#but every subsequent step has had me worried

[moonlightspencie]

Things I Can’t Say

Description: Aaron Hotchner has a lot of things on his mind. Most of which he can never bring himself to say. Until one slip unravels everything. (originally posted on ao3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: usual criminal minds-level mentions of cases, hotch being dumb

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: it’s me. hi. i’m back

The case was turning out to be a rough one. Each lead was turning up as a dead end, and every member of the team was just about over the chase after a couple of days.

Y/N sat in the office the local precinct had set aside for the team, on the phone with Penelope as she rattled off a million ideas. They eventually came to a possible suspect, Y/N putting the phone on speaker for Hotch and Reid to listen to as she listed her points.

“He could be a good starting point. He knew Quinn, and hung out in the same circles as the other three,” Garcia offered.

“Okay, we’ll check him out. Thanks, sugar,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Anything for you, my sweet.”

She hung up, looking to Hotch to find him already looking at her.

“She already sent the address,” he said, holding up his phone.

“Awesome.”

“You’ll come with me to check out the first suspect. Reid, I want you to stay here and complete the geographical profile.”

“Sounds good. I feel like I’m getting somewhere,” Reid said, nearly mindlessly.

Hotch nodded, starting towards the exit of the precinct with Y/N on his heels.

They pulled up to the house after a long drive, already getting the feeling this wouldn’t be their guy. Hotch pulled the key from the ignition, and they walked up to the front door.

A man opened the door after a firm knock, burly and a bit unkempt. Y/N spoke up first, hoping to soften him up to questioning.

“I’m supervisory special agent Y/L/N, this is Agent Hotchner. Can we ask you a few questions?”

He raised his brows. “Anything you say.”

“We’re inquiring about a man named Quinn. We hear you were good friends,” Hotch stated.

“Is there a question in there, agent?”

Hotch sighed. “Do you know the last time you saw him?”

“Week ago. Maybe two.”

Y/N crossed her arms, whispering to Hotch. “He’s not our guy. We’re looking for someone highly organized.”

Hotch nodded, dropping his arms.

“Well,” Y/N started, handing the man a business card. “Thank you for your time, sir. If you have any information, please give us a call.”

He looked at the card briefly. Then, “One question.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Pretty girl like you: what are you doing working with the FBI?” the man asked, a sly smile on his face. “Don’t you think you’d be happier someplace else? Maybe around here?”

“She is a federal agent,” Hotch said, moving to stand in front of her. “Try practicing a little more respect.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to be afraid of you, G-man?”

“You may be too incompetent to be the unsub we’re looking for, but I promise you this: one more slip-up and we will nail you to the wall for the illegal guns, and the drugs. I’m too busy to deal with scum like you currently, but you can believe I’ll have local law enforcement coming back with a warrant and subsequent 20-year sentence.”

The man stopped in his tracks, color draining from his face and confidence waning completely.

“Hotch,” she said, a hand on his arm. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine,” he huffed, turning towards her. The man shut his door in the meantime. “We’re federal agents on a job. There’s no reason for anyone to think it appropriate to treat you like that. Especially in a situation like this.”

“He’s put in his place now, though. I think you put the fear of God in him.”

She laughed, taking half a step back. He didn’t falter, though.

“I just—“ he started and stopped just as quickly.

“I know you’ve been a little on edge with this case. It’s okay. Just… Don’t worry about the little things like that. I could’ve taken care of it.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Come on,” she said, starting to walk back towards the car. “I’ll let you have your pick of the music on the way back.”

He hid a smirk, following after her. The ride back to the precinct was quiet. Too quiet.

She turned to look at Hotch as he drove, uncharacteristically silent. It took a few seconds before he realized she was watching him, and he shot a sideways glance in her direction.

“You have something on your mind,” he stated, not even bothering to ask a question.

“Yeah. You’re being really quiet. Much more so than normal.”

He sighed, not giving a response.

“What is it, Hotch?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you still mad about that guy flirting with me?” she asked with half a smile.

“No,” he said shortly.

She scoffed. “Right. That was real convincing.”

He side eyed her. “I’m not.”

“You know, it’s okay if you are. I get it,” she started, a smile breaking out. “I really don’t mind if you’re all jealous.”

His face flushed, embarrassment taking hold.

“That’s not— It’s not what that is,” he muttered.

She raised a brow, the smile fading from her face as she took in his flustered state. She sat up straight in her seat, looking at him.

“Hey, I was just joking…” she trailed off. “Wait, are you actually jealous?”

“No.”

“You’re flushed and acting really flustered. It doesn’t take a profiler, Hotch.”

“I— No. I couldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he said with a raised voice. He then took a moment, taking in a breath. “I can’t be. I have Beth, I can’t.”

Her heart stopped in that moment, she was sure. She didn’t know what to say, settling back in her seat and watching the road in front of her as they continued on towards the station. He was just as quiet, though internally panicking over letting it slip. He couldn’t help but think back to when he first realized she would become a problem for him.

—————

They sat at the table in the restaurant, exchanging the most embarrassing stories they could think of. Everyone was busting up with laughter through the night.

“No!” she exclaimed, looking at Reid with wild eyes. “You took down an old woman?”

Reid groaned. “Not on purpose! I tripped!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t break a hip,” Derek said with a laugh, slapping a hand against his back.

“At least it isn’t Y/N, here, getting thrown up on by a suspect,” Hotch said, smirking at her as he let something she’d been trying to keep secret slip.

“You asshole,” she laughed, lightly smacking his arm. “I was hoping to take that to my grave.”

“Oh, that is so gross,” Kate said, laughing.

“She had to change her pants in the car. It was lucky she had a change, because I did not want to ride back with her covered in… that,” Hotch laughed.

She groaned, pressing her face against his arm and away from the group. He laughed it off, his hand reaching down to rest on her knee as she waited out the laughter of the others. Though, this small gesture started feeling like too much for him. He could tell his face was reddening, and he took his hand away quickly to not alert anyone else to his condition.

He swallowed, trying to calm his nerves. He took in a breath, smiling slightly as she finally pulled away from his arm, though he felt his heart still pounding wildly. He couldn’t feel anything for her. He was her boss. She deserved better.

—————

She sat in her seat, unsure what her next move would be. Unsure what it should be in a circumstance like this. Did he really just admit he was jealous?

“We can just pretend this didn’t happen, you know? I— I don’t want you to feel guilty or freaked out about this,” she offered, still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, I know. I know you didn’t,” she said, nodding. “You— You have Beth. You have a lot going on right now, frankly. I don’t want you to feel like this is adding on, or…”

“I understand. I really appreciate that.”

“Anything.”

He swallowed. “I just… I didn’t mean for that to slip out.”

“I know. You really don’t have to explain anything, it’s okay.”

He nodded quietly, both parties turning back to their own worlds as the pavement flew by them.

The rest of the case was a welcome relieve to the conversation they didn’t want to remember any longer. While they never wished for a difficult case, neither of them could say the mental gymnastics weren’t a great way to forget everything else around them.

Before long, though, the case was over. And, unfortunately, they were surrounded by profilers.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked as he sat next to Y/N. “You’re spaced out, sweet stuff.”

She smirked. “I’m alright. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly. It’ll pass, so no worries here.”

He nodded, not convinced. “If you need to…”

“You’ll be there,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I appreciate you, Derek Morgan.”

“Right back at you, mama,” he said, nudging her side with a smile. “And if you need me to kick ass…”

“Won’t be necessary.”

“Just an offer,” he said, hands raised in surrender.

She smiled. “I know.”

The next couple of weeks were excruciating. She kept up a happy face, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his pseudo-confession. She wished she had the guts to say something back, but she knew it would have been pointless. He had someone, and had too much on his plate to deal with a younger subordinate confessing feelings for him. It wasn’t unwelcome when Garcia scurried through the bullpen with talk of a new case.

“Meet Maria Gonzales, thirty-four, and Cameron March, twenty-nine. Both women were reported missing within the past month, and just turned up in the past two weeks, bound in plastic with ligature marks on their wrists and ankles. They were each taken from a different healthcare facility in the San Antonio area last month. Now, a Miss Bryar Johnson has been abducted from yet another facility.”

Y/N sighed. “Yikes. So, we should have about a two-week period to find Bryar?”

“Yes,” Garcia started. “The first two women were killed right before they were dumped. Bryar was reported missing three days ago.”

“Plastic could be a sign of remorse,” Spencer piped up.

“What was the cause of death?” Rossi asked.

“Strangulation,” Hotch said, not looking up from the files. “Wheels up in 20.”

The San Antonio case was going surprisingly well, though Y/N felt that it could be going better on a personal level. Usually she’d pair up with Hotch for most of the case, especially since their similar skill sets matched with their different personal presentations was always helpful in getting answers whenever they needed them. This time around, he hardly looked in her direction.

“I know you said you’d tell me if something was wrong, but you’re still not saying a damn thing,” Derek said, walking up to her at the table she sat at.

She looked up at him, then went right back to searching through the files that sat before her. She could tell Derek was staring a hole into the back of her head, but couldn’t justify telling him what was happening in her life at the moment.

He sat down next to her, dragging the files away from her line of site.

“Mama, I know when something is up with you. You can’t hide that from me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not saying anything.”

He sighed. “You’re being awfully difficult.”

“What’s new?” she questioned with a smile, finally looking at him.

He chuckled. “Touché. You’re talking to me now, at least.”

“I always talk to you, Morgan.”

“Most of the time. Except when you’re trying to hide something.”

She glared at him. “Have you considered I’m not talking for a reason?”

“Oh, I’ve considered it. I just know that when you hold stuff in you get all solemn and grumpy. I don’t want you to get to that point,” he said, turning her chair towards him. “Talk.”

“I can’t, Derek.”

“Why not?” he asked, voice quieter.

She sighed. “It’s… It’s hard to explain. It’s really personal.”

He reached for her hand, quietly taking it and not saying another words for a few moments. She looked to where their hands connected, letting out a shaky breath as she did.

“It’s Hotch,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“What? Is he okay?”

She nodded. “He’s fine. I’m just— I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you like this,” he noted, brow furrowing in concern.

She shook her head. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t know. Have you ever felt something so strongly, but just knew there was nothing you could do about it?”

He paused, studying her for a moment. He scooted forward slightly, eyes still trained on her face as he spoke quietly.

“Do you have feelings for Hotch?”

She nodded after a beat. “And I think he confessed the same to me but— There’s just nothing to be done about it. The worst part of all of it is that he can’t even look at me now. We haven’t really spoken since then. That was a few weeks ago.”

Morgan sighed, looking down. “Damn.”

“Damn, indeed,” she said with half a smirk.

He chuckled slightly. “I’m sorry, mama. I— I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re a smoke show. Who could resist?”

He laughed out loud. “You know me so well.”

She laughed along. “What can I say?”

He stood up, taking her hands as he did. She stood with him, accepting a long hug from him.

“You deserve to be happy,” he whispered. “Let this one go. You’ll find the right person.”

“I get it. It just really sucks right now.”

“I know.”

“We have a break in the case,” Hotch’s voice rang out in the small room, breaking the two of them up.

“Yeah?” she asked, pulling away from Derek. “What do you need from us?”

Hotch looked between them for a moment, then continued on.

“Garcia should have just sent an address. We need to leave now, though. A massive storm is rolling in and roads are getting bad.”

“Gotcha,” she said, nodding curtly. “Are we all riding together?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

She paused for a moment before responding. “Right.”

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Morgan said with finality. As soon as Hotch left, he turned back to her, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s finish this and get home.”

The storm turned out worse than they all had expected. The take-down ended up slightly more difficult due to power outages across the state, and the more difficult part was the fact that they would be forced to stay for the night when Y/N wanted nothing more than to go home to her own bed.

She sat inside the SUV with Hotch and Rossi on the way back to the hotel for the night, staring out the window at the pouring rain. Their voices became a type of white noise to her as they conversed quietly, though her silence didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch glanced back at her every couple of minutes, feeling a sense of dread at the coming conversation she currently knew nothing about. His heart felt like it might burst, and putting up a front was getting harder and harder by the minute. He had a million thoughts running through his head, and it certainly didn’t help that she was completely spaced out in the backseat.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Rossi noted, finally breaking the two out of their own heads.

“Just tired,” she said. “The rain doesn’t help. I always get sleepy during storms.”

“You sure?”

She hummed. “Yeah. No worries here, Rossi.”

They pulled into the parking lot after a few minutes, and prepared to run inside of the building and away from the downpour. They all got in with minimal damage done, though not without some wet hair.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at the two men, her own head safe after using a jacket as a shield.

“Good look, you guys. The drowned rat thing really suits you,” she said with a smile, looking between them.

“Hey, watch it. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky,” Rossi said, laughing lightly as he shook his hair out.

Hotch smiled, scrunching his nose as he brushed his fingers through his hair. Y/N watched him with intent, though not without missing the fact that Rossi knew that look on her.

He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head off.”

She looked to Rossi as he gave them one last knowing look. A look that was a bit too smug for her liking.

“He’s acting weird,” she said out loud.

Hotch nodded. “That’s Dave.”

“Only when he knows something,” she said, looking back to him expectantly.

“What would he know?” Hotch questioned.

She watched him for a moment. “You tell me.”

He cleared his throat, glancing away. She was silent, hoping it’d prompt him to say something.

“Can we talk privately?”

“Why?”

“You said you wanted to know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hotch, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not saying you would.”

“Y/N.”

She crossed her arms. “We haven’t talked in weeks. I don’t know how to act around you right now.”

“I never should have said anything. Not like that, I know,” he said with a sigh. “I would really appreciate if we could talk about it now, though. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Please. Can we go someplace else? The others are going to be here any minute.”

She glanced around the hotel lobby, then back to the man in front of her. He sure looked less intimidating with soaking wet hair and puppy dog eyes.

Eventually, she nodded. “Okay.”

They stepped into the hotel elevator, unsure what to say in the silence. She looked up at him, receiving a small smile. The elevator dinged on the floor they were all staying on, and she led him to her room.

He followed after quietly, standing awkwardly by the door after she closed and locked it. She turned to look at him once she sat on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m still wet.”

She couldn’t help by laugh. She then got up, making a quick stop in the bathroom to grab a towel. She came back, standing in front of him to hand it over.

“Here,” she said, arms extended with the towel in hand.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

She watched as he scrubbed at his head, his hair flying in all directions by the time he was done.

“You look ridiculous,” she said with a smirk.

He dropped his arms, towel still in hand. His brow quirked up.

“That bad?”

“Not bad. Just ridiculous.”

He failed to hide a smile at that, looking around for a place to set down the towel. She took it from him, instructing him to take off his shoes as she went to throw it in the bathroom once again. She came back to see him settling down on the edge of the bed.

“So,” she started, trailing off as she sat next to him. “What’s up?”

He snorted a laugh. “A lot. I think, first, I need to apologize to you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he said with a nod, turning to look at her more fully. “I shouldn’t have let on that I had any kind of feeling for you other than professional ones. That’s… It was really unfair to you, and puts you in a bad position. I want you to feel safe and respected at work, and I feel like I’ve put that at risk.”

“Hotch,” she said, stopping him. “You didn’t. I know you respect me, and I do feel safe. As safe as an agent can get, anyways.”

She laughed, drawing a small smile from him.

She continued, “I made a joke, and it turned out to be true. You didn’t just up and tell me. I’m just like… Really good at my job.”

He fully laughed this time, head dropping into his hands.

“You’re making it really hard to feel bad about this,” he mumbled.

“Good. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

He sighed, looking back up. “I still will. You don’t deserve to be worried that your boss is going to— make a move.”

She quirked a brow. “Make a move?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not worried about that and never have been. You care way too much about this team and people in general to make advances at someone who didn’t want them,” she said, scooting an inch closer. “Besides, you made our boundaries clear. You have someone you love, and I know you’re not the cheating type.”

He paused, then let out a heavy sigh, looking anywhere but at her.

“Uh oh,” she said, looking at him curiously. “What nerve did I just hit?”

“I, uh… We broke things off. Beth and I.”

She deflated. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—“

“No, no,” he waved her off. “It’s okay. It was mutual. Distance has been wearing on us for a while, and honestly neither of us were really feeling it anymore.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last week.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “It’s not been as difficult as I thought it would be. Jack has been handling it very well. He told me the other day on the phone that I’m going to find the perfect person one day.”

Hotch smiled at that, finally looking back at her. She smiled back, nodding.

“I’d have to agree with him. He’s got that big old brain from his dad, you know?” she said, nudging him in the arm.

He laughed softly again. “He’s a great kid.”

“The best, arguably.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Can I ask you something?” she said after a beat of silence.

“Anything,” he replied with a brief nod.

“Do you ever say or do the things you want to?”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You just keep so much bottled up. Do you ever let yourself dump it all out?”

He cleared his throat. “On occasion, I suppose.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He watched her, knowing something was stirring in her head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly.

“Can I slip a secret?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed. “I really, truly wasn’t uncomfortable when you let it slip. The whole jealousy thing.”

“What?”

Hotch’s heart started up again, unsure where she was going with this, but really hoping it went in one direction.

“I know what you were feeling. Like, every time we show up to a new town and half the ladies in the place are staring you down. I get it.”

He let out a breath. “I don’t—“

“If this is like, way too inappropriate for me to say, I’d really appreciate if you didn’t fire me. But, I’ve had a thing for you since my first day on the job. Frankly, these past few weeks have been hell.”

“Y/N…”

“Again I ask that you don’t fire me.”

He chuckled. “I won’t. I— Since your first day?”

“Remember when I couldn’t remember my own name for a minute there at the beginning?”

He hummed. “You were nervous for the interview.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I’ve never been more prepared for an interview. I was nervous that my possible new boss was a smoke show, and it freaked me out even more that he was staring me down the second I walked in the door like I was an unsub.”

He smirked. “A smoke show? Really?”

“As if you don’t know,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I just… I guess I kind of freaked out seeing you. And hearing you talk so passionately about work for the first time. Not to mention the way your voice sounds…”

“Alright, let’s not get carried away,” he said, color rushing into his cheeks.

“It’s also super cute when you blush like that,” she said, squeezing in the last phrase before he could stop her again.

He sat quietly, just taking her in for a moment. She hid a smile, unsure what her next move should be. He cleared his throat.

“So, are you really all that sorry that things with Beth ended?”

“Sorry that it might have hurt you? Yes. Sorry that it’s done? Not really.”

“I see.”

“I also don’t know how excited I should be, considering you could totally blow me off right now and see if sleeping around is your new lifestyle. That might make things worse for me, honestly.”

He laughed. “Oh, yes. Leaving the person who gave me the courage to finally end a serious relationship is at the top of my list.”

Her face dropped. “What?”

He took in a breath, now realizing what he’d just said. A nervous laughter bubbled out of him, his eyes wide.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You broke things off because of me?”

He groaned. “Not fully.”

“Hotch, what the hell,” she said, laughing fully. “What if I was, like, not on board?”

“I didn’t think you were until now. I guess I still thought it was worth it. Plus, like I said, we’ve both been wanting to for a while.”

“Still!”

She laughed, scooting even closer to him. She took his hands in her own, a wild smile on her face as she looked at his bewildered one staring back.

“Are you fully insane?”

He stumbled over words for a moment. “I— I might be.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then decided all of the thinking and overthinking they’d both done was getting ridiculous. If he could act impulsively, so could she.

She leaned forward, pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He stayed still for a moment in shock before responding eagerly. His arms found her waist, and he tugged her into his lap as soon as he could.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Hitoshi has never been so annoyed by his new cat stealing your attention from him and ruining all your dates. A/N: I'M SO SORRY I LET THIS COOK IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG AND I GOT LAZY AT THE END @/katsukistofu anyways, actual A/N: the cat's name can be interpreted as a reference to the Apothecary Diaries or a pun on meowing or in Chinese literally catcat WARNINGS: Mentions of poop (it's cat, what'd you expect) and probably very OOC Hitoshi (forgive me I haven't finished MHA)

Hitoshi wanted to throttle everyone in the room and then himself. Not the best way to start your mornings.

“Everyone in the room” was actually just his cat. Of course you could count Eri and Aizawa downstairs but in truth the only one Hitoshi wanted to actually (not really) throttle was the cat. Possibly himself later too when you inevitably get mad/laugh at him.

He doubted the cat in question knew that though. Or if Maomao knew that she didn't care. Hitoshi side eyes her from the mirror, still in the process of getting ready. She continues her washing on his bed, either very obliviously or very smugly.

Hitoshi liked cats. Loved and adored them, in fact. But ever since THIS particular, traitorous feline waltzed into his life he might make an exception.

It probably started when he introduced Maomao to you. He'd been pretty worried to how his new pet would take to you, because if his beloved girlfriend and precious cat didn't get along he'd get another reason for insomnia. Thankfully however, you had immediately fallen for the innocent-looking Calico, getting on your knees at once to pet and coo and fawn over her. Maomao, in turn, ate it up and made a huge racket when you had to leave eventually. So far, so good - until Maomao decided to subsequently betray the one who had adopted her and be a gigantic (beep)block.

Only Eri believed him when he was complaining about how every time he tried to cuddle you, bam, Maomao was there to yowl and get in between. Wanna kiss? Um, no, Maomao just had to run into your legs and beg for head pats. Close the door and sleep without her? Nah, no, nope, she stayed outside wailing and scratching. Enjoy a movie night? Haha, Maomao thought not, so of course she tipped over the popcorn bowl on purpose, right?!

One time Hitoshi gave you a kitty plushy that resembled Maomao. The cat in question (jealously, he swore to the wide eyed Eri) stole it and it still hadn't been found; she took a dump right beside her litter box to be petty as well.

You ate it up. You succumbed to her cute, beseeching eyes to hug HER (and not him), let her get in the middle of you two on the couch (you even shooed him away to make room) and the audacity! You always complained if he took up most of the blanket you two were sharing, and when Maomao hogged up everything? You let her.

He couldn't believe how you utterly believed the cat's obviously jealous, possessive nature. The nerve of Maomao, to steal his girlfriend when he was the one to rescue her!

While Eri believed him completely, no matter how cute she was it wasn't going to give him much credibility.

Therefore, as Hitoshi suspiciously watched Maomao saunter out of his bedroom, he was going to come up with a plan to FINALLY get some long overdue kisses, dates and affection from you without Maomao interrupting.

STEP 1: Begin by showing the cat who's boss.

Hitoshi glared viciously at the creature who had first crawled in between you and him, therefore interrupting yet another cuddle session before demanding you to go get her some more treats as if he hadn't just fed her an hour ago. To top it off Maomao was now triumphantly meowing at him and pawing at the plushy you had gifted him.

“You're not getting that. You might have my own girlfriend wrapped around your paw but you and I know what you're REALLY like.” Hitoshi wondered if his mind control extended to animals, particularly the one now hissing at his reluctance to hand over the plushy.

“First you steal my girl and now you want my plush? That's low, even for you.” The cat's eyes widened innocently as Hiroshi's narrowed. “Let's not forget who rescued you from the streets, Mao. Or who's been changing your kitty litter, feeding you or bought you all those toys. Remember I'M the one paying for all your vet and grooming visits. So the least you can do is at least let me enjoy one movie night with my girlfriend, thanks, instead of hogging up everything.”

Huh. He didn't actually think that would work. Maomao looked disdainful but trotted away.

You reappeared, holding a bowl of popcorn and setting down a bowl of Maomao’s cat food. “Hey, where'd she go?”

“Somewhere.” Somewhere where she was probably throwing a tantrum, Hitoshi meant, but he grabbed you and managed to spend a pleasant two hours getting snuggled and teasing you about your overreactions to the movie.

Then Maomao jumped on him and spilt the leftover popcorn everywhere before walking off proudly.

STEP 2: Attempt to appease your feline by providing them with more affection, food and playtime. Your cat may simply be feeling left out.

In other words, bribery was his next method.

Bribery and spoiling, really. For the next three days Hitoshi did his utmost best - Maomao was fed nothing but her favourites, Hitoshi bought her a new toy which they spent countless hours playing with, he let her nap in his bed, Eri helped him pick out a new collar, blah blah blah. Everyone absolutely showered Maomao with attention and affection. So far she seemed very pleased with herself, strutting her around with her tail swishing and purring loudly for all to hear.

Surely, surely, she wouldn't mess with the study session you and him were going to have, right? Right?

Hitoshi was beginning to believe that as time passed; the both of your heads were bent forward, trying to make sense of maths. The click of pens, the flipping of pages, the crunch of your third bag of chips were the only sounds around. He wasn't worried about Maomao’s silence either - she couldn't possibly be causing trouble while sleeping in a patch of sunlight.

“I think we did a pretty good job, ‘Toshi.” You stretched your arms, yawning exaggeratedly. “Not to be lazy but I really want a snack. Something grape flavoured.”

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows, lifting his eyes away from his essay. “No.”

“Oh come on, don't act like you're not hungry, I heard your stomach growling-”

“No as in I know exactly what “snack” you want. Enough eating those grape gummies. You're addicted.”

“Hitoshi!” You whined. “Stop outing me!”

In the end you both compromised with a bag of sour cream chips each, no sharing. Well, no sharing from your end, really - Hitoshi gave in with a sigh as you leaned towards him with puppy dog eyes when your bag empties, feeding you the chips. Maomao awakens and decides to drop by, meowing for the crumbs as well. Hitoshi shoos her away from his books, informing her she’s already eaten and he wasn’t even sure if cats could eat sour cream. Maomao sulks when he gives the chip she wanted to you instead.

But it turns out it’s Hitoshi that’s left sulking as Maomao leaps onto the table and knocks over his coffee all over the desk and steals the chips. While he won’t admit it to you or Maomao or anyone - yes he’s concerned about the sour cream thing and wasted half an hour researching if his stupid cat was going to be okay.

STEP 3: If that fails try asking someone else to care for your cat while you both are away.

“Don’t forget to feed Maomao, she’s not supposed to have-”

“Hitoshiiii! I know!” Eri makes a face, hugging the cat close to her chest as she rolls her eyes and pouts. “Trust me, Maomao’s my cat as well!”

“Yeah, but you’re still taking her to your friend’s house, so I don’t want anyone getting into trouble.”

“Quit being a worrywart! Go have fun with your loooooooover!”

“You know what, the faster you leave, the happier I’ll be,” Hitoshi grumbled, pushing Eri out of the door gently to where Aizawa was waiting impatiently. “Shoo, homewrecker.”

“Bye, Hitoshi!”

“Good riddance.” He gives her a side hug anyway. Maomao hisses, annoyed she was being forced to leave. Hitoshi paid her no mind, seeing as she had been throwing hissy fits all day as if she knew you were coming and Maomao wouldn't be around.

You come over soon, exclaiming over the loss of his cat’s company, but you get over it quickly. You both have the house to yourself, after all, and the freedom to do whatever you wanted until Aizawa came back. Hitoshi's guardian needn't have been suspicious of you both getting up to no good however; you both wound up wasting most of your time making dinner - a shockingly complicated recipe you had insisted on.

“I'll bring the ingredients, you don't have to worry about anything!”

Pfft, yeah right, now he has to worry about the mess you’re - fine, you both are - making in the kitchen. The floor’s all wet, the sink is overflowing, it’s a literal water park. The recipe wasn’t even halfway done yet.

“You know what, I’m going to get a mop, you can continue with - whatever it is you’re doing.” Hitoshi pinches the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation. You roll your eyes but agree, huffing as you push your sleeves back again.

“By the way, where’s Maomao?”

“Eri took her to a sleepover. Didn’t think she liked that idea much though.”

“Real! Maomao only ever wants to be with you,” you laughed.

“Nah, more like you,” Hitoshi grumbled. “She’s never happy when she’s not there and you are.”

“Mhm, you’re-” You’re cut off by Hitoshi’s unexpected yelp and the clanging coming from the bathroom where he’s gone to go fetch the mop. Dropping whatever you’re holding you rush over there in a panic. “Toshi! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, that stupid cat took a shit here!”

“Isn’t she toilet trained? Did you step on- Oh god. You stepped on it.”

“Stop laughing at me!”

Even gone the blasted cat still managed to ruin a date. Hitoshi fumed silently.

STEP 4: Still unsuccessful? Try giving them a new friend, as they might be acting out from loneliness.

This particular method, unfortunately, quickly backfired on him.

“Aw look! They’re playing together, Jirou!”

“Huh, didn’t think Sora was capable of playing gently. She nearly gave Kaminari a heart attack jumping at him the other day.”

“Hey! Jirooooouuuuuu!”

“No, wait, Maomao, don’t do that!”

“Sora stop barking so loudly-”

Hitoshi’s overly exaggerated groan is barely heard over the din. His head lolled back, staring up at the sky. “Are we biking or not at this rate?”

Not that anyone heard him. You’re too preoccupied with cooing over Maomao, Jirou and her boyfriend Kaminari Denki trying to get their new puppy to stop eating rocks. It was supposed to be a biking-trip-at-the-park-double-date, for heaven’s sake, how did it spiral into this?

Maomao pawed at his leg. Hitoshi tilted his head back forward to glare half-heartedly at her. “You’re lucky you’re so cute. It’s your fault again.”

He’s even more offended when Maomao opts to sit in YOUR bicycle basket rather than his. Denki’s - traitorous friend that he is - snickering at him before Sora pees on his shoe.

STEP 5: As a last resort, consider punishing the kitten. Do not give them attention in any way. It is called the time out corner for a reason.

“Where’s Maomao?”

“Pay no attention to her.” Hitoshi burrowed deeper into your neck, his tone a request. “She’s being punished right now.”

“…for what?”

“A lot of things.”

“Like?”

“….every time you come she steals your attention. Just let me enjoy this.” Hitoshi’s voice holds the smallest hint of a whine. You mentally stored that away. “She was meowing at the door waiting for you at 3 in the morning!”

You twirl a strand of his purple hair, barely hiding your smirk. Ah, so all along…”Is that bad your cat loves me more than she loves you?”

“I adopted her!”

“Oh my god. You really are jealous of your cat.” You couldn’t help it. You collapsed on your side, crying with mirth. Hitoshi sits up straight, insulted, taking a cushion off the couch to smack you with.

“Stop that! I’m not!”

“Say that again; you’re not even convincing yourself!” Oh god, this made so much sense. You wiped at your streaming eyes, coughing up the last of the laughter. “No wonder you were - I can’t - this is too funny - I thought you were acting a little weird the past fortnight - oh my god -”

“Fine, fine, stop laughing! I was jealous! There, I said it, you happy?”

“But why?” You fondly pulled your dumbass of a boyfriend closer, squishing his cheek. Even sulky he was still cute.

“She keeps interrupting our dates.” Hitoshi’s voice is already muffled by your clothes but his muttering makes it worse.

“…”

“No.”

“….”

“STOP LAUGHING!”

“In all seriousness, Toshi, you could’ve just told me. We’ll remake all the dates without Maomao this time, alright? Swear on my life.” You even hold up a pinky.

His own grudgingly raises and locks it around yours.

“You can let Maomao out of punishment now.”

“Eh, no. She’s actually there because she scratched Aizawa’s car today.”

Alternatively, you could always just tell your girlfriend you’re jealous of the cat because the cat’s jealous of you both. She will immediately rush to reassure you and provide you with the much-craved, long-awaited affection you both had been denied by the cat.

Side effects, however, include providing her and everyone else with enough ammunition to tease you with for the next decade.

“Wait, Hitoshi was jealous of a cat?” Denki’s practically howling. Jirou sniggers quietly. “Does this mean he’s a pus-”

“Stop talking.”

Jirou nods appreciatively. “Now I wish i had mind control when it comes to this idiot.”

[doumadono]

Hi! Could I ask for an Emergency request please? Of course it’s only if you’re feeling up to it💖

I recently got drugged at a university function, nothing happened to me past that, but it was still unsettling and I don’t know who did it. I just reported it to the correct authorities, but my anxiety has been trough the roof. Do you think you could cook up some comfort with Bakugo? He’s tough but he protects those he cares about (of a bit clumsily worded at times).

Thank you, and I hope you are well and that the November darkness isn’t hitting too hard💖

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear about what happened to you. It must be incredibly difficult. Please take care of yourself, and I hope things get better soon

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

The university atmosphere buzzed around you as you stumbled out of the lecture hall, feeling disoriented and anxious. It was the aftermath of an ordinary day, and yet, something wasn't right. Your steps were unsteady, your mind foggy, and a creeping unease clung to you.

Just as you were trying to make sense of the situation, Bakugo, your friend from UA which you graduated togerther, spotted you in your distressed state. His sharp gaze honed in on your uneasy demeanor, and without a second thought, he approached you. "Oi, what the hell happened to you, nerd?" Bakugo demanded, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as the anxiety gripped you tighter. "I don't know, Katsuki. Something's off. I just feel… weird."

Bakugo's expression hardened. "Weird how? Did someone mess with you?"

You recounted the unsettling feeling of being drugged, and the subsequent anxiety that had settled in.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed as he listened, his fists clenching at the thought of someone harming you.

"I bought a coffee from a machine, and that's when it started. The symptoms, the disorientation," you explained, your voice shaky. "I mean, I left it in the lecture hall for two minutes because I needed to use the bathroom…"

Bakugo's protective instinct kicked in, and he gently rested a hand on your shoulder. "You should've told me sooner. Don't worry, I'm gonna handle this. But first, let's get you somewhere safe."

He led you to a quieter corner of the campus, away from prying eyes. You slumped against a wall, and Bakugo crouched down to your eye level. "You're okay, don't ya worry your pretty head about that. We'll figure out who did this, and they'll pay for it."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of the situation hit you.

Bakugo, despite his gruff exterior, wrapped you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, none of this is your fault. Don't cry, silly."

As you cried into Bakugo's shoulder, he murmured reassuring words, promising to stand by your side. "I won't let anyone mess with you. I'll find out who did this, and they'll regret crossing us."

Eventually, your tears subsided, and Bakugo pulled back, his gaze softening. "We'll report this properly. I'll make sure they investigate every damn coffee machine in that place, as well as fucking everyone who entered that goddamn hall. No one hurts you and gets away with it, dammit."

You nodded, grateful for Bakugo's unwavering support. In that moment, despite the anxiety and fear, you felt a glimmer of strength - Bakugo had your back.

"I'm going to the provost's office. Stay here."

You nodded, anxiety gnawing at you as Bakugo disappeared down the corridor. The seconds felt like hours until, suddenly, his enraged screams echoed through the hallway, making your heart race. It was a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a ferocity reserved for those who dared to harm someone under his protection.

Time dragged on, each passing moment amplifying the tension in the air. The weight of uncertainty pressed on you until finally, Bakugo emerged, his expression a mix of fury and resolution. "They'll investigate the situation promptly," he declared, his voice steady despite the rage in his eyes. The promise of justice hung in the air as Bakugo stood by your side, a formidable guardian in the face of adversity.

Bakugo locked eyes with you, "No one, and I mean no fucking one, is going to mess with the future number one hero and his best friend. I'll make sure of that."

[romanoffsbish]

A Trick Question

Dark!Valkyrie x Fem!R

Request

Warnings: Nonconsensual Tracking, Stalking, Jealous-Mean Val.

Smut: Daddy(V), Baby/Slut(R), Choking, Unprotected (Rough) Sex (Valkyrie has a dick), Oral(R), Overstimulation, Breeding, Total KO

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Val, that’s my cousin!” You shouted exasperatedly, this repeat argument was starting to take a toll on your mental health, and your physical wellbeing.

“Well she looked at you as if you weren’t hers!”

There was not even an ounce of sarcasm as she yelled back at you, she was dead serious, and you were honest to God taken aback by her boldly believing in her delusional eyesight.

“I’m not doing this right now,” you decided, with a swift hand you snatched up your keys, and took off before she could try to stop you.

Valkyrie was frustrated, she couldn’t quite understand why you didn’t see it yourself. Sarah might be your cousin, but the way she spends half of her time staring at your chest when you speak, it’s clear she doesn’t care about the blood that ties you to her, and that alone leads Valkyrie to consider homicide.

——

No one will ever touch you again, she would never allow a beaut like you to slip from her grasp, but for now she’ll let you blow off some steam, and when you return she’ll do the same.

However, after you were gone for an hour she began to feel uneasy about your disappearance. It was already beyond 11pm when you took off, and now it was nearing 1am without a word. Every call went to voicemail, her texts read as delivered, and your location was stalling in place around the house, telling her you’re likely in airplane mode, and it upsets her greatly that you’d be this careless with your own safety.

Valkyrie’s hands tensely gripped onto her glass, the remnants of her scotch swirled around the bottom as she lifted it up to her pursed lips. The only thing that stops her, as she slams her empty glass down and it shatters, from calling her New Asgardian soldiers is a key in the lock.

Valkyrie slipped into the kitchen, and watched you enter the house with tense shoulders, but she saw that once you looked around they fell.

“Where were you?” she reveals herself, and you jump back, hitting your head on the front door.

She knew where you were all along, you turning your phone off forced her to check on your tracker in your neck, and she saw you were up the street at a lookout with Thor as your backup. Because not only had she tracked you, but she sent her men out to surveil you, and report back to her with any developments.

“At our lookout,” you candidly replied as you slipped your jacket onto the hook, “Thinking.”

Valkyrie hummed, “Interesting,” she stepped closer to you until your back was against the door, “I was left here worried sick, and you were just up the street thinking, what about?”

With a trembling lip you answered, “Us,” you gulped before you went on, “I think we sh—.”

Valkyrie raised her hand up to restrict your access to speech, “I agree baby, we should shut your brain off, you’re too pretty to overthink.”

The oxygen deprivation left you dumb, because when she asked for permission, you nodded, “Good girl, look at you being wise,” she smiled sweetly, but her lusty eyes dared you to run.

But the sad thing is, you knew that even if you could, you wouldn’t, you’d never leave her.

Valkyrie ripped your clothing off of your body without a care in the world their significance.

Before you could protest the loss of your moms vintage shirt she’d manhandled you off the ground with two strong arms underneath your dreamy thighs, and with her tongue already buried in your cunt she slammed you onto the kitchen table. The sound of slapping echoed in the kitchen along with your subsequent wince.

The centerpiece vase also fell, spilling the surprisingly cold water all over, causing you to squeal when it pooled against your heated skin.

Valkyrie ate you out endlessly, if you asked her what her dream job was she’d say keeping you warm; sounds innocent enough, but with the fire radiating off your body it truthfully wasn’t.

It was after about the fifth orgasm, your legs trembling so hard around her head that she finally came up for air, the sight of you looking so lost in the haze made her cock twitch with desperate need, she gasped and with breathing in pure air over your intoxicating arousal, well it helped her to remember her neglected body.

Valkyrie slid your abused body up until you were centered on the table, then she decided to test Asgardian furniture producers because she climbed on top, and hovered over you in an almost menacing manner, her grin was scary, “Daddy’s going to fuck you until you’re no longer planning on saying silly things.”

With your thighs to your chest you watched as her dick entered you with one brutal thrusting of your forced lovers hips, “Fuck, don’t you see, this slutty pussy was made for me, no one else,” her grunts continued to brainwash you into a state of serenity and agreement; hope was lost.

“Now, you’re going to block Sarah, do you understand?” You didn’t. But that didn’t stop you from nodding so she’d continue to fuck you, the feeling of her still cock inside you was torture, especially when her appendage grew tired of waiting as it twitched you into a mewl.

“Good girl,” she rewarded you with a sloppy kiss, and a brutal half minute of thrusting.

“Daddy please, don’t stop,” you sobbed, like genuine tears trailed down the sides of your head and mixed with the sweat in your hair.

“Tell daddy, who does this pussy belong to?”

Not you! “Daddy”

“What about your heart?” she slid out of you, eyes trained on your trembling lip, you were struggling to answer, but no worries, she would help with a set of powerful thrusts, “Daddy!!!!”

“Your heart rests in the palm of my hands baby,” she pressed a deceivingly tender kiss to your lips as she picked up a steady pace that had you once again forgetting your situation.

Valkyrie knew how to work your body, she bit your pulse point every time she was nearing her own release, trying to time your orgasms because the thought of that felt romantic to her. An uncanny tie to your soul as she steals a piece of it from you with every moan pulled.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” she grunts directly into your ear as she felt you spasming around her, then she’s panting again as she moves in and out of you with even more hip power as your cunt tried desperately to still her weapon.

“I’m not stopping until I know you’re good and full,” she grunts, the overexertion here enough to tire her advanced physique out, but not to stop, “You’ll be pregnant with my seed baby, a little pouch of it to pudge out your stomach.”

She laughed rather maniacally, “Then you’ll soon enough be pregnant with my heir,” she choked on her words as she once again came, your walls were thickly layered in her seed, and so she added to it, causing a massive gush of it to return to her thighs. So in awe at just how much she’s produced she failed to see you’d officially gone limp on the bed, a total KO.

“Well, I think you’re full baby,” she laughed, but at your lack of response (the anticipated whimper, of need or plea she didn’t care) was had her twist her head to see you clearly, “Oh.”

Valkyrie moaned shakily when another wave of arousal came over her, “I can’t believe I fucked you to sleep,” she almost moved to act on her throbbing cocks behalf, but then she felt a strain in her shoulders that warranted sleep, and so she laid her body atop of yours, she sloppily pecked your lips, “Sweet dreams my Queen, we’ll be wed by the end of tomorrow.”

——

1,334 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥵

[raayllum]

Been rewatching Infinity Train (3rd show of all time for me) and reflecting on how they write relationships:

The first is that they let characters have real issues with each other — actually unhealthy / toxic individual traits and subsequently unhealthy patterns with each other — even when those characters don’t know anything is wrong! They think they’re fine, fun, healthy, as a dynamic and as a person, the way most people do. The second thing is that in letting the characters be wrong, the show lets both characters, every time, be wrong. [...] It would be so easy for Infinity Train to just go “one half has all the problems, the other just has to help them through it”.

and it just filled me with so much love for how S4 and S5 of TDP but especially S4 wrote its main character relationships.

Rayla was wrong to leave, and Callum isn't wrong to be angry, but they both leave a lot to be desired when it comes to relationship repair; Rayla is awkward and kind of aloof, and Callum is cold and closed off. He mandates that he doesn't want to talk about what happened and she respects that, but then the next day he's jabbing at her over it. And we see in late s4 and early s5 that despite coming back, Rayla isn't really breaking old patterns of behaviour, either. Callum had to burn through his anger and hit a turning point of giving her a solid basis to work from — if he withholds help, she'll never learn how to accept it; if she never shares, they'll never be anywhere but square one — that lets them both do repair on their wound(s).

Janai and Karim are mutually bad at communication. Initially, Karim doesn't plan to divulge his worries at all, but Janai gently nudges him. Then when he expresses them, because they're borderline bigoted, Janai doesn't want to hear them, which is fair, but does leave the concerns he does express completely unaddressed as she shuts him down. Karim isn't wrong that both Lucia and Amaya are being insensitive over what happened, and Janai doesn't communicate her changing feelings regarding being queen, so Karim bites himself in the ass by assuming she'll step down. Was Karim being a bit unhinged and stupidly dangerous by orchestrating the Blood Duel? Of course. But did he actually 100% think Janai would step aside (when in the same episode, Janai was considering that maybe Karim would be a better king to begin with)? Also yes. But neither communicated well, and that's part of why things escalated to the degree that they did in s4.

Viren and Claudia are another great example, and honestly reminded me the most of the pair from S3 of Infinity Train, in which one starts to back out of the Literal cult they've formed while the first 'follower' refuses to consider any other paths till they end up destroying each other. We see something reminiscent here. Viren is responsible for setting Claudia on her path and for bringing Aaravos into their lives, but Claudia has been making her own choices independent of what Viren wants for a while now as of S4, bringing him back because she couldn't afford to lose him and slapping his concerns out of him for the same reason, when Viren thinks he may ultimately want something else. She's been through too much to have her turning point with clear eyes, and we see Viren in S4 steadily building up to have his own (circa S5). I'll be very interested to see the two interact and this massive divide in choices/priorities come to a head, should Viren live into S6, especially as it teaches the hard lesson arc 2 keeps reaffirming over and over: you cannot save someone who doesn't want help, and you cannot change someone who isn't willing to change. They have to do those things and accept your viewpoints / accept your help piece by piece when they're ready or willing to. And that's life

[ciaheyhimm]

The Two Ministers: Galeazzo Ciano and Joachim von Ribbentrop

Probably the one of the two most interesting figures. Since I make researches mostly on Fascist Italy, it was intriguing to read Galeazzo Ciano's perspective and thoughts on Joachim von Ribbentrop, his German colleague Minister. One thing is certain: both men didn't like each other. It was a huge despise from both parties. Ciano thought of Ribbentrop as a "too cynical and suck up" kind of man. Meanwhile, Ribbentrop considered Ciano as a "hiding traitor, playing the double-agent role for the democratic countries". Fun fact: Galeazzo Ciano's diaries were used by the Allies as a proof against Joachim von Ribbentrop in the Nuremberg Trials.

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On May 22, 1939, the Kingdom of Italy and Nazi Germany entered into the Pact of Steel signed by their respective Foreign Ministers Galeazzo Ciano and Joachim von Ribbentrop. This agreement was greeted with great enthusiasm by the press: "unfailing friendship between our two peoples." Ciano wrote in his diary, a few days after his execution in January 1944: "The tragedy of Italy began in August 1939. On my own initiative, I went to Hitler's headquarters in Salzburg and was suddenly confronted with the cold and cynical Germanic determination to provoke the conflict. The alliance between Italy and Germany had been signed in May. I had opposed it, making every effort to delay such a step, or at least make it ineffective. There was no reason, on the other hand, in my opinion, to bind oneself for life and death to the fate of Nazi Germany. I had favored, it is true, a policy of cooperation, because of our geographic location, because we can and should detest, but not ignore that eighty million Germans brutally burden the heart of Europe. The decision to cement the alliance was made suddenly by Mussolini, while I was in Milan with Ribbentrop. Several American newspapers had published that the Lombard metropolis had welcomed the Reich Foreign Ministry with blatant hostility, and this was evidence of Mussolini's diminished personal prestige. He was in a state of rage. By telephone he ordered me to accept the German demands for an alliance, which I had held in abeyance for more than a year and hoped to send off again. Thus was born the "Pact of Steel." This decision, which was then to have such a disastrous influence on the life and future of the Italian people, was due solely to a spiteful reaction on the part of the dictator to certain rash and baseless statements in some foreign newspapers." Actually Mussolini is worried because subsequent to the Pact of Steel the Nazis assure him that they do not want to wage war for the time being, but he is beginning to be not so sure. Italy in 39' is completely depleted, exhausted by the Ethiopian War and the intervention in Spain on the side of Franco, later the winner of the civil war. Despite the positive outcome, wars cost huge sums of money and the Italian budget suffers greatly; entering a world war in this condition would be difficult to sustain. Galeazzo Ciano, Foreign Minister as well as Mussolini's son-in-law, writes in his diary in early August, "the time has come to see how things stand: the game is too big."

On August 11 Ciano flies to Germany, is sent to von Ribbentrop with instructions to explain to him that to wage war at that time would be madness. On the question of Poland, the Kingdom Minister asks his peer, "do you want Danzig?" von Ribbentrop replies, "not anymore, we want war." Later, during the reception, Ciano approaches one of his aides and says in his ear, "we are at blows." Ciano, worried, wonders if the Germans have considered the likely intervention of England and France and how they intend to deal with them. But Ribbentrop is sure, they will not dare to intervene, Germany will invade Poland and have a free field. It is a bet on the non-intervention of the Western powers, as in 1914, when Kaiser Wilhelm's Germany invaded Belgium sure of no consequences from England. This time they really make the bet: von Ribbentrop proposes to Ciano that if England and France stayed out then Italy would give Germany a Renaissance painting; if not, Germany would give Italy a collection of ancient German weapons. But Ribbentrop is sure: "We will wage war and it will not become a world war, because France and England will not dare to intervene."

Ciano returns to Rome, and it is now clear that the Nazis are about to invade Poland, as well as that Hitler expects Fascist Italy, as declared at the 1937 Berlin Assembly by Mussolini, to march with its ally all the way. But the Führer does not know that Italy is prepared to hold out to avoid imminent catastrophe given the weakness of the army. When the Duce finally comes forward and confesses his country's total unpreparedness, the Germans first turn up their noses, then they are fine with it as long as Italy's neutrality is not flaunted too much around. On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland triggering the tremendous conflict that for six years displayed the greatest atrocities in human history. Italy would enter it about a year later when during the famous Piazza Venezia speech on June 10, 1940, Mussolini announced that "The declaration of war has already been delivered to the ambassadors of Great Britain and France." It was "the hour of irrevocable decisions" that led Mussolini and the Fascist regime to its fall.

--------

Sources: Alessandro Barbero, Galeazzo Ciano's Diaries.

QOD: What do you think about Galeazzo Ciano and Joachim von Ribbentrop?

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Photos:

[kitkatsudon]

KitKat reads the TKEM Novel: Chapter 2

That night, a broken flute

So. Chapter 2. If you haven’t guessed already by the title of this chapter, it covers the topic of that fateful night back in 1994, when Lee Lim kills Lee Ho, little Gon comes in, gets traumatised, they both leave with half of the Manpasikjeok, etc etc. That’s kind of… the first half of this chapter? The whole chapter is definitely affected by this, but after this there are two more scenes in this chapter: one where Gon is looking at Taeeul’s ID card in his Alice in Wonderland book (notably skipping over “Are you having fun, Captain Jo?” and that subsequent conversation between Gon and Yeong which is one of my personal favourite scenes, but anyway. They do reference it, but it’s not the same), and then the scene where Gon is at the stables, he hears the sound of the flute, and he runs away on Maximus and goes into the portal.

My first thought? Not enough Yeong. Again. For real this time. Yeong has one line of dialogue, and that’s just a radio call to Hopil and the others to chase after Gon, there’s no new insights about Yeong in this chapter, absolutely nothing. And I know, I know that I can’t really judge a chapter like this on its Yeong content when none of these scenes contained Yeong in the first place, but like… they could have included that conversation between Gon and Yeong in Gon’s study? Instead, the allusion to it we get is this:

Why didn’t ‘he’ who saved him come back? Wasn’t it worth coming to see him at least once?

Yeong said that he didn’t come because Gon had grown up so well that he didn’t need anyone’s help, but Gon wanted to ask, ‘didn’t he want to come and see how well he had grown up?’

There it is, folks! That’s all we’re getting! And look… it’s easy enough to tell from the scene in the show that Gon isn’t really satisfied with Yeong’s answer, but a part of me does feel disappointed that this heartfelt conversation between those two in the first episode was boiled down to this in the book. None of the tenderness, none of the warmth, just “idc yeongie i still want to see my saviour :/.” And then… hoo boy. I can already tell that this book is going to test my patience as someone who is not particularly a taegon enjoyer, because a few paragraphs down we get this absolute gem.

The government ID in his hand was the only trace he had left behind, and it was a question. Every day, Gon would ask the woman on the card, ‘Do you know why he saved me? Why I survived?’ Thanks to this, the woman had become a habit for him. After twenty-five years, she was more familiar than anyone else. For Gon, it was comforting. Before he knew it, she had become the reason he was alive.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, whAT?! The reason he was alive? His reason for living?? More familiar than anyone else????? Bestie… she is a piece of plastic!!! As far as you know right now!!!!! If this is your reason for living… Gon, blink twice if you need to see a therapist. Oh, wait, hang on, this reminds me of another passage in this chapter…

Was he really dead? Suddenly, he felt a surge of doubt.

Maybe it was because that night, twenty-five years ago, was still so vivid. The stickiness of stepping through the blood of innocents, the smell of blood that stung his nostrils. The pain of the strangulation, the thinning of his breath. The sight of his father’s lifeless body in front of him. The underlying dread, the fear. The emotions were as sharp as the sensations.

However, now that Gon was the king, they were emotions he couldn’t show anyone. Walking slowly to his desk, Gon composed himself as he sat down. The good news was that he wasn’t weak enough to be consumed by the memories of that day.

Oh, well, that’s ok then! Don’t worry everyone! Gon is fine, actually! Sure, he still has very vivid memories of that awful night, he still hates people touching his body, he can’t wear a tie without getting flashbacks to that night, he doesn’t feel like he can share this with anyone because of his status as the king, but don’t worry! He’s not so weak that he’s super affected by this or anything, that would be totally cringe.

Gon, I’m going to say this once again, blink twice if you need to see a therapist. Because this… my god. That’s an unhealthy thought pattern if I’ve ever heard one. I think the show wants the solution to this to be “gon is fine enough to be a great boyfriend, but if he ever does need to talk to anyone, this will only ever be taeeul because he the king to her.” What I’m hearing, however, is “gon needs to trust his loved ones, and learn to be comfortable with the fact that he’s both the king and a person, and he needs to be comfortable with communicating with people like yeong and lady noh and prince buyeong who have loved him for a very long time and want gon the person to be alright.” Like… surely the message here isn’t just that Gon can never ever trust anyone from the Kingdom with his emotions, right? Where’s the growth there? Finding someone from another universe is the most convoluted loophole in this situation, when he could just like… talk to his best friend? Even if that’s hard for him, growth is hard! But it’s important!

But *ahem* anyway, sorry, this is meant to be about the novel, not my wider thoughts about the show in general…

You might be wondering, hey KitKat, you said that this chapter was half about the night of the treason, so why haven’t you spoken about that? And that… is because I don’t really have that much to say? It’s mostly just an action sequence, there aren’t really any character moments that made me like !!!!, like the other parts did. The main detail is that it really hammers in the detail that Lee Lim feels unfairly treated because of the nature of his birth. He’s jealous of his brother and his nephew for being born into a life where they never really had to struggle.

Actually, you know what? I am going to share this paragraph, purely so I can go on another side tangent.

Prince Imperial Geum. Lee Lim was crowned Prince Imperial Geum at the age of thirteen. He was the firstborn son, but his mother died before she could become queen, and she was posthumously declared a noblewoman. So, his younger brother, who knew nothing and was only good, became the king.

Now, let’s do some maths, shall we? Both Lee Lim and Lee Ho have confirmed dates of birth in the show. Lee Lim was born on 27th February 1951, and Lee Ho was born on 23rd October 1952. (Another fun fact is that Gon’s mother was born on 8th August 1965, so when Gon was born on 28th October 1987, his mother was 22 and his dad was 35, and I know that age gap relationships can be perfectly consensual and loving but man… I can’t deny that something there feels a little bit icky… but anyway.) Assuming neither Lee Ho nor Lee Lim were born prematurely, this implies that Lee Lim was conceived in May 1950, and Lee Ho was conceived in January 1952. If their father, King Haejong, was doing everything by the book, if Lee Lim’s mother was his official partner, and the earliest that she died was 27th February 1951, this means that King Haejong moved on from this love of his life to get to the baby-making stage with Lee Ho’s mother in less than a year. It’s… plausible? But if Lee Ho was legitimate, then King Haejong and his new partner had to be married somewhere between February 1951 and October 1952, and it would have had to have been a big royal wedding with a lot of planning, and… mmmMH I don’t want to make any conclusions, because there are a few explanations for this quick timeline and it’s much more fun if this is left up to individual interpretation, but what I am pretty sure on is that this situation with King Haejong and his lovers wasn’t as simple as “:( lee lim’s poor mother died before she could be made the queen.” It’s giving… less tragic, more scandal, somewhere on this timeline. Either way, I am narrowing my eyes at you, King Haejong.

Mmmh… anything else? Maybe this:

In the Cheonjongo scene, Yoo Gyeongmu, Lee Lim’s second in command, says to him that they need to leave because the “Golden Army” is coming. In the official English subs on Netflix, this is just translated as Royal Guard, BUT it’s definitely a different word. Royal Guard, in the book, has always been 근위대, but Yoo Gyeongmu specifically refers to a certain 금군, and this had specific Hanja next to it in the book, so it must be a thing. What is this Golden Army? Will it be referenced again, other than in this scene? It’s not a code name, little Gon also thinks to himself that his saviour is leaving because the Golden Army is on their way. Is it a specific task force within the Royal Guard? If so, what do they do?? I have a horrible suspicion that we’ll never know.

Oh, and one more thing before I bullet point exactly what we’ve learnt from this chapter.

It was said that the prince was a prodigy, a genius who could read, write, and do mathematics at an early age.

*quietly adds ‘hyperlexia’ next to ‘savant mathematical abilities’ onto my imaginary list of evidence of gon being autistic*

That post will come eventually. But not for a while.

So!! What have we learnt in chapter two?

Somewhere on the palace grounds, vaguely near Cheonjongo, is a gingko tree!

Where Lee Lim was described as being bold and cruel, Lee Ho was described as having a “cool temperament that could be considered weak.” Even if Lee Ho isn’t in my good books for getting a 21 year old pregnant when he was 34, that still feels kind of mean.

Cheonjongo was home to “various treasures, from crowns to cash, ceramics to swords, treasures handed down from generation to generation.”

The current Captain of the Royal Guard died that night, stepping in front of Lee Ho.

The Netflix subs miss out Lee Ho saying something that roughly translates to “What the heck?!” before he asks “Brother, what do you think you’re doing?” which is something that I wish they’d kept in.

When Lee Lim killed his brother, he was happy to prove that Lee Ho was weaker than him.

Gon was commended as a little genius, and this is the only measure by which Lee Lim thinks he might be better than his father. That doesn’t change the fact that Lee Lim still has to kill him, though.

Even in that horrible moment, and despite Gon being seven years old internationally, he was actively thinking about strategy, wanting to strike Lee Lim with the Four Tiger Sword while he was laughing, because it was a moment of weakness.

Lee Lim got his royal title when he was thirteen, Korean age, so presumably he was 11/12 years old internationally.

The first time little Gon heard the flute music was when his saviour came for him, not before, which begs the question as to why he went to Cheonjongo that night in the first place. Maybe because his dad wanted to show him the Manpasikjeok?

This “Golden Army” section of the Royal Guard existed, at least in 1994. Maybe it still does in the present. Maybe it doesn’t. That remains to be seen.

The official story was that Royal Guards shot Lee Lim dead on the beach, not that he was found washed up dead like I assumed in the show. Maybe this was just a detail in the show that I forgot about, but I’m including it here because it confused me at first.

Lee Lim’s “death” had always seemed futile and meaningless to Gon.

Apparently, according to Gon, all the fear, grief, and hurt has already faded away from that night with time, and the only thing he still has is the question of why his saviour hasn’t come back for him. Apparently.

Please imagine a strained voice for this next point: Jeong Taeeul’s ID card became Gon’s reason for living. *sigh.*

This is something I’d noticed before, but this whole scene where he looks at the ID card in his book, and everything in the show immediately preceding it that the book cut - this all happens on 10th September 2019. Is there a significance to this date? YES! THERE IS! IT’S YEONG’S BIRTHDAY! THEY CUT OUT YEONG’S SCENE ON HIS GODDAMN BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

The Royal Guard was on high alert after the shooting at the rowing competition, and yet Gon still managed to escape? He’s quite impressive.

The main reason Gon was suspicious that Lee Lim wasn’t dead, despite them having a corpse, was because Lee Lim risked everything to get the Manpasikjeok, but his half wasn’t found on this corpse. This is what Gon is thinking about as he’s looking at the portal for the first time.

As Gon is riding through the place in between, in the portal dimension, he’s thinking of the passage of Alice in Wonderland that he read to the children a few days ago, of Alice following the clock rabbit into the rabbit hole, and then falling further and further down.

And that’s it! I’m… actually surprised at how long this ended up being, because I definitely found the first chapter a lot more entertaining than this one. Though to be honest, that was mostly the shameless Gon worshipping. There was definitely some of that this chapter, but not at all to the same extent. Next time… I haven’t really looked very hard at the next chapter, but I think it’s going to cover Taeeul and Gon’s first meeting, from their very first interaction to Gon’s time in the police station. And now I say that, I’m suddenly realising that I’m quite excited to find out what Gon is thinking when he sees Eunseob for the first time. But not too excited. I don’t think it’s wise to have expectations that are too high with this book.

Final thoughts? Underwhelming. I know this book can’t deviate much from the show, but I was disappointed with how little extra information we learnt about Lee Lim in the Cheonjongo scene. Does he really just want *gestures vaguely* power? Is it really just because he feels it’s unfair that he wasn’t born to be the king? Come on, where’s the flavour? Does he want to be more powerful than God because he just wants power? Does he want to rule Corea? Does he want to rule the world? The multiverse??? What is his endgame here??? He gets the Manpasikjeok, then what??? I was hoping that the book would give us some more insight, but it absolutely has not done that so far. Ah well. I suppose it’s only Chapter 2. There’s still time.

Other than that, my main takeaway is that Lee Gon is taking a long, long swim in a certain river in Egypt in regards to how he’s Totally Fine And Ok after the night of the treason. Did he ever get therapy after that night? If so, his therapist didn’t do a very good job if he still thinks that he can’t tell his loved ones about his “weak” feelings because he’s the king. If he didn’t get therapy, then I want to have serious words with whoever looked at this child who just saw his father murdered and almost got murdered himself, and decided “yeah, he’ll probably be ok.”

But of course, he’s fine! It’s below the king to have these so-called “mental health struggles.”

[ansbobcar]

RINKA LORE TIME/FUNFACTS [part 1 of idk]

I'm realising I can't squeeze her entire backstory or shits into the span of this fic so here's some stuff I barely expanded upon in the fic in no particular order becuz I lowkey forgot.

There's some spoilers for my fic but they're kinda minor (no big reveals lol)

1. Tsurara's Incident on the Coast (EP 18)

Back when Tsurara became Divine Visionary, her magic output was almost unparalleled… yet incredibly uncontrolled. She was given the task of following Rinka do her usual spring cleaning because Kaldo was sick of her being cooped up in her office all the time. Nothing went wrong until she completely froze over a seaside town after an emotional outburst since Rinka was doing most of the heavylifting.

And subsequently, (big headcanon time), Tsurara's evil eye drew out the maximum output of the hell she brought to the seaside town. Maybe unleashing Nifelheim.

Fortunately, the townspeople were evacuated as per protocol and Rinka utilised Tranquilier (100% guaranteed calming spell) to pacify Tsurara's outburst after getting close enough to block the evil eye's ability to negate/supress magic and considerably reduced her magic output from continuing and casting.

"It's okay, Tsurara," the woman had finally caught the young teen in her embrace. Even amidst the almost absolute zero, the teen realised the pale woman hadn't shivered for a moment as she did. "Focus on me." Her heartbeat was slightly faster than usual, and she breathed a bit heavier from the constant pace she had kept to reach her amidst the sea she had slid into. Yet like last time... "You're still warm," her voice trembled into the collar which was now sullied by her tears. How could someone like the Blood Cane afford to keep herself warm for a waste of space like Tsurara Halestone? Nothing seemed to make sense and did at the same time. Who wouldn't be worried for her suddenly running off amidst a snowstorm? "There there," slowly patting her back, "We've all been alone in a cold, dull place before. It's alright to take small steps with new things," Rinka uttered like a lullaby. "There are many burdens with being a Divine Visionary, especially for someone who holds a passion for magic yet cannot fully appreciate them." "Wasn't your goal to create the best heat retaining fabric the world has ever seen?" A nod was felt at her chest and she chuckled at her soft response. "I can't make them now, the previous head's projects are still up for discussion... I feel like it will never pass..." "Have you tried scouting for parties interested in your ideas and asking for the feedback from the masses during winter? I'm sure they would be thrilled with your ideas," finally utilising Tranquilier on the girl. "You can ask Kaldo for help or even the officers under mine or Ryoh's leadership about materials they need improvement. It's our job to help you as well." "If it takes many little steps, it can be worth it."

Rinka did not sustain as terrible of a damage as a few months prior, however, she was still injured, almost sustaining Frostbite if it wasn't for her incredibly warm disposition (body-heat) while carrying the girl back to the Bureau.

2. Ryoh's Godfather status

Although Ryoh's only canonically 5 years older, she's treated as his goddaughter over a sibling for a few reasons.

He's the only person she listened to when she got sick. Rinka tends to hide the fact she's sick from people until it's too late but Ryoh usually manages to pick up on it before it gets to its worst point and lets her be taken care of by his wife back at their house. As a teen, this happened rather often, like every other week since she worked overtime frequently.

In Ryoh's eyes, Rinka is a baby. A rebellious teen even. Her cool beauty archetype persona breaks when she's around Kaldo and Renatus. She tends to act like an idiot with them, their annoying asses (who teased her a bit too much for being just slightly older than her by a year and two) make her patience run thin and nonexistent.

This was at Ryoh's and her mother's suggestion to keep her from going insane at the office after witnessing her being unable to work like when she doused herself in a crazy dose of an amnesia (identity removing memory) inducing potion and regretting it completely once it did it's intended purpose.

As a result of this, Ryoh sort of felt responsible over her (since it seemed to be completely avoidable if he had talked and connected to her a bit more) and assumed a paternal figure in her life in order to guide her both emotionally and physically. After all, it's no secret that her relationship with her actual father, Sears Onoji, wasn't the best judging by the fact her mother won complete custody over her after their divorce.

She stopped working overtime frequently after she had to rehabilitate and recover for 2 months in Meliadoul's Clinic due to suffering major injuries and frequently losing blood at unsustainable rates.

I also thought of retconning Ryoh and his wife (I will figure out a name for her one day) like their love story but I got lazy. Anyways, Rinka's friends with her and sometimes gets babied by her. (His wife is 27 lol.)

3. Renatus and his nickname

Renatus came up with her nickname because her hairstyle at the time was so 'gloomy and depressing, like spilled ink and milk'. She was also incredibly animated and contradictory in her actions and appearance.

After all, she smoked high quality cigars for who knows how long and was a heavy drinker. Yet she completely denies being a chronic smoker and drinker in public and around those younger than her. Which caused her to completely abstain from both when Agito came along event though by the time he joined she was of legal age to drink.

Thus 'Inky Droopy Looney Rinka' or just 'Inky' sometimes was born.

Nobody else has caught onto the name because it's either a mouthful to say and rude or they don't get the origins of the name.

Around the office people either refer to her as Rinka or Miss Ontarin, since her last name is extremely uncommon.

4. Her relationship with Agito

Initially, I planned for her to actually hate him because he was a creep (like who tf has such a high death count?) but in reality she finds him relatable and annoying. And also hates the fact that she can't beat him up because he would probably take it completely wholeheartedly without properly reflecting on himself.

But I can guarantee you they had bad first impressions of each other.

Rinka doesn't mind reaching out to people to help them (like she's done with almost everyone else that came after her) but Agito rejects it. Her first kind offer was rejected extremely violently which she was immediately given an apology for and then hounded to discipline/punish him. Due to her own experiences, she doesn't find this very comforting and Renatus becomes the mediator in their reactions.

Like how he rejected her proposition of bringing Renatus along

“But there haven’t been any reports about environmental destruction,” Tsurara recounted still stumped by this case. “Then shouldn’t Agito try asking the other dragons at the intersection? It would save on time,” she suggested, holding onto a heat retaining object. Silence permeated through the room as the dragon turned towards her. “The elves do not particularly… enjoy my presence,” attempting to hide the grin that suddenly widened at the thought. “After all…” “Do you need us to follow as well?” The Blood Cane tried to alleviate his discomfort. He was crucial for the task at hand. Irreplaceable. “We can go as a group if needed, I can carry everyone as,” she stopped as Hippo-tan drooped on the table and with suppressed calmness, the Dragon Cane held her hands. “Please use a translation or universal language spell, miss.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Do you need me to bring Renatus along?” “It’s fine. Please use the translation spell you taught me.” With a hint of dejectedness, her hand dropped back to her side with little control as he let go. She let out a sigh, “Alright.”

(EP 19)

The tension from their earlier days has settled to that of a rather peaceful coexistence where she's willing to compromise her hesitancy to be violent to be more clear. They've probably argued a few times simply because Rinka takes care of Darren's school affairs. Since Darren is able to fluently speak more than just Communication Draconic, Agito has a big interest in her as his assistant but she's not really.

Plus she's stern with Agito because he tends to slack off on his duties even with a Professional Dragon/Pet 'Hippo-tan'. But the worst he gets is being fed honeyed Sashimi and served that for dinner.

_ _ _ _

Ik I forgot Sophina but uhhhhh I haven't thought of her this deep yet.

[livingingloworld]

June 16th, 2024

Goodmorning ladies, gents and ladigents🕵🏽‍♂️today I woke up pretty fatigued and decided to skip my morning run. I took a shower, got dressed and met everyone downstairs for breakfast. This morning was a little hectic as we all had to pack up our bags for wales and leave the rest of our baggage at the hotel for when we return. In the midst of this event three of our classmates got extremely ill due to food poisoning and either had to be left behind or took it very easy throughout the course of this morning. Once we finished eating breakfast and organized our baggage we met with Ivo who led us to the The British Museum. This museum was the biggest museum i’ve ever stepped in, there was three floors filled with global history and I’m sure an immense amount of stolen artifacts from all over the world. We only had about an hour to look through the museum so I strategically planned my visit by going downstairs visit one part of Africa which had bewildering tribal art and statues from western Africa. I made my way back upstairs to the Egyptian exhibition where I found myself quite disgusted by the display of bare naked Egyptian bodies of the most influential which I discovered was stolen from Africa by a British scientist. The Egyptian exhibit had a vast difference compared to the European history exhibition which was filled with beautiful architecture, paintings and books to represent their history of rapping and stripping the resource and people of every colony they ever stepped foot on… Lastly I made my way across the museum to the Asian continent where I spent my last 10 minutes admiring the Indian/ Pakistani exhibit and not once did I read Britain was at fault for the division between the two countries.. My mother is originally from Karachi, Pakistan and I had the brilliant opportunity to visit Pakistan as an adolescent so I feel very drawn and connected to the history of Pakistan becoming a country and the role that Britain had played into dividing not only their culture, family, traditions but also the many wars that followed behind the division which just RECENTLY ended in 1999. I noticed that our tour guy (Not Ivo!!) and the British museum has a biased perspective of Britains involvement in the division between India and Pakistan that it was quite sickening and made me leave the museum with an unsettling feeling. Subsequently we headed back to the hotel to get our bags and took a 5 hour train ride where we landed in Aberystwyth, Wales. There we checked into our personal dorms and met with the director of Wales for a welcome Welsh dinner. I was quite worried for what I would be able to eat as a vegetarian as many stapled dishes in Wales are made out of meat but surprisingly they had accommodations for me. Once we finished dinner my group walked the campus where we saw the most beautiful view of downtown that sits right of the lining of the Irish Sea, before making our way back to the dorms to settle in for an early restful night.

[sunnysideprincess]

Mind the tags | TW: language, dubcon (something that's kind of already engraved into the soulmate trope), self harm, blood, gore

Hell, If It Glitters

He stares at the mangled piece of tech on the ground, contemplating pressing the panic button and calling for help—that generally means whoever's haunting the compound for the night. His three options are limited to Rhodey, Vision and/or Nat, though she goes by Elena these days, wears sweater vests of all things, thick glasses and a blond mop of hair that does not suit her at all. He hopes it's Vision tonight. Because whoever did that to the patrol drones could very easily squish two humans, specially when one of them is still recovering from his physical therapy. Vision, though not infallible, is much more durable.

A noise to his left alerts him to the possible intruder and Tony makes sure to clutch the empty needle tighter in his hold. More than ever, he wishes he wasn't so openly vulnerable—wearing threadbare hospital jammies and a bandage around his neck to hide his gruesome attempt at ridding himself from the bond.

He walks around the gurney and parts curtain, only to get jumped by one of the drones, sparking and squeaking pitiably in soft beeps and boops.

Tony coos at it for a while, doting soothing caresses on its metal hide as it floats by his head, no doubt scared of whatever attacked his brothers and sisters. He vaguely recalls Peter naming it Ider and smiles to himself.

"Come on, let's go find the ghost."

The ghost is waiting for him in the hallway and Tony has a half formed thought that the world wasn't wrong to call him a ghost story.

Barnes stays still as a statue while Tony taps a message on the drone. A clue left behind for his compatriots if and when it's needed.

"Come here to finish the job?"

A soft exhale, something he shouldn't be able to pick up makes him shudder and take a step back. Then a voice he listens to in the familiarity of his mind's darkest corners chides him for being a coward. Barnes can't hurt him. Or at least will not get away with hurting him. There are people who would avenge his absence. His death. If it were to happen tonight.

Besides—Tony isn't going down without a fight. He doesn't even care if the scratched out name on his neck burns with every breath.

One of the hallway lights flickers out, just as the drone falls to the ground. And for a single second, Tony doesn't understand what's happened. At least not until he sees the leak in the temperature regulation.

Barnes shot the fucking thing and Tony couldn't even see him move. That's-

"No way the serum can make him do that," he worries out loud before gasping at the empty hallway.

"Shit. Shit, shit-fuck."

It hurts to think about salvaging Pete's favorite, but Tony knows a lost game when he sees one. It's a desperate attempt at best. He picks up the drone and rips out the miniature reactor, before hurling the sad remains of Ider towards the wall. It takes him a second to rig a makeshift grenade. Then it's his turn to go for a hunt.

He doesn't find Barnes.

No.

What he finds is worse.

"What the hell," he whispers to the endless supply of emptied bags of blood and a bunch of ripped out limbs strewn about on the floor.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust when his bare foot squelches on a puddle of blood and hastily takes a step away from some poor nurse's arm, while almost dropping the bomb on himself.

"What in the name of Asgardian gods and shit is this?"

"Stevie said a lot of things," a voice coos next to his ear and Tony swings his left fist blindly towards the source. "But he never told me you had sea legs, sweetheart."

A cold, metal limb stops his swing with ease, then reels him in. Too late, Tony doesn't realise there's another arm going for the bomb and then he's watching it blowing up the wall.

Ears ringing, Tony struggles in his assailant's hold while Barnes doesn't waver in his silent assessment. His heart, weak after receiving the dual super soldier beat down and then the subsequent attempt at removing his soul bond, is a battering ram against his chest.

"Let me go you fucking-"

Fingers, long and gentle scrape against the bandage on his neck and it's like his body's on fire. Tony chokes on a cry as Barnes rips it off, uncaring of the pain it causes Tony, ucaring that Tony doesn't want it—doesn't want the name of his mother's killer on his skin, on his soul.

"No, no-no-no fuck you, Barnes."

Barnes laughs. He laughs and Tony feels his breath on his neck, his tongue on the cut.

So easy, it's so easy to fall without his suit. But more than that it's easy to fall when it's his own body rebelling against his free will.

Fuck soulmate science.

"You're mine. You have been since Stevie decided to let you go. Since I decided to have you instead." Their eyes meet and it's then something clicks.

"You're not-" Human. Super soldier. Innocent. A helpless prisoner.

"Hydra was relentless, y'know. Why stop at one Winter Soldier when we can have five more? Why stop at one failed experiment when we can have ten more. You think Maximoff was the only one to volunteer? Sure-"

Barnes grins, dripping blood from his lips. Tony's blood. His mind is repulsed by the sight of it. But his body-his mark has decided otherwise. A soft moan slips past his lips when Barnes pushes him up against the wall.

"Some of us were forced to meddle with the scepter. But hey-"

His head is yanked to the side as Barnes licks and nips at his jaw, groaning like he is seeing heaven already.

"Nothing compares to this- not even sex."

Tony feels the sharp burn of teeth, the sting of a pull. The numbness settles soon after. But it's the force of arousal that brings tears to his eyes.

"Then again," Barnes whispers while pulling away, wiping a thumb over Tony's lips. A move that rips his entire being into two warring sides. "Everything's different when it belongs to you, right?"

"No. I'm not-Never," he chokes on his own words. Because he is. He is bonded to his worst nightmare.

Barnes smiles, his nose wrinkled like they were friends.

Like they were lovers.

"Never say never, sweetheart."

[bisamwilson]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

also tagged by @writerkenna!!

thanks y'all for the love <3

5 fics + excerpts!

wish that i could wind (like a spiral stair through time)

“Five o’clock sharp every morning, baby,” he’d said, over half a century ago now, his voice weak and his bones weaker, holding onto Bucky’s far less wrinkled hand with all the strength he still had. “Early morning exercise is important for old men like us: keeps us living longer.” Bucky has lived fifty-two years, three months, and twelve days longer than Sam had ever gotten to, and, running his hand over Sam’s side of the bed, his favorite blanket kept pristine even after all these years, he thinks living longer is the last thing he’d ever want. He still gets up at five to exercise every day, though. After all, Sam had asked him to, and who is Bucky to deny Sam anything he asks, even all these years later.

2. my convenience store dream boy

The most definitely real heat gets stronger for just a moment, disappearing when Cap puts on a friendly smile. “Can’t say I pegged you for an optimist, Bucky,” he says, holding Bucky’s phone out. Bucky takes it back without looking away from his face. “I’m not, usually. Only when there’s something—or someone—worth inspiring my optimism.” Bucky’s probably gone too far on the side of “hammy,” but Cap’s still interested enough for him to think he didn’t quite blow his chance. As a matter of fact, he’s a little too interested, really, because this is going to give Bucky ideas—the dangerous kind, the kind that’s gonna break his heart someday, he’s sure.

3. put some mustard on it

Sam notices the heightened restlessness too, he’s sure, but that comes along with Bucky agreeing to go on morning runs with him more often as well as an exponential uptake in random warm smiles, so Sam probably doesn’t say anything in worry of breaking that particular spell.  Every time he thinks about that ring he just breaks out into a grin, and every time Sam asks him to come along he doesn’t want to miss a single second. Smiling, running, being with Sam, looking at his ring from Costco. That’s most of Bucky’s life these days. And buying and subsequently wasting mustard, of course. He’s been too busy thinking about the ring to stage that intervention.

4. but it feels like there's oceans between you and me

Usually pleasure rolls off Bucky in waves in times like this, the initial slow push almost more satisfying to him than the explosive finish, but now Sam feels a frenzy of emotions, entirely at odds with Bucky’s calm approach to fucking him.  Fear. Relief. Anger. Worry. Something Sam might call “love” if he didn’t know better.

and, of course,

5. (it's your kiss) hey princess

There’s a noticeable pause between Sam’s steps at that, but Bucky effortlessly leads them back on track. “I appreciate dropping formalities, but I gotta say, ‘Bucky’ does not exactly fit with the handsome noble vibe you’ve got going here.” Bucky spins them around in a move that is surprisingly easy but leaves Sam a little breathless. “Childhood nickname that stuck. My middle name’s Buchanan, which is somehow even more unfortunate than Bucky, but my younger sister, Becca, had issues with it when she was young. It came out more similar to ‘Bucky,’ and that’s what I’ve been called ever since, at least by the people I’m close to.” “We’ve met so recently, Buck, one might think it’s a little sad that I’m already included in those ranks, even if I’m not complaining.” Bucky dips him low and leans into his ear, whispering, “We’re not quite close yet, Prince, but you’ll forgive me for hoping we get there.”

[netherworldpost]

I hired a business consultant with a report delivery of Friday end of day.

Because they are an Actual Professional it came on time and was very thorough and complete.

Because I am a Cartoon Professional I changed my email password immediately after signing the contract so I wouldn't obsess.

Then watched Scooby-Doo for several days, obsessing anyway, until I could no longer take not knowing the results (Sunday morning at 4:17AM)

This covers a 10 year period

RED = MYTHOLOGY (Evil Supply Co. public shop before closing + private practice for mythology clients, which did not close)

BLUE = OTHER STUFF with red removed so I can see what percentage of income is mythology vs. not.

Got a bit of red on me.

In this chart you can see where I had my 2020 traffic accident and the subsequent rebuilding of my life and business practices.

Now let's talk about why I'm making this post. You can tell where I added artwork to this "hide private information" chart because it's bright pink.

I feel like following me on social media is a combination of mythology and benefiting from my investments in business + therapy. Consider this part of the value proposition in following oh stones I can't with the business talk.

atty (me, hi) = cartoon business person doing fun spooky things + occasional thing that is accidentally actually useful = public posting (desire for attention + lightly marketing)

Which is a quick commercial break for our sponsor (hi, it's me, I'm the sponsor on my own post)

netherworldpost.com has the mailing list when the public side of Netherworld Post opens later this year.

Greeting cards, postcards, stickers, zines, stories, rambles. All original art and writing about queer monsters, witches, ghosts, mermaids living in paradise.

Mental and physical therapy... are... continuing... and as they improve I can make stuff faster and get closer to launching

Thanks, back to rambling.

One of the things that has sat heavily in my brain since said traffic accident is a variety of soul haunting "what if?"s

This chart is to showcase the utter irrelevance of this line of thinking -- you cannot change the past -- in hopes of helping me and subsequently you to move on.

One of the biggest things I am trying to unbuckle from my brain is this idea that life is a linear experience with a finite number of resources and opportunities.

My brain has been ground into the position of "I must constantly hustle because every opportunity not maximized is lost forever and is thus one more step closer to irreversible failure. Going slow or stopping to rest = bad."

This is a coldly logical statement that sounds great when you're being punitive to yourself for choices made by you or others.

There is some small truth to it (your daily existence is comprised of 24 hours) but the fundamental and utterly overwhelmingly larger truth underlying is life is not comprised of a straight forward math formula.

Here is a zoom in + direct message summary

Bad thing happens.

Work harder for awhile.

Things resume on the previous path.

Worry over choosing the wrong path is extremely probably corrected over the long term.

Your "what if?" -- my "what if?" -- is irrelevant.

Not just because you cannot change the past. But because continued hard work averages out losses and "non-selected opportunities"

(don't you love that? "non-selected opportunities". This is a new phrase to me. Such a nice way of passing up "I didn't take the objectively better path for reasons.")

I hope you find it helpful!

I hope you sign up on netherworldpost.com which has an auto-merging feature if you've already signed, meaning if you're unsure, sign up again, you won't get duplicate emails in a few months when we launch!

Thank you, it's time for coffee, I have spent 5+ hours reading this damn thing and making this post

[champoflightning]

Zettablogging plans/notes!

I originally wanted to clean this up and make it more detailed and nice before posting it! However that doesn't seem to be happening, so I think I shall just post what I had! Spoilers for Nexomon and Sun/Ultra Sun!

-Got Ultra Wormholed after being freed from the Underworld but before getting back to the main world. Is secretly both worried about his family/what that means, and very secretly glad to be out of there.

-Has a bit of a rivalry going on with Tapu Koko. It's increasingly a friendly rivalry, but Zetta will probably always call him "that jerk".

-First partner is a Rotom because of course it is. He gets the Rotom that would inhabit the protagonist's Rotomdex in canon.

-Can talk to electric type Pokemon, speaking the language of electricity and currents. Can't talk to any other ones.

-Puts up a token effort to pretend to be human around the villagers of Iki Town. Does not bother on Rotomblr. (Theoretically pretends to be human in front of Kukui, however Kukui watched him meet and talk to his Rotom buddy so that skitty's out of the bag. Kukui probably thinks he is a Rotom.) This does not stop him from trying to get zapped by every electric type pokemon he sees. -He will eventually find out about the power plant on Ula'ula, go there, and cause a blackout by eating up the electricity there. Never admits responsibility to anyone but it's really obvious.

-Zygarde doesn't like him, for obvious reasons. He gives off the same sort of aura as an Ultra Beast. The other Tapu also start rushing to fight off this new Ultra-intruder when he lands on their islands, until and unless Koko steps in to explain.

-Is aware of Lillie as Kukui's protege, but doesn't actually meet her until late in the "game". Is in the Ultra Sun-verse, kind of. (A blend of Sun and Ultra Sun.)

-Is still pre-character-development; thinks humans are expendable, but kind of entertaining. Is royally (heh) offended to be running errands for one, but Kukui's wife studies the wormholes that dropped Zetta in Alola and she's probably his best shot at getting home. So he plays nice. He slowly gets casually fond of the ones he interacts with a lot.

-Doesn't use Pokeballs; doesn't see a reason to, and shorts them out.

-Gets a more appropriate outfit for Alola but refuses to lose his visor.

-Will eventually punch Necrozma in the face. This is not negotiable. And/or bite them.

-Runs into Xurkitree at the Aether Foundation when Moon and Gladion drag enlist him to help them rescue Lillie. Their ensuing fight and subsequent alliance would probably scare everyone who saw it if they weren't occupied with other matters at the time.

-Can't currently transform because Necrozma ate all his electricity. The more time he spends in Alola the more he recovers, though. He is incredibly whiny and upset until he starts to feel like himself again. Koko gives him a charge boost near the end so he can transform and go beat up Necrozma. (There is an AU where I tossed in a reference to one of my favourite fics and Zetta gets in contact with more legendaries at this point, but I never heard back on if it was okay for me to do that, so it remains an AU)

-Eventual team is Rotom, Vikavolt, Dedenne, Electivire, Xurkitree, aaand Oricorio-P.

-Drags his feet a little on going home; Lillie and the URS are happy to help him do so after he sends Necrozma packing, but eventually he realizes he can't put it off anymore and he has to face the music in his own world, maybe with a bit more compassion and humility than he'd had when he arrived. I would have used this foot-dragging to justify posting even after the main arc had finished.

[gergthecat]

I Love You - Lilac POV Lilac/Tarver

It’s been less than six hours since Tarver and I were reunited after being rescued, and all we’ve done is sleep. Well, not only sleep, we’ve done a whole host of bed-related activities. Finally being able to touch him after being apart for so long felt euphoric. 

Afterwards, he collapsed on my chest, and has been fast asleep ever since, which I suspect is something he is long overdue for. His breath softly tickles my collarbone as he rests, and I can’t help but adore his every feature. He looks so tranquil, like the past five weeks never happened. He seems calmer, even though I can still see the graces of the stress he’s been under. It’s only when my eyes wander to his bare back and ribs that I realize he probably hasn’t eaten in days. A pang of anger and betrayal thwacks my heart when I think about how he’s been treated at my own father’s word. 

Silently slipping out from under him, I pull on his t-shirt and then my robe over it, I doubt Daddy would be happy seeing me in Tarver’s clothes. I’m not even sure where I’m going, but there’s got to be someplace in this huge ship that has food. I leave his boots by the door to assure him I’ll return if he wakes up before I’m back, and step out into the cold, dim hallway. I end up making it about two steps before a deep voice from behind me asks, 

“Miss LaRoux?” 

I swivel around on my heels to find one of the people who had been assigned to babysit me. His dark, sharp features contrasting the look of worry on his face as he glances me up and down. 

“Are you okay? Shall I fetch your father? Do you need something?”

I’m used to having to eat ration bars and sleep with only a fire and Tarver to keep me warm, so for a second all I can do is stare at him. 

“Uh, um, yeah. I’d like some food please.” I mumble back.

“Of course. What would you like?”

I’m lost again, because I realize that I’m not sure whether Tarver has allergies, or what he even likes to eat. I’m racking my brain to find anything he’s said in the past about what he eats, and I finally remember something he mentioned to me one night in the cave about the supposedly fantastic mashed potatoes his mom makes.

“Mashed potatoes, and—uh—a couple water bottles, please?” I spit out. I’m not sure why this interaction is so awkward, but it is nonetheless. He squints at me before slowly nodding his head and saying, 

“Of course miss. I’ll have those for you right away.” 

He turns and heads down the hallway opposite to me. I’m not sure what to do now, so I wander the corridors until I have the layout of the entire ship memorized. I’ve just about come back around to the room Tarver and I share when I see another babysitter whirl around the corner with a massive tray in one hand and two water bottles in the other, dripping with condensation onto the smooth, metallic floor. She spots me and looks surprised for a bit, as if she’s so shocked to see the LaRoux heiress out wandering without an escort. 

“Miss LaRoux, um, I have the food you ordered,” she stutters quietly, handing me the tray and bottles. She quickly hustles away as I walk back into our quarters, the door whooshing lightly when I step through. This time, I find Tarver standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and his back to me, as if he’s watching something.

“Are you okay?” I say, flashing him a smile as I set his food on the credenza by the entrance and he turns around to find me. He’s still only wearing his boxers, so his skin is warm against mine when he lifts me into an oxygen-stealing hug. I giggle onto his shoulder while he presses soft kisses into my neck and I wrap my legs around his exposed torso. His cozy smell surrounds me as he flops backwards onto our bed, tightening the arms encasing to keep me from falling. To say that I melt into him is an understatement. He isimpossibly comfortable, which for a second causes me to forget the potatoes by the door, and subsequently focus all my attention onto the beautiful man that is literally cradling me like a baby. 

“Hello, there,” he whispers, smiling into my hair. 

“Hi,” I breathe back, “Are you aware of the fact that you look exceptionally adorable right now?” I say before I can stop myself. For a second I think that I’ve surprised him, but just as quickly, a wide grin spreads on his lips. 

“Is that because I’m not wearing any pants?” He says, wiggling his eyebrows like the menace he is. I press my hand to my chest and fake a gasp as I climb off of him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Major,” I quip back at him. “When I first walked in,” I start, “what were you looking at?”

“For,” he corrects, staring me down, “I seem to have misplaced my shirt, have any idea where it might be?” He says, eyeing where the collar of his shirt is visible above the hem of my robe.

“Nope! I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say playfully, carrying the now-cooling potatoes to our nightstand. He lunges as soon as I’m close enough and swiftly unravels the sash keeping my robe shut, pulling it off my body. He drags be back down on top of him, turning to the precariously placed tray piled with potatoes.

“What’s this?”

“I didn’t know what to get you to eat so I got mashed potatoes. Sorry, that's the only thing you’ve ever said.”

His smile somehow gets bigger, and I’m helpless.

“Hey,” he whispers. I raise my eyebrows as a response, “I love you.”

I beam back at him, how could I not? I press my forehead to his as I whisper back, “I love you too.”

Check me out on AO3 :)

Masterlist :)

[spellbook-gayboy]

Cape-Watch Monthly Bulletin- November 2022

Hello everyone! I’m Robert Keoghan, and I’m sure you must be wondering why I’m doing this month’s Bulletin and not Christina. While she certainly didn’t go down without a fight, she was forced to take medical leave in order to recover from some injuries she sustained, leaving me to fill in for her. While my style may be a little unfamiliar to you, I hope you can make it through this edition without getting too bored! That being said, November has posed some challenges for the world’s heroes unlike any seen before! Read below for more:

Invaders From Beyond!

It only seems right that the first story on the list be the most important one, as well as the one that landed Christina in the hospital. On the morning of November 8th, multiple cities around the USA, including the newspaper’s native Seattle, were suddenly overwhelmed by hordes of alien invaders that flooded the streets and grabbed anyone they could get their appendages on. The people attacked by these aliens, that we now know as ‘Sequids’, seemed to take control of these civilians, acting as beacons that directed the rest of their forces. Fortunately, these people were later freed by rescue efforts led by the Guardians of the Globe and several others, including the veteran Frontline as well as several newcomers. However, the precedent of this invasion was not lost on the government liaison to the American superhero community, Peter Schlottman, who had this to say about the attack:

‘The threat posed by the Sequids is unlike any we have ever seen before. While Earth is certainly no stranger to threats from beyond the stars, never before has an invading species been able to weaponize our own people against us and use them to further the invasion. This has been a worrying development, but the American people can rest assured that we will take every necessary step to counter any future invasion by the Sequids.’

Lastly, as I mentioned before, Christina was also injured in this attack when the Sequids attacked Cape-Watch HQ in downtown Seattle. She was also, for a short time, under their alien influence, staying this way until she was saved by Guardians member Monster Girl. The attack and her subsequent controlling left her with serious injuries that she is still recovering at the time of writing. Despite this, she still managed to find the strength to personally warn me that if I did this wrong, she’d ‘hunt me down and force-feed me the rotten leftovers from her niece’s Quinceanera’. Wish me luck, folks. 

Who is ‘The Kid’?

Our next story on the list is a bit of a weird one, I’ll admit. Rather than reporting on any particular event, this piece is instead dedicated to a rather open secret that still skirts the line of factuality: the mysterious case of ‘The Kid’, also known as ‘The Child’ or ‘The Small One’ depending on who’s talking. For those unaware of this particular urban myth, the long and short of it is as follows: there is a child, commonly believed to be a young girl no older than ten or eleven years old, who is raised not by a single parent or even a couple, but by the vast majority of the American superhero community. Before we delve any further, I feel it important to add a disclaimer saying that what I am about to discuss is mostly speculation, and that no concrete proof has yet been produced that confirms or disproves the existence of such a child.  

The beginnings of this theory can be traced back to a post made back in August on the popular online message board Oracl3s, containing an audio file that the poster claimed was a secretly recorded conversation between them and the Martian hero Shapesmith. The file’s authenticity is debatable, filled with white noise and distortion, but one phrase quickly attracted the attention of internet sleuths: ‘I’ve got only the kid for a couple more days before MM gets her’. The name MM is likely a reference to the Californian hero and close associate Magic Man, which prompted another user who lived in the mystic’s home city of San Diego to reply with a blurry photo. In it, the figure of Magic Man was visible next to a young girl and another adult, which the user claimed was him handing off the child to another hero. The discussion snowballed from there, hundreds of posters adding their own ‘evidence’ to support the theory, dragging in everyone from Fight Force to the new Guardians of the Globe and even members of Capes Inc USA. In response to the growing questions, the government liasion to the superhero community, Peter Schlottman, made the statement below:

‘While I cannot give a definitive answer to this question, I can say that as far as I am aware, there is no ‘Child’, nor are they being raised communally as those on Oracl3s believe so fervently. If there is such an occurrence, I can assure the American people that it would not be anywhere near as malicious as some would like you to believe. Any further information will be made available if it is available.’

In my opinion? I doubt there is a kid. I think that these online sleuths have simply fallen into the same pitfall that befalls a lot of ‘true crime’ communities: relentlessly pursuing a seemingly worthwhile story, without any concerns for either the actual truth of the matter, or for the privacy of those involved. The audio file that started this whole thing is dubious at best, while the supposed ‘proof’ of the photo may simply have been Magic Man talking to some civilians he had just helped. Overall, I would suggest that anyone interested in pursuing this idea further should take a handful of salt with it, as well as remembering two very important facts: a) that what you believe to be going on may not be correct, and b) that even if you are right, there is still an actual child at the centre of this, who doesn’t deserve to have their privacy violated for the sake of solving a mystery.

Biggest Event of the Season

This next story is no doubt well known to many of you who read this newspaper. Last week, it was officially announced by the Twitter account of famed superhero legend Frontline that the try-outs for his new team Breakthrough had officially begun, taking place in multiple government facilities around the globe. Since the pool of potential members is so much larger than any other team in the world, the recruitment process is expected to run not over the course of a few days as is typical, but over a minimum period of three months, meaning that the team will not have taken shape until late January at the earliest. 

While only just beginning, members of the public have already begun to pick favourites on who they believe will make the final cut: by far the most popular pick is the Nigerian heroine known as Omi, whose water-based powers and exceptional public presence have made her a celebrity in her home city of Port Harcourt. Another of the top choices is the size-altering French hero Quark Crusher (or Broyeur de Quarks in his native language), who has made a name for himself protecting the city’s 13th arrondissement, as well as serving as a role model for many of the children in the Parisian-Jewish community he hails from. 

Among these favoured choices also comes a very controversial contestant: one of the confirmed applicants from the facility in Bueno Aires is the Bolivian vigilante known only as ‘Vaquera’. The figure has quite the mixed reputation, with some praising her staggering progress in toppling the largest organised crime families in her home country, while others raise questions about the brutal methods that she used to achieve said progress. Already, there have been calls to exclude her from the qualifying try-outs, but these have been rebuked as ‘shameless attempts to justify discrimination against a potential member’, which is arguably true. Alongside the more valid concerns have come a slew of both racist and ableist comments against Vaquera (who is not only Hispanic, but also blind), which have only served to push the authorities to support her application. Vaquera herself declined to comment, citing preparation for her upcoming match against the Argentinian hero Devastador.

A Small Afterword from Christina

Hey, y’all! I really wanted to thank all of you for tuning in to read despite my absence, and for giving the new hire a chance to learn how to write. Not that he’ll ever write for the Bulletin again. I’d rather burn the office down than let him.

But regardless of who writes for this little segment (which is still me, by the way), we at the office want to take the time to again thank all of our supporters for their generous donations, as you guys are the ones that keep the lights on and keep all of us nice and warm during this Rainy City winter we’re going through right now!

One more thing that I’d like to make you guys aware of is that starting tomorrow, Cape-Watch will also be starting the annual charity drive, the proceeds of which will be used to help alleviate the horrible conditions faced by Seattle’s homeless this holiday season, so if you can spare the cash, we’d really appreciate you guy’s help. 

--- 

And that’s all for this month! Once again, we’d like to thank our donors who help keep the paper running, and we’ll be seeing you next month for the Cape-Watch Holiday Special Bulletin! This has been Robert Keoghan, reminding all of you folks at home to stay safe, stay hydrated, and to enjoy the holidays as best you can!

[silkendandelion]

Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 8

No summary today, angst is your only hint.

Rated Mature for non-graphic violence and blood. Female pregnancy warning as well, meaning a flashback has a brief description of a hard labor. Ongoing, will cover the Alabasta Arc. Cross-posted to Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

“Welcome back, Sir.” Mila said as Crocodile returned at the casino. She chose not to comment on the bags under his eyes, and he said nothing as he walked passed her to the elevator.

“Has the Oasin returned?” He asks Miss All Sunday, meaning Mr. i’s absence for his last assignment. His subsequent leave for Oasis remains unsaid, along with the hope that he had come back to give Crocodile a piece of his mind like he tried to assert.

The numbers above the elevator blink on and off as they descend obediently. Has it always been so slow?

“No, Sir. I didn’t think he would; isn’t he returning to Oasis?”

He only hums to answer her, worrying the cigar between his lips and listening to Mila bid her manager goodnight.

The casino wasn’t immune to slow days, especially following a holiday, but Crocodile found the lobby empty tonight not because it lacked tourists in gaudy bobbles and wide-brimmed sunhats, but because his spot at the end of the bar was empty.

No scribbling thoughts on napkins while he nursed a single drink for hours.

“Welcome home, Crocodile!”, he would say, cheery and bright, yet the ghost of him was easily shooed away by the bartender wiping the already clean counter.

It wasn’t enough.

He should have gone upstairs and straight to bed.

Instead, he finds himself getting off several floors before his own, among the suites, and down the hall that one year ago he had instructed Miss All Sunday to keep vacant whenever possible. No sense disturbing the other guests if their new asset had to be “removed”.

But the betrayal Crocodile anticipated never came, and he continued to leave the floor vacant to not be seen coming and going, led along by his nose on a plume of perfume and following footsteps in the sand to the last door on the left.

Now he’s come to say goodbye, cursing himself for being too cruel to not come when he was there.

A year wasn’t nearly enough.

He takes the key from his breast pocket and feels every pin of the lock sliding open before stepping inside. The suite is only illuminated by the light from the window, and as he flicks on a lamp he wonders if the smell of bergamot and almonds will ever wash out. An empty pack of cigarettes sits among the undone sheets, beneath the window he closes on an unseasonably cool breeze.

The closet is open, messy as ever, a missing jewelry box and some empty hangers telling him he doesn’t have to look under the bed to know his suitcase is gone too.

Will Oasin linens feel foreign on your body now after a year in suits and furs? Or will they feel like returning home?

The desk is strewn with papers; he had expected more to be taken than what few were missing. Or did you simply let your collection get away from you, filled your suitcase to the brim and not made a dent?

His memory has always been too much, and the image of River folded into his chair, hair bundled to his crown and itching the beginnings of his stubble while he writes draft after draft with his golden pen is too vibrant to touch.

“What is ‘for Pete’s sake’? Who’s Pete?” The memory asks him.

And I said, “What are you going on about now?”

You just laughed, deciding you would take a break from your poetry to research who “Pete” is, before giving up and asking if I would explain to you all the idioms I could think of that made no sense to Oasins.

The memory is clear but fragile, all of his memories of River are, and stepping closer to the desk startles the writer away. Most of the papers splayed out are abandoned drafts, notes, and his finger scratches gently over a blue scribble that reads “When is Croco’s birthday?”, beside another, smushed scribble, “silver polish”.

A year wasn’t enough time for me to learn to love you the way you need. Could I have done it in ten years? Twenty?

He wished they hadn’t met here, so hard his teeth hurt when he thought of how much he would give to be back on his first ship, before his rise, before his failures, and see River standing at port with a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

Are you the captain of this boat? I’m River. I’m on pilgrimage from a Paradise island, but I’m handy with a sword if you have work for me.

He had thought he was out of tears until a single, furious drop was lost in his lashes before it even fell.

You will never know how much you mean to me. But I betrayed you the moment we met, and forced you into my employment for reasons I admit were selfish. Finally, you will return to your little island and realize you should hate me. Oasis will be sparred, as per our agreement. And it will be the last good thing I ever do.

One of the papers runs from him when he means to sit, fluttering to the ground and drawing his eyes to unfamiliar literature. Books stacked beneath the desk and, with further snooping, beneath the bed, titles he didn’t assume River to read, he never showed much interest in history, and no names Crocodile could recall from his invoices.

Island Geography of the Grand Line, Volume 1, A-E. Civil War of Recent Memory. Artificial Rain Production: Peace and Devastation. The Great Warlords of Alabasta. His good hand skims the spines and covers, finding them dusty but legible. Quick thumbing reveals a note, a hastily torn scrap to mark his place, written in his scrawl.

“Dance powder.”

What’s this? What do you know?

His hand grips the book so tight his fingers come away from the aging leather in sunken indents.

Who made you curious?

Plenty of traitors come to mind, especially Miss Wednesday (her investigation ongoing), all made to disappear over months and years to keep his plan moving forward. None of them had been allowed to meet River if he could help it, he had been so careful to keep him safe.

Isolated.

No, safe.

Safe from who? ____ ___ __ _

“After we’re finished here, we’ll come back to the ship, and I’ll have you to port by lunch tomorrow,” Mr. 2 assured him, taking his suitcase with gentle hands.

“Thank you. It means a lot to have you take me,” River said.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. The schedule didn’t line up, and he would have to wait in the port town until the land bridge appeared.

Will I ever come back?

The research had felt fruitless, bombarded by most of Alabasta’s history, and unable to draw parallels to their unprecedented times. The country had always been lush, yet suddenly forsaken by their Gods, doomed to die of thirst and hunger with no written record to draw wisdom or anyone to blame.

Until the dance powder.

A king with no evidence of tyranny, his only lay to opulence the palace he was born in, risking his power—his people—for rain? By a temporary solution proven to cause destruction?

River knew hunger and thirst but, even with his inherited disdain for the king, he struggled to justify the king’s rumored actions by anything other than evil.

But isn’t evil meant to be obvious? How can you hide it?

Stacks of books neglected to give answers to his questions, and no one in town had been willing to talk about such awful circumstances with the local layabout who’s meant to smile and play blackjack—not ask questions. How can they enjoy their holidays if he’s bringing up the suffering of a country they will only see for a few weeks?

Maybe it’s that simple. Kings are evil by design and no one can save Alabasta now. He looked to the sky where Oasis would be if he could see beyond the horizon.

“Those clouds don’t look too good.” He said, pointing to the storm system that skirted the sea off the edge of the island, melting almost unseen into the indigo of a stale sunset.

“They’re headed south... Maybe my island will get some rain.”

“Un, deux—huh? What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mr. 2. We need to go further inland.” He gestured to the map they were given, as bare as their instructions.

‘Enclosed is the location of a house on the western shore of the island. Retrieve any suspicious literature. If not possible to retrieve, destroy all evidence. Do not be seen.’

“What does Mr. 0 want with this?” River said.

The ballerina stopped, more grounded than River could ever recall, having assumed they meant to cheer him up with a joke as they always did. “Don’t look so worried, baby. As long as we work together.”

Regardless, River flicked open the strap on his sword holster, his instincts unwilling to let him ignore the prickling static in the air, the sweat on his spine. “Of course, Mr. 2. I’ve just been anxious lately.”

They squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve been a lot of things lately.”

The night grew darker, their clothes wetter, the longer they walked, joined only by the new moon and the silence left behind by the wildlife asleep in their holes.

“Is that it?” River motioned to a house, more of a shack, beside a pit that might have been a watering hole before the drought, now looking like it might swallow the leaning dwelling with the first stiff wind—consume it the way the drought has eaten everything except agony and rage.

“Look’s like it, Mr. i.”

“You take the front of the house, I’ll go around the back,” River said quietly.

Mr. 2 entered the house with their usual commotion, a threat to all inside that retreat was the better option, but a swift kick to the lock of the back door revealed no danger. No one at all, actually.

“OH—How awful, who even lives this way?” Mr. 2 covered their nose at the stench, the acridity of perpetual neglect. An open window lended the ammonia to unwanted animal activity, mixed with gunpowder and sweat, keeping both agents fighting to not vomit onto the rickety floorboards.

“I’m gonna be sick—” Mr. 2 ran from the house, presumably far away while River wrapped his ascot around his mouth and rooted through sandy belongings with the tip of his boot.

Literature? Evidence of what? There’s nothing here but trash and—

He spotted a clean floorboard among the dry-rotted floor. “You removed the sand when you moved it last,” he said to himself, finding the board ripped easily off it’s trick latch with a firm yank.

He gasped.

That’s a lot of guns.

In varying degrees of disrepair, the haphazard collection of weapons covered a glimpse of something else. Documents? “How many guns does one person need—”

A quiet click rang out in the dark shack, and the press of warm iron against the back of his head made him freeze.

“You Baroque Works?” Came a man’s voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He showed his gloved hands to be empty, but the stranger doubted he was unarmed under his coat and kept the gun pressed to his hair.

A second click, probably a knife, and River was already sizing up the stranger by the amount of sound the floorboards made under his anxious feet. “If I cut that coat off, am I going to find a tattoo that says you’re lying to me?”

“How do you know about our organization?” He listened to the attacker side step, reaching for something? He recalled rope among the trash.

“Miss Saturday made sure word traveled. Though most of us are dead now.”

“She’s dead too,” River reminded him.

“Everyone who follows Crocodile too close ends up that way. It’s just that most of them are pirates and mercenaries so no one thinks anything of it when he goes to work.”

“What is it you want? Information? I only have cash,” he jokes, and the way the gun shakes when the man yells at him makes him wonder if he can haki his skull; he’s never tried.

“SHUT UP—”

From where Mr. 2 had gone to will their stomach to stop swimming, they hear yelling coming from over the dune. “River?”

“—You’re just one of his dogs, I don’t have to keep you alive to bring him down.”

River ducks so hard his brain rattles, and the gun goes off in the wall across from his face. The stranger is armed but ultimately an amateur, he decides, performing no great feat to tackle him to the ground. His weight comes down hard on the other man’s legs and dust flies up in their faces where the floorboards protest.

”Stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself,” River says as his swords press in an ‘X’ over the man’s throat, tight but not bloody, so long as he doesn’t move too much, a threat he hopes will stick.

”I’ll kill you,” the man grunts as he claws at River’s coat with grimy, bandaged hands.

“You said that—stop moving. Let’s talk.”

“I don’t talk to mercenary dogs like you.”

He hesitates for only a second but long enough the man sees him falter, and uses his bigger bulk to buck him off.

River huffs when he lands on his chest. “All right, no talking then—”

WACK. Metal strikes the back of his skull.

River wants to touch his head where he’s sure he’s bleeding but the blows keep coming, the stranger now pressed to his back as he grabs handfuls of his coat for leverage to beat him over and over, harder still.

”Wait, stop—” The pipe hits him again and he feels something in his cheek give, but his patience is what’s beaten to hell as he rears up to grip the stranger by his wrist, feeling the bones creak before he lets go of the pipe with a shout.

Their positions reverse with River holding him down, fingers digging into the back of his neck while he shoves his face into the sandy floor and spits the blood off his teeth.

“I don’t want to hurt you… but you don’t want to talk, you just want to beat me blind.”

“I told you, I’m going to kill you—”

“WHY?!” He presses him harder into the floor, feeling his nails bite even through the gloves.

“Because it’s you or him! Crocodile has done enough to this country, all of his dogs deserve to die!”

He can feel the stranger shaking where he grips him. Or is that me?

“What does that mean? His methods, this company is… criminal, sure, but he’s still a Warlord; he has no motive to harm this country. It’s his business, his power.”

“Every day he lives, this country is one day closer to death.”

”Don’t… don’t give me riddles. Not now.” He lets his hands fall away, but neither man moves.

“What does he have you do for him, huh?” The stranger wheezes quietly where River held him too tight.

“Make collections? Run shipments?” He coughs. “Keep guests spending money at his casino?”

River squints but the stranger doesn’t see him, his eyes are somewhere else, reliving a war River can’t say he understands. “Everything you’ve ever done in his name has contributed to my people’s suffering.”

Your people? “See, now I know you’re fooling; no one controls the weather, certainly not Crocodile.” He pushes off his knees to stand, wishing Mr. 2 would come through the door and help him onto his feet.

“The Sand-Sand man is threatened by water. His men brought the Dance Powder.”

River’s voice feels small even to his own ears. “Shut up.”

“You can’t believe the ‘Hero of Alabasta’ crap, can you? Not when you’re so close—” The fold of his brow makes River want to vomit; he’s tired of people looking at him like that.

Like he’s so naive.

“He’s framed the King—”

“Shut up—”

“He’s using you—”

“Shut up—”

“He keeps us hungry, weak. He’s evil. And you’re his dog—”

“SHUT UP!” His swords fall to the floor but his hands are hard, throwing the man away with a crash that he’s surprised doesn’t obliterate the rickety shack.

His sob hitches in his chest when he manages to breathe.

“I’M NOT A DOG!” His throat burns when he screams. “Does a dog cry when you say it’s useless?! Does a dog care if you were lying when you said you loved them—”

He stops when he receives no interruption.

The man is still where he landed among the debris, eyes almost-closed and drowsy except for the blood that runs from behind his ears and down his neck.

“No,” River chokes out, at his side in an instant to cradle his head, feeling give where there should be none. “No no no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please, don’t—I—Seth, help him. Seth!” His teeth creak where they grit, tasting salt when he struggles to suck in air.

“River!” Mr. 2 steps over the mess in the doorway. They freeze, meeting frantic eyes as River leans posed over the man, blood on his cheeks where he wiped his eyes to see how horrible his world has become.

“What happened?! I heard shouting, and I ran over.” They stoop to press fingers to his neck. “River… River, let go, he’s gone.”

They peel his hand’s away one finger at a time, a large palm on his quivering jaw to force him to meet their eyes.

It wasn’t Bon Clay he saw staring back but someone harder, the person they painted over every morning in their vanity mirror. The one who years ago accepted a job for Baroque Works with delight and said “whatever it is, it’s better than here”.

“You have to breathe, River, or you’re going to hyperventilate. Please, baby, breathe. In… out. Again.”

Air stutters from his lips, eyelids screwed shut squeezing more tears down his cheeks.

“A little better? There you go, you’re going to be okay.” They smiled, and it was the cheery okama who brought him in for a hug, pressing his head tight to their shoulder.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

He opens his mouth but can’t will his aching throat to speak. How do you even say that your world has come crashing down? And you’re helpless to stop it?

“… I know you did what you could. Write up the report tomorrow: we found nothing. And I’ll see you for our next assignment, yeah? The next one will be better.”

More tears fell onto their shoulder, another flinch of a sob in his chest.

Mr. 2 disappears to bury the man properly, mournful they have no name to mark the grave (for whoever came looking for him), and River can hear them speaking over the grave as he rummages to the bottom of the compartment under the floor.

The guns had been laid across rumpled papers, some financial statements, some transcribed conversations that River had no time to study.

Is this what we’ve been sent to destroy?

Are those my letters?

He held back another wave of tears, not this, not again.

‘River! Let’s get to the boat!’ He heard Mr. 2 call from outside.

There’s no time to consider the words of a stranger (no way to ask him anything else). No time to hesitate.

“We were instructed to destroy any documents we found.” Mr. 2’s voice comes from the doorway, and River freezes where he’s dragging stacks of documents from the hole to shove in handfuls into a stained, makeshift sack.

Everything you’ve ever done in his name has contributed to my people’s suffering.

If the dead man spoke the truth, did any else know? Was River the last one to know? He decided the only way this day could get any worse would be to discover Mr. 2 was actually his enemy.

“… I can’t do that.”

Mr. 2 sighs, rubbing one eye like they also wanted to go home. “How many more secrets do you need, River? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t—I don’t know what any of this means, if that man was telling the truth.”

“What did he say? You must have feared for your life or you wouldn’t have…”

River feels his eyes getting hot again. “I can’t tell you—”

“But—”

“Because I’m trying to protect you. Don’t friends protect each other?”

They kneel beside him to cradle his hands in their own. “Who’s going to protect you?”

“I don’t know, but I—we can’t destroy these documents. Please trust me, we can’t—Mr. 2!” River pleads when they step away. He scrambles to gather them in his arms, maybe he could save a few, and halts when another sack landed beside him.

“It’s a trick question: I’m going to protect you.” They flash a winning, toothy grin. “Hurry hurry, baby, pack faster, we have to get back to the boat before the sun comes up.” ____ ___ __ _

On Oasis, the days weren’t usually this quiet.

800 people, even peppered across a small island in pockets of families, made enough noise to compete with the birds and the tide. Someone always needed laundry hung, or help bringing in a mouthy fish, and they relied on community more than food, more than the sky.

But not today.

Parents decided the laundry could wait, hunters held off filling their zeer pots, and children took turns looking out the window to see if the leaders had emerged.

For Claudia, she stood waiting at the edge of the land bridge (there was no market today), while Ines and her leadership decided if they were going to war.

Her aching hands rung the necklace in her fingers while she watched the horizon, the same blue pearls in River’s earrings, now cutting into her fingertips where she couldn’t let go.

20 years ago, she had yelled at him for going off to gather clams for the necklace without telling her, unmoved by the way his lip trembled. She looked down her nose at the young River while he feebly explained he just wanted to find pearls.

Her sister’s words came back to her, the ones she demanded Claudia agree to even as she fought to speak with the contractions crashing over her. After hours in the water, the other mothers were beginning to worry, and she brought Claudia close.

“Listen to me, Claudia... Be kind to him. My River.”

“You sure it’s a boy? You haven’t even met him—”

“Be kind to him. Be kind to Joel.”

Claudia nodded, barely, and the two sisters ate around the fire that night with a veil of embarrassment when Sofia laughed at how close she came to death. Joel didn’t find it as funny as she did, soothed only by the sleeping baby in his arms.

“You sure we can’t name him Joel the second?”

‘No.’ Both sister’s barked at him.

Be kind to River.

Claudia looked down at the little boy struggling not to cry, quiet hiccups in his chest, and a guilt began to constrict around her heart.

“Let’s go swimming. Would you like that? And we can look for clams tomorrow, together.”

Esai and Ines were already at the shore, and River wasted no time leaping into the waves after his friend, leaving a trail of linens that Claudia huffed as she picked up and shook one by one.

“You’re hard on him,” Ines said from beside her.

For a young woman playing mother, who had hoped never to have children of her own and, still grieving the loss of her sister and brother-in-law, she was at least self-aware to flush at being seen through. “Of course, I am. He’s wild; he needs a firm hand to raise him right.”

“He’s not wild,” Ines laughed, soft and kind. “He’s a little boy. A boy who needs love more than anything, so he can look back on this as ‘Claudia always told me to stay in the shallows because she loves me’, and not ‘Claudia never let me do anything fun’.”

She blushed even darker under the older woman’s confident grin. “Then how do you suggest I go about being more loving?”

“I never said I knew how to do it, just that you should. Every child’s different, you have to figure it out.” Ines settled down into the sand to close her eyes, her hard work finished, it seemed.

Claudia turned back to the sea with a scoff. Their two boys bobbed in the shallow water with smiles, Esai using his greater bulk to lift River from the waves and toss him, the latter landing on his belly with a cutoff shriek.

He flinched, sensing he was being watched, and turned to Claudia with slumped shoulders.

“Sorry, Claudia! I’ll be more careful!”

Be kind to River. “No, Esai, it’s fine! Actually, how far can you throw him?” She smiled, mischievous, and River pawed his soaked bangs from his eyes.

“What?!”

“Yeah, how much do you weigh anyway?!” Esai shouted back. He dove under the water to attack from below, snatching River up with a war cry to meet his warble of terror.

Ines and Claudia laughed from the shore. “That’s a start,” the former said.

“I suppose if it’s Esai, its fine,” Claudia said.

“Like I said, it’s a start.”

Easy to smile. Kind eyes. That ink-dark hair, and a smudge of birthmark on your left shoulder that I never told you matches your mother’s.

You laugh like him, he always laughed too loud and squeezed his eyes shut like his belly hurt. I can see that Sofia’s eyes are yours now, and when you’re older you might think they’re too soft on a man’s face. But it’s Joel’s face, his voice, and your mother’s stars in your eyes when you tell me about a book I don’t really understand.

It’s just the two of us now. I know I’m not the mother you wanted, but I will give everything I have, everything I am to be the mother you need. For Sofia. For Joel.

For you, River.

“The sun’s going down.”

Esai’s voice startled her from her reminiscing, her grip finally softening on the necklace that left lines on her hands. “He said today.”

“I know, Claudia. I know.” His hand hovered in the space between them, wondering if she would let him comfort her.

“Nothing on the den… den mushi? No letters?”

He wanted to tell her River was fine, but it felt wrong to tell her what might be a lie when she was already hurting. “You know how River is, he’s dumb.” That’s worse, that’s worse.

“Esai—!”

“I know, I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry. I really don’t know how to…” He scratched his neck, willing to admit to himself he was as rubbish at making people feel better as Claudia.

“The leaders have made their decision,” he said finally. “I’m taking 35 of us to Yuba to fight in the rebellion. We’ve written a letter to the resistance leader that will hopefully precede us.”

“That’s so many—Ines agreed to this?”

“If I’m going to lead us one day, I need to be willing to make any sacrifice… And I want to know what happened to River too. Maybe from the mainland I can finally give you answers.”

She let him hug her, embracing him in turn as she reached to rub the nape of his short hair.

“Ramon is going with me.”

Her back tensed against his palms. “No way Ines agreed to that. Are you sure? He’s a leader, there must be some rule against it.”

“He’s our strongest Temple user, and he volunteered. Said how can he face his children anymore if he doesn’t fight for them?”

“They’ll be the ones to suffer if he doesn’t come home.”

“He’s made up his mind, and I’ll make sure he comes home. Make sure River comes home.” ____ ___ __ _

“I’m closing up for the night,” a street food vendor called out to River as he passed. “Have you had supper? Last chance, traveler.”

He considered the time, adjusting his grip on his suitcase. “Well, you talked me into it. What do you have, sir?”

“You’ll love it.” The man piled his plate high with the last of the night’s stock, and River wondered how many Alabastans would go hungry tonight because they didn’t live in the tourist’s city.

“You coming or going?” The man nodded to River’s suitcase as he wiped his hands.

“I had planned to go, but plan’s change,” he blew on his food, still wincing when hot sauce splattered on his lip.

“I hear that. Welcome back to Rainbase.”

He paused the food on it’s way to his mouth, the hair on his neck standing up when he thought of the casino down the street, the suitcase beside his feet.

“For now.” ____ ___ __ _

“River. Shouldn’t you be across the country by now?” Miss All Sunday asked as he entered the lobby, a genuine gape of surprise on both of their faces.

Can she see my guilt on my face? That I’m more of a liability now more than ever?

“Are you all right? River?”

He backed away from the hand she extended towards him, only heightening her worry. “I’m filthy—exhausted.”

Not a lie, at least. “I need to lie down… Goodnight, Ro—Miss Manager.”

She turned to watch him go to the elevator, his head swiveling around and gripping his suitcase until she could see his knuckles through his gloves.

He never got her name wrong in front of the guests; it was always something she liked about him, his attention to her wishes.

Upstairs, he dropped his key twice before getting into the lock, and his hands froze when the hammer didn’t slide free.

Already unlocked.

I’m sure I locked it. Of all days, I locked it today, I know it.

He swallowed against the sting of his throat, his instincts hammering in his chest to run, out of Alabasta, passed Oasis, somewhere where there were no kings and the water was cool.

Someone was in his apartment.

And yet he found himself turning the knob, his heart willing his body to move when his head only wanted to go home.

A familiar tobacco cloud drifted out into the hall, and the headiness of the smell told River the intruder had also closed his window.

“Crocodile?”

He sits at the desk, ankle propped on one knee as he reads one of the books from River’s shelf. He doesn’t acknowledge the door but it’s not strange, and River feels his shoulders relax to see him acting like the past couple days were all one long, horrible dream.

But he can’t see the notes on the desk, the papers now organized after Crocodile read every single one to determine how much of his plans were running around in the fool’s brain. Turns out very little existed in the suspicious notes, nothing but his aching soul in the memos of a man he mistrusted again when there was none.

You weren’t meant to come back here. I don’t know if I can take it.

But he can’t restrain himself from seeing him. “Are you hungry? I can ring the kitchen for—”

Crocodile doesn’t finish his statement, and River doesn’t fight his stare. He lets himself be caught by the intrusive thought of black eyes in blue water, the moment you know you’ve wandered too close to a predator, and you know it sees you too.

For all the untruths River tells by saying nothing or insisting he’s fine, Crocodile couldn’t manage to make a liar out of him, and he can’t make any kind of excuse for the tears in his eyes, or the pattering drips of his heart leaking onto the floor.

Those golden eyes, warm only moments ago, are suddenly boiling—threatened—seeing the proof on his face that a fundamental truth has shifted between them.

“What happened out there, in the desert?”

River’s tongue lay immobile in his mouth, the quivering of his diaphragm keeping him breathless, lest he try to breathe and be unable to exhale.

Crocodile stands waiting for his answer, watching the dumb flap of his lips when he can’t bring himself to speak, deception by omission.

Did you ever think the light would burn, my love?

His aching soul stands before him, all his love, his pain smeared across his cheeks in hot tears, and Crocodile steels himself to remember that killing him, widening the hole in his chest with the bloody hook he tried to spare him, had always been an option.

“What will you do?”