, but the girl nodded and knelt in front of Ada. Her small hands lifted Ada from beneath her jaw and pulled her back onto the chopping block. With Ada’s neck in place, the girl walked back on her knees as far away from the block as she could manage without letting go of Ada’s hair.

Ivor wrapped his bulking hands around the long handle of the ax and poised himself beside the block, waiting.

When the man from the Military Police gave the signal, Ivor hoisted the ax into the air and brought it down. Once, then once again, each strike accompanied by the thud of metal against flesh, wet plops of blood, and gasps of horror and cheers from the crowd. At least two people vomited at the sight and one man in the front row fainted. 

Pale in the face and speckled with blood, the little girl detangled her fingers from Ada’s hair. Ada’s head rolled a few inches from where the girl had dropped it, blood staining the wooden podium in its path. The girl did not move until Ivor yanked her to her feet. Deaf to the audience, the little girl walked back to the cart as though she were drawn by a string and not of her own accord. 

The man from the Military Police pronounced Ada dead as Ivor held up the still dripping head to the crowd. Levi’s stomach turned. For a moment, he thought he might join the people who lost their lunch at the sight, but he swallowed thickly and turned away. If he never saw either of them again, it would be too soon. 

Twenty-five years later, and he still remembered that afternoon more clearly than he would have liked. It was not the most brutal death Levi had witnessed. Titans were plenty worse. Something else stood out about that one in particular, but Levi did not really know what. Even as he recounted the story to Marty, he could not say why the memory stuck with him so strongly. 

Marty poured creamer into his coffee and paused the recording device. Quietly, he wrote a few notes while Levi finished his cup of tea. Even though Marty had listened to the very worst of Levi’s stories, it seemed the story about a little girl holding a severed head and struck him differently. The change in disposition only lasted long enough for Marty to finish writing his notes, the gears in his brain seemed to turn as he did so. Marty checked his recording device and looked up at Levi, intrigue written across his face.

Levi picked up one of the cranberry scones Marty ordered almost twenty minutes ago. “You’ve got questions.”

Marty tapped his pen. “I do,” he said. “But first, I want to hear what happened next.”

[multiharlot]

too little too late / s. reid

summary: spencer and y/n have been together for about eight months and she’s beginning to pick up on some things she wish she could remain oblivious to.

warnings: nothing really, light cursing, definite angst, this one is a long one. lmao sorry (2 part imagine. so be on the lookout.)

masterlist 

part 2

y/n’s pov

there was always a little piece of her in everything we did. i had somehow become a third wheel in my own relationship. i had taken the backseat for someone who wasn’t even here anymore. i should have known. i should have known the moment i brought him along to get my haircut.

“how do you feel about blonde?” i ask, flipping through the color book.

spencer shrugged and looked over at the book, gently pulling it from my grasp.

“how about black?” he suggests, turning to the back of the book with the dark hair samples.

at the time, i didn’t think anything of it. and i didn’t think anything of it when he had also slyly suggested bangs. i never thought anything of it when his team came over for dinner one night and morgan had pointed out how i eerily resembled my boyfriends deceased ex-lover. i never thought anything of it when spencer would lock himself away, rereading her letters or running his fingers over the book she had gifted him. perhaps it was because i didn’t want to think of it. i wanted to deny it until he had more time to make room for me in his still heavy heart. losing a lover wasn’t an easy thing to cope with, and i had no idea what he was going through. so i only thought, that this was how it was supposed to be. i let myself believe that this sort of treatment was normal. but it’s not.

“hey spence?”

“hmm” he hums tiredly as he tightens his grip around my waist.

i drag my finger over his smooth forearm, tracing the veins bulging through his skin.

“i love you”

“mmm love you too” he mumbles into my neck as he slowly drifts off into sleep.

this was the night i finally had to admit to myself that maybe this man wasn’t as good for me as i thought he was. as i laid in bed, facing my exhausted lover, i placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb softly over his stubbled cheek and letting my hand travel from underneath his jaw and into his hair. a content sigh falling past my lips as i studied every inch of his face. as if i had to memorize it before it could dissipate from my view. a gentle and tired smile reaches spencer’s face and he opens his mouth slightly, sucking in a breath of air, and mumbling softly as he exhaled.

“maeve...”

my hand froze and i quickly retracted it from his soft brown curls. my heart plummeted into my stomach and my throat tightened. spencer sometimes talked in his sleep, and it was one of the things i grew to love so much about him. one of the many things. but as he continues to mumble her name amongst the sweet nothings that escaped his lips, i had never hated his quirks more than i did right in this moment. i shifted my body onto my back and spencer pulled me closer, her name still escaping his lips from time to time. this made my mind race. what had she looked like? was morgan right? do i actually look like her? was that the only reason why spence was with me? i hadn’t actually realized how long i had laid there, staring at the blank ceiling, but before i knew it, the sun began poking through the blinds in spencer’s bedroom window. i still found my body paralyzed from the emotions when spencer’s phone rang out. i quickly turned my body away from his, closing my eyes and i listened to him groan and grab his phone from the table. 

“hello?”

“yeah...yeah okay i’ll be there.” 

he lets out a long sigh and throws the sheets off of his body. i kept my eyes closed as i listen to his rummage through the room. eventually, i hear his footsteps come closer to me and he runs his hand through my hair, his hand traveling down to my shoulder and he shakes me gently. 

“hmm?” i hum out, too afraid to look into his eyes. 

“i have to go, but i’ll call you. okay?”

“hmm.” i hum, flipping my body away from him. 

he lets out a chuckle before i hear him exiting the apartment. i release a breath that i hadn’t realized i was holding and sit up in bed, staring at closed closet doors. the letter filled box screaming at me through screens of the door. i threw the covers off of my body and searched through the articles of clothing and pulled the small shoebox from the back end of the closet, carefully opening the lid and flipping through the opened envelopes. every part of me wanted to read what the letters had said, but i had decided that i had already gone far enough into invading his privacy. but between the envelopes, i found what i had been searching for. the small 4x4 wallet sized photo of a beautiful woman. i looked as though he had taken the photo from a print out of a new article, but she was beautiful. far more beautiful than i could have been, no matter how many times i cut my hair, no matter what color i chose to dye it. no matter how many boxes of contact lenses i had purchased to replace my glasses or how many new articles of clothing i purchased because spencer had told me how much he enjoyed seeing them on me while we were at the store. i wiped my wet cheeks and tucked the photo back into the box, every bone in my body had began to shake with anger and embarrassment. angry at what a fool i was to fall into his tricks. embarrassed that i hadn’t noticed what exactly he was doing. i was giving my all to someone who was giving me nothing in return and now i had been run dry. i took a deep breath and put the box back into the closet. i stood from the ground and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk, writing out the note. 

spencer, 

i cannot compete with someone who cannot be here to claim their victory. i refuse to continue playing the fool. i love you. and i tried to understand your pain. i tried to help you through your struggles despite the hurt you inflicted on me every time you turned me away to pine after someone who couldn’t possibly respond to you. and maybe i’m being harsh right now, but it’s been years since she passed, spencer. you had so many chances to not continue this relationship. i had left the door open for so long, yet you insisted that you were ready for this. and i let myself believe that you were. but i can’t keep pretending to be somebody you need. i can’t continue being a surrogate for the love you lost. i won’t keep laying next to you when my name isn’t the name that’s leaving your lips when you fall asleep. i can’t stay with you when i’m not the woman you’re dancing with in your dreams. i hope you find peace, spencer. everyone deserves peace. just please don’t try and find peace in somebody else again.

y/n

a sob escaped my lips as i neatly folded the paper, leaving it on top of his desk. the morning sun was still high and bright in the sky. i grabbed my phone from the side of the table and dialed my best friends number, i knew he wouldn’t be awake right now, and should this be any other circumstance, i wouldn’t be calling. 

“y/n? why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” he groans, making me chuckle as i wipe the running snot from my nose onto my sleeve. 

is that gross? yes. do i care? not particularly no. 

“trevor? i umm...i need you to come get me.” i whimper as i walk around his home, collecting my things that were placed sporadically throughout his apartment. 

“what? what’s wrong? where are you?” he rushes out, i hear his keys jangling through the other end of the phone as i ran my finger over a framed photo of us that was placed gently on the mantle. 

“i’m at spencer’s. i’ll tell you when you get here.” i sniffle. 

“yeah. okay. i’ll be there soon. do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“no...just...get here.”

i hung up the phone and take the photo from the frame, deciding to leave no memory of us. as if we had never existed. because that’s certainly how it felt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*10 months later* 

“daniel, baby, please breathe.” i smile, placing my hand on my boyfriend’s broad chest to withhold him from his continuous rambling. 

he chuckles, taking a deep breath before nodding his head. 

“i know i know. i’m sorry. this guy just...i moved here to get away from the big town crime. yet here i am, dealing with some rambunctious serial killer.” he frumps, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. 

i give him a gentle smile and clean up the plastic containers littering the small coffee table in his office where we were taking a quick lunch break after i had finished my all night shift at the hospital.

“yeah well, you have the fbi coming in. they’ll help you figure this out.” i say as i throw the containers into the garbage. 

“and i have my beautiful trauma nurse girlfriend who will definitely come save my life if i have a panic attack over this?” he asks, a dopey smile on his face. 

“of course.” i giggle, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

there’s a soft knock at the door and one of his deputies pokes his head into the office. 

“hey guys, sorry to interrupt but that fbi team is here.”

daniel looks at me apologetically and i wave him off. 

“go greet them. i’ll finish cleaning up in here and then i’ll head off.”

“okay. thank you. and let me know when you get back home please?”

i nod my head and he stands up from the couch, placing another kiss to my lips before walking out of the office. i had met daniel about a month after moving away from quantico. we had met on my first day at the hospital after he had sprained his wrist after tripping to get a cat out of a tree. i was originally very hesitant to get into another relationship so soon after spencer, but daniel had proved to be ten times the man spencer ever was. daniel showered me with the love and affection i never got from spencer, and he always reassured me when i needed it. he was so patient with me and took good care of my fragile heart. soon enough, i found myself in love with the small town sheriff and had long forgotten about the man who took my love and ran with the wind. that was, until i walked into the middle of the small office and came face to face with the bau. 

“y/n” morgan gasps quietly and my eyes skim over the team, eventually meeting spencer’s. 

my heart skipped a beat and my hands turned into fists at my side as i gripped tightly onto the pants of my scrubs. i felt a hand on my lower back and my vision shifts upwards to my curious boyfriend. 

“you guys know each other?” he asks, flipping his line of sight from me to the team. 

“yeah ummm...i didn’t know you brought the bau in...” i mumble, and daniel nods cautiously. 

“yeah i did...are you okay, y/n?”

i cleared my throat, grabbing daniels button up and dragging him down to my level, standing on my toes as i whispered into his ear. 

“spencer’s on this team.” i whisper quickly before releasing him from my grasp. 

“oh...oh” he says, his eyebrows raised as his eyes fall onto spencer. 

i quickly elbow his side and smile nervously at the team still standing in front of me. 

“well, ya’ll have a serial killer to catch, and i have z’s to catch. i’m really tired, so i’m gonna head home. but it was nice seeing you all.” i smile, nodding my head awkwardly as the deputy leads them into the back of the station to set up. 

spencer’s gaze never pulls away from me and i shift uncomfortably. 

“hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house?” daniel asks worriedly. 

i roll my eyes, placing my hand gently on his cheek. 

“i will be just fine. nobody will mess with me knowing i’ve got a mr. beefy boy as a boyfriend.” i wink, bumping my hip with his. 

“yeah, stronk beef cake will protecc and attacc.” his deputy snorts, making me throw my head back in laughter. 

daniel rolls his eyes and grabs my chin, pulling my face up and pressing a swift kiss on my lips. 

meanwhile, spencer and morgan stood at the table, both staring intensely at the sheriff and the woman who used to look at the resident boy genius the same way she looked at this small town sheriff.

“looks like you’re too little too late, kid.” morgan says, placing an empathetic hand on spencer’s shoulder. 

“i lost one love, i’ll be damned if i lose another.”

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: You Going to Todd’s? (Brick/Blossom)

My Powerpufftober fic! Still rocking the high school AU for this, so consider it a part 5 to the Shooketh, Not Stirred series. As always, can be read alone, but happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom go on a Halloween scavenger hunt. It sucks.

xxx

Blossom checked her watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. It was already a quarter past 9 p.m., her Frankentini was going flat in its plastic neon martini glass, and she was starting to regret coming to Todd’s overhyped Halloween party at all.

“Oh, hey Blossom,” said Harry Pitt, ferrying three bright glasses of the same watered down mixed drink Blossom was too preoccupied to enjoy. “You hanging out?”

Blossom smiled politely. “Hi, Harry. Just waiting for someone.”

Harry’s extra padded shoulders slumped in his pinstripe mafia boss costume. “Oh, let me guess.”

Blossom frowned, a reply on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it when precisely at that moment, Brick stormed through the front door like he was running from a zombie horde and desperate for a weapon. Todd himself spread his arms with a “What, your hairdresser keep you late?” and was almost mowed down with a cursory “Shut up, Todd.” Curiously, Brick made a beeline for the unpopulated second floor. He didn’t even see the other high school Seniors who barely dodged his path. Todd grimaced in his fake vampire fangs and chugged the rest of his beer. “Cool, catch up with you later, bruh!” he said, but no one was listening.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Blossom didn’t have time to feel bad about Harry’s dejected sigh as she ditched her drink and followed Brick upstairs. The Spotify Halloween playlist booming in the speakers faded to a low bass din as Blossom rounded the corner in the upstairs hallway. “Brick?” she called, a little annoyed.

No text, no call. He could have at least told her he’d be late so she could have timed her arrival better. With a mouthful of grievances and a heart full of him, she pushed open the lighted bathroom door at the end of the dark hall. “Brick, did you hear me calling—”

A fluttery and spine-chilling laugh slithered past the crack in the door and sank into her flesh like a snake bite. It arrested her where she stood halfway over the threshold, shackled in the throes of a very specific terror she could never forget.

Brick stood at the pedestal sink, his fingers attempting to fuse with the porcelain as he gripped it hard enough to crack and stared with manic focus at the mirror. All around them, the lyrical voice reverberated:

“Poor, angry boy, there’s yet no end to your suffering! For this next task, I want you on your knees groveling. Hide your tears And sharpen your shears— To save your brothers, make me a true offering.”

Brick snarled at his reflection, as if his demon might appear there in the mirror to throttle. But there was only him in the glass, furious and frothing under his red hoodie. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

It took only a moment for Blossom to shake her stupor as instinct and training took over. “Brick,” she said, crossing the small bathroom to touch him.

Red eyes narrowed at her approach until the moment he recognized her beneath her smeared costume lipstick and dark eyeliner. “Blossom?” he rasped. His surprise made sense when she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. Crop tops, fake bloodstains, and fishnets weren’t her normal style, but in a parallel nightmare universe perhaps they could have been.

The blushing eighteen-year-old boy in him went straight for her midriff, but his distress stayed his hand. “Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Nothing, just— Let me get in there.” He reached around her to pull open one of the drawers next to the sink in search of something.

“It’s not nothing.”

He didn’t answer as shut the drawer and checked the one below it.

“Brick, hey. You could have called me—”

With a snarl, he slammed the drawer closed and glared at her. “I was a little busy.”

“Talking to Him?” Blossom held his glare like a hand grenade with her thumb through the pin, ready to pull. “I’d never forget that repulsive lilt. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chickened out of answering her and dove for the drawers on the other side of the sink, where he found what he’d been looking for. Blossom barely had time to question the large scissors he’d pulled out before his hood was down and his man bun toppled into the sink with all the finality of a guillotined head.

Blossom gasped. “Brick!”

Somber as a corpse, he fished out his shorn bundle of hair from the sink, and Blossom watched as it burst into flame in his palm. Smoke curled through his fingers and rose high above them in an angry, red miasma. Its stink was saccharine and brought tears to Blossom’s eyes.

And then, it moved. In swirling, bloody tendrils, it slithered through the cracks above the bathroom door and down the hall as though it had a destination in mind.

“Oh, shit.” Brick dashed after it, and Blossom dashed after him down the stairs. His hand was hot in hers when she caught it and yanked him back. The split second in which their eyes met was an eon of understanding, bone-deep and cauldron-brewed. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked like he needed a friend.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“Blossom,” he tried to argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Blossom, hey babe, wanna flip some cups on my team?” Todd sidled up to Blossom with a stack of solo cups. Then he noticed Brick’s serrated haircut. “Buddy, what the shit happened to your hair?”

“Please go away,” Blossom said at the same time as Brick said, “Choke on my dick.”

She grimaced at Brick’s vulgarity, but Todd took a step back. Before he could snap back, he noticed the red smoke wafting through his house out the open window. “Oh shit, fire?”

“There’s a fire?!” someone else exclaimed, and panic ensued.

Blossom was about to intervene when Brick snatched her hand and dragged out the front door. “Where did it go?” he said, squinting in the dark.

Blossom swallowed her instinct to calm down her fellow partygoers (there was no fire, they’d be fine, surely…) and looked around for the demonic smoke. “There! It’s heading east.” She rose into the air to fly after it, but paused when she noticed Brick hadn’t followed her. Instead, he jogged down Todd’s cul-de-sac toward the main road. “What are you—hey!”

She landed on the ground in front of him, cutting off his dash. He tried to go around her, but she easily blocked him. It was like he wasn’t even trying to move past her, unless…

“You’re powerless,” she said.

That was the wrong thing to say. “It’s just a temporary setback,” he said in the same choke-on-my-dick tone he usually reserved for Todd.

When he tried to get around Blossom again, she put her booted foot down and cracked the asphalt. He didn’t try to pass her again. “I’m not going to ask you again.” Then, more gently: “Please, let me help you.”

The last of Brick’s petulant pride dissolved to ashes just like his ruined hair she knew he loved, and yet he’d viciously cut it off anyway. Hesitant, yet stubbornly determined, he held her gaze. “It’s Him. He’s fucking with me. Sapped my powers and said my brothers and I will pay the ultimate price unless I solve this idiotic scavenger hunt by midnight.”

“…Wow.”

“Yeah, so it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Blossom cupped his cheek. His chopped hair was not a total disaster, but it needed cleaning up. All that time he’d spent growing it out again…

Brick sucked in a sharp breath at her tender touch. He was as rigid as a pole, gritting his teeth hard enough to shatter. Blossom’s gaze hardened, and an old but fierce fire ignited in her Super-powered veins. “We’ll beat Him’s game. I promise you. Nothing’s going to happen to you or your brothers.”

Brick let his eyes fall closed as he touched his hand to hers, and that was probably the most intimacy she was going to get out of him in the middle of a murder-y scavenger hunt on Halloween. Maybe after they booted Him back to whatever pit he’d been living in all these years she could salvage what should have been a fun, romantic date with her sort-of boyfriend.

Blossom cleared her throat. “So, evil limericks?”

Brick just groaned from the bottom of his tortured soul. He took her hand and led the way after the demonic smoke before they could lose its trail. The smoke led them to Townsville High School a few blocks from Todd’s, specifically to the annual haunted house experience the Senior class spearheaded every year. Plenty of students dressed in their ghoulish finery crowded in the lawn socializing and lining up to take a turn through the haunted house.

Bubbles was on duty as part of the social committee in charge of managing the exhibit. When she spotted Brick and Blossom headed for the cafeteria door that had been transformed into the haunted house’s black-curtained foyer, she bounced over to them. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you guys here tonight! I thought you were going to Todd’s. Wait, Brick, did you cut your hair?”

“It’s a long story,” Blossom said.

“Whoa! Slow down. You can’t go inside without a costume.” Bubbles blocked Brick’s single-minded steamroll inside after the last of the curling, red smoke slithered past.

“Bubbles, move,” Brick spat.

“No way. You can be a party pooper at Todd’s all you like, but you’re not bringing any of that into my super scary haunted house that I spent all day decorating.”

“I swear to god—”

“Bubbles, do you have any eye liner?” Blossom interrupted before Brick could say something to her sister she would make him regret for the rest of his life.

Bubbles, dressed in glam trash Powerpunk solidarity with her sisters for the night in fishnets and glitter, grinned as she dug in the pockets of her spider web-patterned black tutu. “Great idea, Blossom! C’mere, you.”

“What—hey!” Brick was literally powerless to stop Bubbles from manhandling him into a quick makeover. “There, it’s purr-fect!”

Despite the possibility of Brick’s gruesome end by satanic evisceration looming at the end of the night, Blossom could not help but laugh at the cute nose and whiskers that transformed Brick from grumpy boy to grumpy cat.

The flash on Bubbles’ phone went off.

“Hey!” Brick was redder in the face than his ruined hair.

Bubbles preened as she easily danced out of Brick’s reach before he could nab her phone and delete the evidence. “You look so cute!”

Brick turned to Blossom as his final saving grace, but there were tears in her eyes as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m so sorry, but she’s totally right. You look very cute right now.”

“Fuck this,” he grumbled, bright as a tomato as he shoved past a floating Bubbles and stormed inside the haunted house.

“Oh no—Brick, wait!” Blossom tried to tone down her giggles as she ran after him. “Bubbles, come on, this is actually serious.”

The sisters headed inside to a spooky banshee screams playlist past Ms. Keane’s bubbling cauldron and the football team zombified in a cardboard graveyard, until finally Mr. Green welcomed them to the final stop with a frightful flourish. “Step on up, boys and girls. See your future, if you dare. Mwahahahaha!”

Brick took one look at the over-eager demon teacher and tried to leave. “Maybe I should just let Him kill me while I have some dignity left.”

Blossom caught up to him and slipped her hand in his before he could turn back. The sobering reminder of why they were even here sent a chill all the way to her fingers, and she squeezed his hand in what she hoped was reassurance. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“What’s going on?” Bubbles asked, peering around Blossom’s shoulder.

But Blossom was too preoccupied by the unnatural red smoke swirling around the final, purple-draped room and its sole occupant: Robin Snyder in a truly rocking dead fortune teller costume. “Come in, come in! Let the spirits foretell your Halloween future!”

Bubbles giggled and skipped inside. She planted a very loud, very adorable kiss on Robin’s head.

“Bubbles, what’re you doing in here? You’re supposed to be on welcome duty!” Robin complained, but she reached for Bubbles’ hand and pulled her down into the chair next to her.

“I wanted to see you, obviously!”

Brick’s hand in Blossom’s squeezed uncomfortably tight, and she soon realized why: the red smoke had descended upon the ouija board set up on Robin’s table and absorbed inside it. Bubbles and Robin did not seem to notice it at all.

“All right, let’s get this shit over with,” Brick said, taking one of the empty seats across the table.

“Wow, such enthusiasm,” Robin said flatly.

Blossom took a seat next to Brick and asked their costumed host, “How does this work?”

“It’s a séance. We’ll ask the spirits what we want to know, and the board will do the rest. Everybody put a hand on the planchette.”

The moment everyone’s hands touched the plastic planchette, red smoke bubbled up from beneath it and swirled around them. In a panic, Robin tried to pull away, but found that she couldn’t. Everyone’s hands were stuck to the planchette.

“What—” Bubbles sputtered, but Him’s cotton candy creep show voice slithered from the smoke and stole her breath:

“This clue is not for the fainthearted: Unearth your next destination uncharted. Absent any confession, To the board pose your question And divine who among you just farted!”

“What the hell was that?!” Robin said at the same time as Bubbles wailed, “Oh nooooo!”

Before Blossom could respond to Robin’s very reasonable question, her arm was yanked across the board still stuck to the planchette: “B”.

Brick’s smoky cat-eyes were wide and slightly manic as he looked at Blossom, and she looked at him. She flushed so badly that she nearly swallowed her own tongue to say, “It wasn’t me!”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t me,” he shot back. And then, understanding dawning, they both looked across the table.

“Bubbles?” Blossom said.

“I DON’T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME ANYMORE!” she screeched.

“Bubbles definitely farted,” Brick deadpanned. He dragged the planchette and everyone’s hands still stuck to it toward the “U” and then back to the “B” until the board spelled out Bubbles’ name. As soon as the planchette settled on the “S”, it released everyone’s hands in time for the heady, red smoke to engulf the board entirely.

Bubbles, distraught, shot out of her chair and covered her eyes in shame.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Robin tried to coax her back down from the high corner she’d flown to. “Come on down from there—Bubbles, really, I can’t even smell anything!”

“You’re just saying that because you love me!” Bubbles complained.

“Oh my god,” Blossom said, too preoccupied with the board to worry about her sister’s mortification. “Is that—”

“A map of the city?” Brick finished her sentence.

The ouija board was transformed into a mini map of Townsville, if a preschooler had drawn it in crayon.

“Here we are at THS.” Blossom pointed her finger to a collection of buildings scribbled in blue crayon. “And here…” She followed a crosshatch path to the edge of the map where a horned, red, devil face sticker grinned up at her. “The cemetery.”

Brick stood up so fast his chair fell over. He stood there for half a second, his face screwed up, and then: “Goddamnit!”

He’d forgotten he couldn’t fly.

“I can carry you.” Blossom held out her hand.

“Is everything okay in here? Robin, the next group is waiting.” Mr. Green poked his horned head through the thick drapes and sniffled. “Ew, what’s that smell?”

“Oh my god!” Bubbles turned beet red and disappeared in a flash of blue, knocking down the rest of the chairs and Brick too, if Blossom hadn’t caught his elbow before he could break his nose on the tiled floor.

“Bubbles! Sorry, Mr. Green.” Robin dashed after her.

“Wait just a minute—”

In the chaos, Blossom let Brick slip out of her grip, and he stormed out the opposite door back outside.  

“What are you doing?” Blossom asked when he stopped at the sidewalk.

“Calling a Lyft.”

“I just said I can fly us both.”

“Hard pass.”

Blossom crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong with it? Flying would be faster, and it’s free.”

“I’m not letting you carry me like some damsel in distress.”

“Honestly, Brick. There’s a demon threatening to kill you and you’re worried about your masculinity?”

“No, I mean—look, this isn’t your problem, okay?”

“You did not just say that to me.”

He scowled so deeply that it should have given her pause, but the painted whiskers somewhat ruined his menace. He clenched his phone hard enough to crack if he’d still had his powers. “I didn’t mean it like I don’t want you here.”

Blossom materialized inches from his face in an unnecessary display of power that nonetheless felt fantastic. “That’s better.”

Brick flushed, but not from anger. When she slipped her hand over his, he eased his grip and relinquished his abused phone.

“That’s better,” she said again, more honey than venom this time.

Like hell was she going to send him off to his possible doom alone, powerless and with a really bad haircut painted like a cat.

“Blossom, I’m—”

Her kiss shut him up, and with it any further excuses to go it alone. And despite his increasingly desperate situation, he kissed her back like he’d never get the chance to again.

A car horn honked. “Hey, are you Brick?” asked an older guy in a Honda Civic with a fuzzy, pink mustache attached to the front bumper.

Brick very briefly broke their make-out session to reply, “No,” and then tightened his arms around Blossom’s waist and got right back to it.

The Lyft driver squinted between the profile picture on his phone and Brick. “Wait, really?”

“Never heard of the guy,” he mumbled against her lips, proving that if she wanted to get something done, she’d have to do it herself.

Blossom rolled her eyes and removed his hands from her. Before he could do anything about it, she hoisted him onto her back and hooked her arms under his knees. “Come on, let’s go thwart your imminent murder.”

The Lyft driver watched them take off in a blur of pink. “Goddamn teenagers.”

He canceled the Lyft order and left Brick a one star rating, which was probably fair.

xxx

When Blossom touched down near the entrance to the graveyard, it was back to business. “How much time do we have?”

Brick checked his phone. “About an hour and a half.”

She jogged to keep up with his longer stride as they made their way deeper into the graveyard. “Okay, that’s plenty of time to figure this out.”

A peal of laughter stopped them in their tracks on the gravel path for the split second it took them both to recognize that particular manic cadence.

“Butch,” Blossom said at the same time as Brick said, “Motherfucker.”

Beyond a small hill near the base of a huge oak tree, Brick’s brothers, Buttercup, and Mike Believe sat among the granite tombstones with a pillowcase full of candy passing a joint around. Buttercup had just blown a smoke ring in the shape of a star.

“Bitch, I’m too stoned for this fucking tongue witchcraft,” Butch said. He made an appropriately chilling sight all in black with his face painted black and white in the design of a skull.

“Hey, can you blow a heart?” Boomer asked.

“You sap.” But Buttercup took another drag and hopped off the tombstone she’d been sitting on. Moonlight glinted off the spikes on her black leather jacket as she reeled back and blew three perfect, concentric hearts from her red-painted lips.

Boomer sat up from his place under Mike’s arm and snapped a picture on his phone. “You officially have the greatest special power out of all of us, no contest.”

Mike laughed and accepted the joint when Buttercup passed it to him. “I’m gonna have to agree with that one.”

“That’s because you’re one hundred percent whipped,” Butch said.

Mike shrugged. “Eh.”

“Buttercup.” Blossom approached her sister. “You’re smoking here? What if someone catches you?”

“Somebody just did,” Boomer said under his breath.

“Damn, Blossom, you girls doing a three-way theme tonight?” Butch slipped off the tombstone he’d been draped over to admire her fishnets and then Buttercup’s matching set. “I like it.”

“Give me that.” Brick took the joint from Mike and snuffed it out under his foot.

“Whoa, whoa,” Mike said. He stood up, and at his full height in a 1920s-style adventurer’s costume, he was a Sight™ to behold, if Blossom was being completely honest.

“Brick, what’s the matter?” Boomer peered around Mike in his homemade mummy costume. “And why the hell are you wearing cat makeup?”

“Oh shit, he is,” Buttercup said with a snort.

Before Brick could lose his temper, Blossom said, “Brick, the clue. We don’t have all night.”

“What clue?” Boomer asked. He peered at them seriously. “What’re you two doing here, anyway?”

“Yeah, I thought you were going to Todd’s,” Mike said.

“Todd’s parties blow,” Buttercup said.

Blossom ignored them. “Something about unearthing a destination uncharted. What could it mean…?”

Brick made for quite the adorable pensive cat as he considered. He seemed to come to the answer at the same time as Blossom.

“No,” Blossom said. “There’s no way.”

“We’re going to have to,” Brick said. “What else could it mean?”

“It’s extremely illegal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking cursed!”

“We can’t dig up a bunch of graves!”

“Wow, so that’s what that creepy limerick meant?” Robin approached the group with Bubbles looking windblown and totally ready to get her hands dirty digging up some goddamned graves.

“Bubbles,” Blossom said. “Look, I’m sorry about before—”

“This is Him’s doing,” Bubbles said flatly. “I recognized the voice when I calmed down and we followed you here. Just tell me what the plan is.”

“Did you say Him?” Boomer said soberly.

Buttercup put her hands up. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

Brick pulled down his hoodie and revealed his ridiculous haircut. “This is what the fuck’s going on.”

Boomer looked close to tears at the sight of Brick’s mangled hair.

“Him cursed Brick, and we have to solve a scavenger hunt before midnight or he and his brothers will pay the ultimate price,” Blossom said.

“The ultimate price?” Mike said, aghast.

“What the fuck.” Butch advanced on Brick. “What bullshit did you get us into this time—”

Blossom materialized in between Brick and Butch before the latter could carry out whatever violence he intended. She tapped him hard on the chest, and he stumbled back, probably too stoned to hold his normal balance against her Super strength. “Not today, Butch. Him took Brick’s powers.”

“Shit,” Boomer said. Blue sparks jumped in between his toilet paper-wrapped fists. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

Blossom looked to Brick, who was clearly outnumbered and they both knew it. With a groan, he ran his hands through what was left of his poor hair. “We’ll split up,” he said.

“And do what?” Buttercup said.

“Somewhere here, there’s bound to be a clue left by Him. I know that’s not a lot to go on, but it’s all we’ve got right now,” Blossom said. “Split up and cover as much ground as possible.”

“And what are we looking for?” Robin asked.

“Red smoke, demonic laughter, a general feeling of imminent disembowelment,” Brick said.

Bubbles cracked her knuckles and tightened her pigtails. “The usual, then.”

“Fuckin’ right.” Butch began to crackle with pent up green power.

With four other Supers plus Mike and Robin helping cover ground, Blossom hoped they could at least glean some inkling of what Him’s last clue meant. She stayed with Brick since he didn’t have his powers anymore, and together they wandered deeper into the graveyard. Lampposts along the gravel path cast a saturnine glow amidst the trees, fey and eerie on this most eerie of nights.

“Blossom,” Brick said softly. “If we don’t figure this out before midnight—”

“We will,” Blossom said.

He stopped, and Blossom turned to look back at him. Even powerless, there was a presence in his red eyes, beyond mortal and brimming with fire. Even as enemies, even when she couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as him, she had recognized that counterpoint in him, that tranquil confidence that there was nothing in this world he couldn’t overcome. It was a part of him and no one, not even Him, could take it away.

“But if we don’t,” he pressed.

Blossom’s throat wrenched to see him so calm. Not much scared Brick, not truly, but his softness spoke volumes here where only ghosts could hear them. Go, his eyes entreated her, forget about me and go before it gets you too.

She marched up to him and placed her hand on his chest. Ice froze her breath to mist as her anger clawed its way out of her, and she let him see it. “Then Hell will tremble to watch me drag you back out.”

Brick said nothing. He slipped his hand over hers and curled his fingers. Even now, he was far warmer than anyone she had ever known, and she clung to that certainty.

“Come on,” Blossom said, pulling him along after her. “Let’s solve this so we can go home.”

They followed the floating lamp lights east. Fog gathered at their feet, heavy and strange, but Brick held her hand, and secretly she was grateful not to be alone in such a creepy place. When a laughter they both wished they didn’t recognize reached them on the wind, Blossom’s heart leaped into her throat and she took off running with Brick hot on her heels.

The cachinnation petered out when they came across a man in a grey uniform and hat with a flashlight. “Hey, what’re you kids doing here?”

“We were just—” Blossom began.

“Enough,” Brick said, stepping forward. He put an arm out to block Blossom’s path. “I know it’s you.”

“Brick,” Blossom said.

“Son, I don’t know what you mean,” the graveyard worker said.

Brick ignored him. “I played your shitty game. This is the end. Stop hiding behind that pathetic mask and show yourself.”

The portly graveyard worker dropped his flashlight with a heavy crunch on the gravel. Watery, blue eyes bled to baleful red, and his pasty cheeks stretched to accommodate a smile far too wide for his human face. A low chuckle built deep in his chest like termites in a kicked mound, bubbling up through his throat to bursting.

“H͓̼̯ḭ̠̣d͜i̞᷊̯᷂͜n̨͇͟g̤̱͓,̼͎ a̮m̱̪̫͚͢ I̤̜̗?̨̞ T̨̳̻̜h͚̟̖̜͢a͖̻̠̜͇t̨̹ s͖i̹ṃp̨̟͈͕͢ļy̢͔͜ w̨̱o͈̜̟̠͟n̹̮̖’̳̝t̮ d̪̟̪̝o̹̠.͕̫̙̩”

The booming, sinister voice came from that mouth full of teeth, but it seemed to grow out of Blossom’s bones. She felt it in her lungs, her fingertips, as a tingle on her lips Brick had kissed. And she remembered he was vulnerable, under attack by this very thing standing before them now masquerading in a meat sack.

Well, screw that.

Blossom lowered Brick’s wrist and stepped around him. No matter how hard he pushed against her, he was no match for her power—power she leaked now like gasoline fumes hungry for a spark. The gravel at her feet froze, and her eyes faded to ghastly pink as she faced her childhood nightmare. “Hello, demon,” she said.

“Y̹o̬͟u̢̡̳.”

The lampposts flickered and popped, plunging the earthly ossuary into chilling shadows, but Blossom did not fear the cold. Her fists frosted over as she clenched them, and her step summoned an ice floe in the gravel that bridged the crevasse between her and the coward who dared to haunt Brick and his brothers on her watch.

“Well?” she said. “I’m waiting.”

His meat sack shrank back. This was no child Him was taunting, but a fully realized Super who was no longer afraid of his mind games. He closed that heinous mouth and cleared his throat with a dainty, sausage-fingered hand over his heart, and recited in Him’s more lyrical pitch:

“You’ve served all night at my gracious pleasure. Now the final test to determine your true measure: Find the lady who slumbers In her crypt sunk in umber. X marks the location of my precious treasure.”

No sooner had Him given them their last absurd clue than the graveyard worker seized and fell to his knees. Blossom dashed to catch him before he could injure himself. The man coughed and wheezed as if he’d held his breath for too long.

“What in tarnation…?” he muttered, dazed.

“Sir, you had a dizzy spell. You’re all right now,” Blossom said, clinically calm as she discreetly checked him for signs of blood or other wounds. She found none. “Maybe you should take a break.”

“Who… Hey, you kids shouldn’t be here!”

Brick growled and grabbed Blossom’s elbow to haul her back up. “Let’s go.”

“Take it easy, sir,” Blossom said, and let Brick drag her along before the man could think to call security on them.

When they were out of earshot, Brick whirled on her like he was about to get scary, but she held up a hand for silence.

“Before you get mad, I was just trying to—”

His kiss was not as unexpected as she once may have thought it would be. Feverish, frantic, like a boy about to die in twenty-odd minutes, sure, but not unexpected. “Fuck, Blossom,” he panted when they parted for a breath.

Blossom’s heart swelled at his raw emotion on full display, as rare as it was true, and she almost lost herself in it. But they had work yet to do. She tucked his too-long bangs behind his ear.

“So, a lady who slumbers,” she said. “I’m guessing it’s a special statue.”

“A crypt sunk in umber,” Brick said, licking his lips. “A mausoleum, maybe.”

“That narrows it down, for sure. Must be older if it’s sinking.”

“I saw a map of the cemetery at the entrance.”

Blossom grinned and put her fist in the air. She fired a pink blaster that lit up the night sky and would summon their siblings soon. “Let’s check it out.”

He didn’t complain this time when she carried him on her back for a speedy trip back to the entrance and a quick check of the map. There were four mausoleums in the cemetery.

“Found something, Leader Girl?” Buttercup, Butch, Bubbles, and Robin were the first to catch up to the Reds, and Blossom filled them in just as Boomer returned with Mike.

“Four mausoleums? Sounds like we need to split up again,” Mike said.

“If you find anything, send a signal,” Brick said.

Chance. Brick’s and his brothers’ lives were up to the one-in-four chance that they would find the right crypt. All around them, Him’s lollipop laughter followed them like a demented poltergeist.

“This isn’t it!” Brick slammed a fist against the innermost tomb in their chosen mausoleum. “There’s nothing here.”

Blossom was about to respond to that when a bright, blue spark crackled in the air. Boomer and Mike had found something. “Hurry!”

The mausoleum Boomer and Mike had picked was guarded by a lichen-infested statue of a woman with angel wings in a bed of grassless, brown soil, so dark it could have been umber in daylight. Bubbles, Robin, and the Greens arrived soon after Blossom and Brick charged inside.

“Check it out.” Boomer indicated the innermost tomb carved with two crossed sabers.

“X marks the spot,” Mike said grimly. “Oh crap, it’s almost midnight!”

“Move!” Brick tried to push the crypt open, but it was too heavy for him, so Blossom helped. The heavy stone slab groaned when she pushed it, and a plume of foul, red smoke burst from the opening.

Him’s maniacal laughter rose with the smoke that swirled on the domed ceiling and opened two glowing eyes and a cheshire smile. “My my, cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Bubbles shoved her phone at the unholy miasma. “It’s midnight! We beat your stupid deadline, see?”

“Bubbles, please don’t antagonize the ancient evil,” Robin whispered nervously.

“Technically, Blossom met the deadline since Brick was too weak to open the tomb,” Him crooned.

“You took my powers!” Brick said.

Him’s sinister smile fell. “Oh…did I? My bad. Here you go.”

The red smoke converged on Brick and passed through him with the force of a sword through the gut, and he collapsed to his knees in a circle of fire, gagging. Bubbles and Boomer were lightning fast as they swept Robin and Mike as far away from the conflagration as possible.

“Butch, shield!” Blossom commanded, and Buttercup shoved him so hard he tripped and crashed against his own hastily-erected shield bubble. It contained the explosion of power well enough to keep the mausoleum standing.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this won’t do. All I wanted was to play a little father-son game with you, and you had to drag your girlfriend into it. Parenting is so hard these days. I’ll just have to teach you boys a lesson.”

Blossom’s heart twisted. If Him was truly serious about killing Brick and his brothers, he would have to go through her first.

“Like hell,” Buttercup spat, her fists glowing green.

Brick got to his feet groggily. He looked like he just survived a bad case of seasickness.

Him burst out laughing. “Choice words, Buttercup. Now boys, time to pay the ultimate price!”

The tomb lid slid to the ground on unseen forces, revealing the horror within. Blossom readied her pink blasters, and her sisters did the same. Brick took one look in there and recoiled. “What the fuck—”

When no hellspawn burst from the tomb to attack, Blossom approached and peered over the edge. Inside were hundreds of polaroids of young children in dresses with their hair styled as they posed like Victorian paintings. Blossom reached for one.

Buttercup burst out laughing. “Holy shit, is this you?!” She had two polaroids in her hands as she flapped them in Butch’s face.

“Give me those!” Butch snarled.

“Wow,” Robin said, torn between hysteria and horror as she gawked at a picture of six-year-old Butch with bunny clips in his hair wearing a frilly white dress. “Wait until my therapist hears about this.”

In the picture Blossom had selected, Brick’s hair was expertly braided over his shoulder as he sat on a stone throne surrounded by candelabras and horned skulls in a flowing, white dress. He did not look happy to be there. He looked even less happy to behold this childhood shame years later.

“I burned those,” he said in a voice from beyond the grave to no one in particular.

“I made copies!” Him sang. “And now, all of Townsville will get to see you in your pageantry finest!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Butch screeched as Buttercup took off flying with a fistful of polaroids laughing her ass off. “Get back here!”

“You know, I think I look pretty cute in these, actually,” Boomer said.

Mike laughed. “Yeah, you totally do.”

“This is what you meant by paying the ultimate price?” Blossom asked the incorporeal demon head floating above them.

Him grinned. “Why, of course. Oh! You didn’t think I would murder my own sons, did you?”

The sinister glint in those yellow eyes told a very different story, one that may have ended poorly if she hadn’t forced Brick to involve her in whatever was going on.

Or maybe Him was just bored of his perpetual existence in a hellish void where a cute photoshoot with his re-spawned Super sons was the most exciting thing that had happened in a millennium, and he was feeling nostalgic.

The tomb erupted in flames all of a sudden when Brick breathed fire over all the polaroids.

Bubbles gasped. “Brick! Those were a work of art, how could you?!”

Brick glared at her with glowing, red eyes. “We’re never speaking of this again. Give me those.” He snatched the photos Robin was holding and burned them too.

Blossom hastily pocketed the picture she’d nabbed of baby Brick before he could notice.

Him disappeared in a swirl of smoke and laughter. “Happy Halloween! Remember to brush your teeth…”

“I can’t believe I came all the way here for this,” Robin said. “Literally, the weirdest shit is always happening to you guys. Can we just have a normal Halloween, like, one time? Just once?”

Boomer laughed. “Tall order, Robin.”

A loud explosion outside told Blossom the Greens’ fighting was going too far, as usual.

“Brick? What’re you doing?” Blossom asked as she and the others followed him outside.

“Helping Butch destroy the evidence your sister stole.” He took off in a blaze of red.

“What a killjoy,” Bubbles pouted.

Blossom bit her lip and revealed her pilfered polaroid. Bubbles’ smile turned downright sinister as she greedily snatched it. “Blossom, I love you.”

“That’s for emergencies only. I mean it, or he’ll kill me.”

Boomer threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned. “Nah, he’d never turn on his girlfriend.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re right!”

Blossom flushed. “But we’re not exactly—”

“Him said it, so it’s gotta be official by now,” Boomer teased.

“Ooh, true. There’s nothing more official than a primordial force of chaos acknowledging your relationship status,” Mike said.

“Hey, you damn kids! You’re not supposed to be here!” shouted the no-longer-possessed groundskeeper from before. He had a shovel that he shook at Brick, Butch, and Buttercup locked in a game of cat and mouse as the brothers tried to reclaim the evidence of their dignity.

“Time to go,” Blossom said.

“Hey, party at Todd’s?” Mike asked.

“Great idea!” Bubbles chirped as she gave Robin a leg up onto her back.

As Blossom found herself back at the same party where she’d begun the night on the sofa next to Buttercup regaling everyone who would listen with the story of Butch’s child beauty pageant past (sans evidence because Brick had managed to burn it, unfortunately), she found her gaze drawn back to Brick. He was up getting them drinks, his haircut cleaned up thanks to Boomer, snickering at something Mike had said.

“Blossom, where are you going?” Bubbles asked when she got up.

“Just going to talk to Brick,” she said. “Officially.”

Bubbles lit up and grabbed the nearest hand to crush her feelings into, which happened to be Butch’s. “What the—ow, woman, let go!”

Brick saw her coming and stared at her growing smile like the baffled teenager he was underneath it all. With all their friends’ eyes on her, she walked right up to him and kissed him in front of everyone.

Let them see, she thought. Let anyone who was watching and biding their time to strike see, and let them try.

Lyrical laughter echoed somewhere on the edges of hearing over their friends’ laudatory cheers and loud calls for celebratory shots, but Blossom tuned it out as she smiled into her kiss.  

xxx

Like Boomer, I am a sap who loves a happy ending. Reds are finally official in this AU?! Took us long enough. Also, I always saw Him as this weird dichotomy of ancient murder-y evil and chaotic good mom. I feel like trolling the Boys would be a favorite past time of his. Might write more Him in the future and explore that more.

Happy Halloween y’all. Get spooky, and stay safe!

[companionjones]

Such As Life

Fandom: Henry Cavill

Pairing: Henry Cavill x 18yo!Reader

Summary: Because he’s friends with your father, Henry comes to stay at your house. The two of you know each other very well, and things escalate.

Warnings: READER IS 18 YEARS OLD

Author’s Note: The Reader’s 18. I know. But this is loosely based on a dream that I had, and the dream wouldn’t leave my head until I wrote this. Mr. Cavill, if by some unfortunate circumstance you’re reading this, I’m sorry.

*******

    The life you lived was normal. You were 18. You were due to start college in the fall. Until then, you were stuck at home with your parents. Henry Cavill was coming over for dinner.

    Okay, that last part might’ve seemed a little out of place. The truth was, that was normal for you. Your father was a well-known director. He had directed Henry very early in Henry’s career, and the two became good friends. Their friendship was still going strong a couple years later. That was why Henry was coming over for dinner.

    It wasn’t going to be the first time you would meet the actor. Because he was such good friends with your father, Henry and yourself had gotten to know each other pretty well, too.

    You’d met him when you were 16, and since then, you could’ve been considered even closer to the actor than your father. The two of you would play different video games together, you would help Henry run lines, and you wouldn’t interrupt Cavill even once if he went on about football for hours.

    Henry had planned to surprise you by sneaking up behind you; however, you turned around before he could get too close.

    “Wow,” he immediately breathed out.

    Upon seeing him, a huge smile broke out across your face. “Oh my God! Henry! I missed you!” You charged forward and hugged the man.

    He accepted you with open arms. “I, uh...Hey, Y/n. You look great.” He was telling the truth. You’d always been good-looking in the eyes of Henry, but something had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

    “Thanks,” you accepted the compliment with a bit of a blush. “I decided in January to get a new wardrobe and haircut. You know: New year, new me.”

    Henry smiled, reluctantly letting you go. “It definitely suites you.”

    Beaming, you pulled Henry by his hand to your living room where you had your PlayStation.

    The next hour was spent playing Uncharted 4, but the two of you didn’t get very far. You planned Henry. You weren’t being serious, but every time the two of you failed a level, you would complain that Henry was distracted.

    He was. Henry hadn’t gotten over your new look. He was trying to stop himself, but Henry was suddenly remembering just how close the two of you were. When together, Henry wouldn’t leave your side; and when apart, there wasn’t a day that went by that he wasn’t texting or calling you. Had Henry had feelings for you all that time?

    Well, you were 18. He could finally do something about his feelings.

    NO. No. Sure, you were 18, but you were only 18. And you were the kid of one of his best friends. And what would the public think about the two of you being together? They surely wouldn’t be accepting of the age difference. And all of that didn’t even matter if you didn’t feel the same way--

    “Henry? Henry. Hey!” You were trying to get his attention again.

    The actor shook himself out of his thoughts. “Huh? Oh, did we lose again? I’m sorry, Y/n.”

    “Eh, it’s okay. Maybe today’s not the day for Uncharted.” You saved and turned the game off without a second thought. “Now, would you please tell me what you’re thinking about?”

    That took him off guard. “What do you--”

    “Oh, come on.” You crawled closer to him on the couch. Your mind’s been on something since you got here. Tell me!”

    “No way,” you refused. “It’s something. I know it’s something, and you always tell me when something is bothering you like this.” All that time, you were getting closer and closer to Henry. You meant it as a tactic to get him to share his thoughts with you. “What is it?”

    Suddenly, the climate between the two of you changed. Henry’s eyes flicked down to your lips. He looked at you in the eyes again less than a second later, but it was too late. You definitely already noticed.

    Neither of you moved. The only sound that was heard was the two of your breaths. Then, you were leaning in. Then, you were both leaning in.

    “Dinner’s ready!” Out of no where, your mother called from the kitchen.

    At that point, you were practically on top of Henry. You scrambled away from him at the sound of your mother’s voice.

    You and Henry took a second more to look at each other before you yelled back, “Coming, Mom!”

    You looked back to Henry. Biting your lip, you took his hand in yours again and pulled him with you to the dining room table.

    Dinner was awkward, as far as you and Henry were concerned. Neither of your parents noticed. You had Henry to thank for that. He kept pleasant conversation with your parents while you drowned in your thoughts.

    For you, what had just happened with Henry had come out of no where. You had never thought about Henry in that way before. Now that you were, you couldn’t stop. He was more than attractive, and you loved when he came to visit. The conversations the two of you shared had always been invaluable to you.

    What if the two of you were together? The last things you’d ever want to do would be to hurt Henry or his career, so no one could know. At least, not until you were older. Would the two of you even last that long? You zoned back into the conversation.

    “Sorry to leave so early, but I got called in by the screenwriters. I’ll probably be gone until late tomorrow. I’ll just finish here and get some blankets for the two of you. Y/n, you’re sleeping down here with Henry again, right?”

    You forgot about that. Every time Henry stayed at the house, you would sleep downstairs with him. You’d done it enough times that your parents didn’t question it. You were definitely questioning it then.

    Not knowing how to respond, you looked to Henry. He was looking for your opinion on the matter just as much as you were looking for his. “Yeah. Yes, I am,” you responded before it was too long of a wait. “And you don’t need to worry about the blankets, Dad. I’ll get them.”

    “Thank you,” your father smiled before taking the final bit of his meal. He got up and kissed your mother. “Goodbye. See you guys tomorrow. Henry.” He nodded to the actor.

    Henry returned the sentiment, and your father left.

    Two hours later, it was dark in your living room. You and Henry were on separate couches. The two of you had avoided each other since dinner ended. Henry went back on your PlayStation, and you scrubbed each dirty dish clean twice to pass the time.

    After staring up at the ceiling for what felt like forever, you broke the silence. “So, are we not going to talk about it? Or...”

    He was quiet. For a second, you thought he was already asleep. Then, he chuckled, “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

    “Didn’t notice?!” you laughed, and sat up to look at him. “How could I not have noticed?!”

    “I was being optimistic!” Henry’s rebuttal was light. He sat up, too.

    The two of you laughed for a few seconds, quietly. Your mother was asleep upstairs.

    While the mood was light, you got up and moved over to Henry’s couch. He pulled his legs up give you more room.

    “Is this okay?” you wondered. Boundaries hadn’t exactly been set.

    Henry smiled at you. “Of course it is.” He moved closer to you. “Is this?” He gently cupped your chin to angle your face up to his.

    You just nodded before leaning up to kiss him.

    The kiss was slow. Both of you were exploring new territory. It must’ve lasted longer than you thought, because when you separated, you had your hands tangled in his hair and were somehow straddling Henry’s lap.

    He chuckled when he noticed your position. “Someone’s eager.”

    “You started it,” you smiled before leaning back in.

    It could’ve been hours or minutes until the two of you finally pulled away from each other.

    “I wish you could sleep in my arms,” Henry quietly admitted.

    His words caused a smile to form on your lips. “Well, my dad doesn’t get home til late tomorrow, and my mom doesn’t usually come downstairs until the afternoon. Does that work for you?”

    Henry barely let you finish. He kissed you one last time before pulling you closer to him and re-situating the two of you so you were laying on top of him. His comfortable body and semi-frequent forehead kisses helped lull you to sleep.

    Yes, the life you lived was normal.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. You should go check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3