#but everyone keeps leaving the match before i can commend them & not bothering to commend anyone else before they go

[runawayfuture]

really un-butters my toast how no one wants to give commendations in gambit right now

[astaroth1357]

The MC is a Valkyrie

Demigod MC Series: Intro

Greek: Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia, Nyx

Norse: Valkyrie

A bit of a change of pace this time! No worries, I'm not done with the Greeks or anything. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out. 

Valkyries aren't really demigods, but are a part of Norse myth as the minor divinities that help choose and deliver fallen warriors to Valhalla to join the ranks of the einherjar (the souls who will fight when Ragnarok comes). Valkyries are depicted as women who are fierce warriors in their own right. Despite their place as the gatekeepers of the Chosen, they've been said to sometimes take heroes and mortals as lovers or take residence in Midgard posing as daughters of royals/nobility. 

Lucifer 

At first, they thought they grabbed an heiress - which would have been bad enough - but then the MC grew wings, drew a spear, and asked who among them wanted a glorious death...

How hard is it to find ONE damn human on Earth? Isn't that realm supposed to be full of them??

Diavolo was thankfully able to talk their winged friend down from skewering Asmo and accepting the exchange on behalf of the human wo-… Midgard. 

Living with a Valkyrie is different for sure. The MC is a proud woman who takes her role very seriously and she's seemingly deemed him and his brothers as candidates for einherjar (despite being demons).

He's tried many, many times to explain to her that they're not interested, but she's unconvinced. Now the MC watches his brothers like a hawk waiting to cart one of them off to Valhalla! Any mortal wound could be an excuse...

He's had to save Beel and Satan twice from getting dragged to that infernal palace… For whatever reason, she seems to have taken to them the most. Is it old Norse culture to favor the brash and strong? He has no idea...

At the very least, she knows better than to try to drag him into her little plans. Though he's sure he could qualify for the einherjar (obviously, why wouldn't he?) he has no interest in leaving his life here behind.

To think he'd actually have to put surveillance on his own brothers for their safety… But they're not going to get drafted into some ancient Norse war, not if he can help it.

Mammon 

She’s an heiress… An heiress!!

Well, her human world identity is an heiress to a well-respected (and rather magical) rich family but that still technically counts! She’s crazy loaded back there! He’s in love!!

The only problem is that in the Devildom she doesn’t have a cent.

… and the fact that she keeps trying to get him killed. That’s also a problem.

In a way, things are not as bad and exactly as bad as that sounds. The MC apparently wants him to go to Valhalla (dope) but she can’t just take him there… He technically has to die in some kind of “vallent battle” first.

Her solution? Pick fights with nearly anything that moves and drag him into it!

Honestly, it’s pretty annoying… Sometimes he just wants to have a fun night out without getting into a barfight, you know??

At least the MC can handle herself… Hell, he was her "babysitter" but she barely even needed him. A lesser demon once made the bad idea of trying to cup her ass and lost a hand for his trouble…

Though, what this amounts to is the MC starting something then fighting alongside him like back-to-back badasses while looking for any excuse to scoop him up and fly him to Asgard!

Why does he put up with this? Well for starters human world rich is still rich, all he has to do is get himself a portal then he's living the high life! And secondly, well… what's the harm?

Sure, she technically wants him dead but he's the secondborn! The list of people who can take him down is so slim that it's not like he's in any danger. She even fights with him so things are a piece of cake!

Is this a case where he's 100% more forgiving because she's rich? Yes. Absolutely. But a golddigger's gotta eat somehow, right?

Leviathan 

Is it weird to be jealous over someone not wanting you to die...?

Okay, that's an oversimplification but Levi can’t help but feel snubbed that the MC doesn’t have any interest in taking him to Asgard. Like, none! And why not??

He’s strong! He’s tough! He’s part snake too! Don’t the Nords have a thing about that? Like, there’s a giant snake they’re all worried about?? Maybe he could communicate with it!

Logically, Levi knows that he really shouldn’t press her on this… MC is pretty much a Grim Reaper with a Norse coat of paint and Asgard doesn’t really sound like his speed. No anime, no video games, not even cable! It’s just eat, train, and drink all day… Ew.

But still… What makes him an odd one out? 

At best, she just knows he wouldn't be happy there. At worst, she's underestimating his skill… or maybe she's gauged him just right? He's always known he was weak!! 😫

Oh well... at least she's not a bore to be around. Far from it. She treats EVERYTHING like a life or death trial - he's pretty sure that if he challenged her to rock, paper, scissors she'd commend him for his bravery and swear on her sisters that she won't lose.

He once made the mistake of inviting her and Simeon for a game of Devil Party and they both got so into it that they nearly had a duel to the death as a tiebreaker… 

Thank Devil that the game had a pre-programmed minigame for that kind of thing… It would have gotten messy otherwise.

Well, even if his other brothers go to Asgard, he can just chill out here with Lucifer and Asmo… right…? Actually, no, that sounds horrible! MC, he changes his mind!! Take him too!!! 😭

Satan 

How many times does he have to say that he doesn’t want to go to Asgard?!?

Well, okay that’s not entirely true. Out of scientific curiosity, seeing the godly realm of the old Nords would be fascinating but he doesn’t want to stay, which the MC seems to have trouble understanding…

He’s not even sure why she's singled him out for einherjar status… Any one of his brothers are powerful beings in their own right and he’s not particularly, uh, “even-tempered” himself...

His best guess is she saw him wipe out a handful of lesser demons at some point and declared him Ragnarok material. He always ends up throwing around at least three of those idiots a week so checks out… 

If he's being honest, her very existence raises so many questions… Does this mean that Ragnarok is real? Will the human world be swallowed up by the sea? Will the gods of Asgard fight and die as a new world is established? When??

Unfortunately, the MC won't tell him when it all will come to pass (he suspects even she doesn't know) just that Loki will trigger it… Someone keep tabs on that guy.

Until then, he just has to put up with her attempts to convince him but his patience is wearing thin… He's pretty sure he threw a bookshelf at her once but she caught it anyway so yeah...

He did challenge her to a proper duel too but… well let's say she's a Valkyrie for a reason and leave it at that. (Being saved by Lucifer was so humiliating… He's done here, move on already!!)

Asmodeus

First things first, she's gorgeous. Beautiful! Divine! (Literally 🤭)

Now that that's out of the way… She may also have a screw or two loose.

Like, he gets it. She's a Valkyrie and snapping up strong souls is her thing but come on… Mammon? Really? Why would he get into Valhalla instead of him, huh??

Why can't he get to go to the beautiful afterlife of the old Norse with all their strapping warriors, lovely maidens, and endless partying?? It's not fair!!

Ugh… and now she's got him sounding like LEVI! How frustrating…

Well, it may not be that bad. According to MC, he'd have to do battle training in Valhalla and that wouldn't really agree with his beauty routine. Like dirt, sweat, blood, and muscles? No thanks! Not for him.

He asked MC if he could get some kind of pass, but no dice… Maybe he could still convince her to let him vacation there… Or go for a visit? Just one? Surely that couldn't be so bad right?? He's heard that Thor looks NOTHING like people think he does and he's so curious!!

The closest he's ever gotten was challenging the MC to a fashion contest for a visit, but he dropped that idea quick when she proposed that they somehow include a wrestling match in the dressing room (and he knows she didn't mean the fun kind...)

As much as he'd love to get skin-to-skin with MC, the idea of getting locked in a chokehold was less appealing for some reason. 🤔

Ah well, he'll just have to make due admiring her wonderful body clothed for the time being… There's something to be said about muscular ladies, no?

Beelzebub 

So she’s almost convinced him to join the einherjar like twice now…

He’s not the best at making decisions when he’s hungry and the MC keeps hyping up the food… Apparently it’s really good up there and MC says that she’s never seen an empty platter... Just thinking about it makes his stomach do backflips.

Thankfully for him, Lucifer usually steps in before Beel can sign his soul away and reminds him that he can’t just abandon the family for a meal, even if it is a feast.

You'd think he'd be annoyed but Beel isn't really bothered by her habit of trying to bring everyone to Asgard. At least not on a personal level.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't want to see his family broken up so he'd rather she wouldn't… But she's a Valkyrie right? It's what she does. It's not like she can help it.

In a weird way, he also thinks she means well. She just respects them and wants them to have a good afterlife. It would be kind of sweet if they didn't have to die for it first…

If he's being honest, he's not that worried about it anyway. His family is pretty tough, not a lot in the Devildom can take them down. As long as they're careful, everybody should be alright. 🙂

Maybe he could get MC to make some Valhallan food for them in the Devildom… Or he could get one of those immortality apples?? Though those would extend his life wouldn't they…? Oh well...

Belphegor 

Belphie's attempt to kill the MC went something like this:

Belphie: *switches to his demon form* "I can't believe you actually trusted me!"

MC: *blinks* "Oh. So you want to challenge me then?"

Belphie: "What?"

MC: "Ah, now I see! You want to fight to prove your valor then die by my hand??"

Belphie: "What are yo-??"

MC: *summons wings and golden spear* "I like your spunk, demon!! Fight me with all you have and perhaps I'll take you to Valhalla! May you join us in our fight as a brother!!"

Belphie: "What the hell are you talking about!?!"

To his credit, he put up a good fight and probably would have gotten into Asgard if Lucifer hadn't intervened to save his life.

It can be said that the MC's Valkyrie-hood took Belphie completely by surprise. Sure, he thought she was a little weird for a "human" but challenging him to a duel to the death? That came out of nowhere!

His uneasiness about her only grew after he found out that she's been literally trying to get Beel killed! How in the world were his brothers so relaxed about this?? She's insane!!

So say what you will about the MC, but she's managed to do the impossible. She got Lucifer and Belphie to make up and work together on something! (i.e. making sure she doesn't send them all to their deaths)

Between Lucifer monitoring his brothers and Belphie watching the MC, they'll keep everybody in the Devildom where they belong. That's a promise!

[tendoki]

yesss you write for the loml tendou 🥺 but could you write something where tendou s/o gets jealous and is kinda in a sour mood the whole day but after when he peeps she jealous he comforts her 🥺🥺

GREEN EYED MONSTER - pt 1

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🥺 i decided to do this in 2 parts! i hope you like it! the last time i wrote something like this was a villain y/n fic for mha so it was a bit weird writing something a bit tamer lol. i tried not to make the girl flirting with Tendou too unlikeable, but i dunno how well ive done with that? there is gonna be a part two! hope you enjoy :)

Please let me know what i can do to improve!! i need critiscm to grow :((

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TENDOU SATORI

-> genre: mild angst

-> warnings: jealousy, very very mild mentions of violence(?), dark thoughts (could be considered intrusive? not sure)

edited, let me know if you see any mistakes though :)

PART 2

You never had been very subtle. Though not an open book, you had always thought it was simply more polite to keep your grievances to yourself, more appropriate to leave your thoughts for those that asked to hear them.

But you were beginning to lose your patience.

After the match against Karasuno, and your schools consequent defeat, things had been different at Shiratorizawa. Not enough that it shook you to your core, but certainly concerning. A new person had entered the wolves (or eagles?) den that was the gym, and they had plopped themselves right in the middle of it, snuggling up as close as your boyfriend would let them.

The two of you had spoken in passing, and really, there wasnt anything to be worried about. The girl was a newly transferred first year, what she felt for your boyfriend was just puppy love, something sure to pass when the next guy piques her interest. This didnt stop you from watching her though, during the match, you had seen how the aspiring manager had gawked at Tendou, and while part of you felt proud, a deeper, uglier side of your psyche seemed to activate.

「you're the only one who should be looking at him like that, she has no business openly drooling over sold meat.」

You brushed it off, of course; scolding yourself for thinking of him so possessively. You had always prided yourself on your ability to adapt, and if this kids fleeting crush on your Tendou, was something you had to adjust to, then you'd do just that.

That was of course, before the match had ended.

A flash of fabric and a squeal was the only warning you got, before she had pulled him into a hug.

You were fine. The minor jealousy over this stupid little phase your kouhai had found herself indulging in was immature, and hopefully, not noticeable in the slightest.

But, as previously stated, you never were one for subtelty.

You knew your boyfriend wasn't to blame for how... affectionate the girl was, but seeing someone else's arms wrapped around his waist, watching as she burrowed into your Tendou's chest; something dark stirred within you.

「you could do something about this, you know? you could march over there, teach her a lesson if you really wanted. isnt it killing you? it only takes a few seconds, grab her by the collar and pull her away. reclaim what's yours, remark your territory.」

You had no control over how dark your gaze had gotten, you were ignorant to the silence encasing the gym. Your focus was stuck on the sight of him, with her. He was looking at you, a wide-eyed, tense. He was uncomfortable with her, scared to push her away but unwilling to reciprocate.

Calmly, you stood, laying your notebook where you had sat; and walked out, telling the team, your team, the voice seemed to taunt, that you were heading off early. It seemed your wonderful guest had taken notice of her own behaviour and its implications, as you heard her voice rushing to apologise for hugging him so suddenly.

「that's not what she sounded like when you were talking to her. shes putting it on to sound cute for Tendou, what if he's falling for it?」

You don't bother responding to those thoughts as you pull out your earphones and begin blast whatever nonsense your shaking fingers could tap first.

After you had left, the whole volleyball team had shared a look of 'Fuck'. The girl, stuttering out apologies with batting lashes didnt seem to pick up on the tension in the room; not noticing the dilemma she had inadvertently put the object of her affections in.

Tendou had no idea what he should do in this situation. He had been shocked enough when you had confessed to him, the idea of two girls being interested in him at the same time was something unfathomable. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he spoke,

"It's uh, fine. Practice is usually done around now so you can uh, start packing up and making your way home, right?"

His junior pouted at this, shyly admitting that, "actually, I was sorta hoping we could walk together". She was embarrassed, shifting her weight between her feet, and Tendou was cringing. Before he could respond, Ushijima stepped in, telling the girl to leave and that they would consider her application of assistant manager.

Before she left, Tendou watched as she tore out a corner of your notebook, writing her number and handing it to the frozen male. No words were spoken of what just occurred, the whole team sharing bewildered stares, eyes darting back and forth from the slip of paper, to Tendou, to your abandoned managerial notebook.

When Tendou got home that night, he thought about messaging you, or calling to check up on how you were doing. You had never been a particularly jealous partner, he had friends and you had your own, generally, you were fairly accepting and cool with most attention your boyfriend would receive. But everyone had a limit, and he saw how you had hit yours, it wasnt something he could blame you for, his own history with jealousy taught him that it was an awful, invasive feeling, and the fact that you had left as to avoid confrontation with a girl you knew had no chance 'stealing' from you, was commendable.

School the next day was a ride.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 54

Finally, we are here. The last scene of Season 1. There will be some huge changes coming, or at least they feel huge to me. But none of that will come until after this scene, so let me get out of the way so everyone can read...

“It has been too long, old friend,” Ix’s disembodied voice stated from where it now rose from his autogolem body.

Sonic could barely tell as a blast of energy from Rosy had sent him tumbling and he had not quite righted himself yet. As he attempted to, he heard Ix continue.

“My apologies for being so long in waking you. It took some time to learn what had happened after my own shameful defeat. Though, I owe a great deal to the foreign Ring Mage and the Medium who serves as your present, unworthy host.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Pir’Oth,” Rosy, but clearly not Rosy comforted the autogolem. “I have grown rather attached to this Medium. She has been touched by so many of my brethren. It is exhilarating to see so pitiable a Medium so touched by them. The Gaia Twins, The God of Destruction. Illumina. Even Solaris has touched her. I can hardly fathom what makes this girl so special, but she is. That, and she is far from one who appreciates boredom. She has a love of entertainment to merely match my own. I may even keep her once I’ve recovered my own body.”

“Not happening…”

“Oh~? Did you still have something to say, Dirt Dweller?”

“I have plenty to say,” Sonic grunted as he forced himself to his feet. “But the only thing you need to hear is ‘let her go’.”

“You do not realize your position,” Ix interceded on behalf of the entity that possessed Rosy. “You are but a frail, meaningless mortal. My old friend is the one and only rightful ruler of this world.”

“I doubt it,” Sonic spat as he noticed a giant Red Star appear at the center of the sphere, the bottom loosing form and becoming a cloud of Rings. Still, he pressed on. “I heard you name a lot of familiar faces a moment ago. Believe it or not, but a couple I’ve helped and made pretty good friends with, and a couple more I had to stop from destroying the world. Can you guess who’s still standing?”

“You expect me to believe that, Dirt Dweller?” the entity that possessed her scoffed at Sonic’s claims. turning Rosy’s now red right eye and Gear Star Ring iris left eye onto Sonic,

“I’m guessing you’re controlling her via a Ring Bond,” Sonic surmised as he started to walk towards Rosy, even as the ground beneath him began to lose its supports as they turned to Rings. “But you didn’t touch her memories at all, or you would have noticed. She watched me fight Chaos, and she believed I could beat Dark Gaia. Or maybe it’s just because Rings in the lands under that troublesome egg in the sky absorb people’s memories so her memories aren’t there for you to pic at.”

“You are surprisingly wise, Dirt Dweller,” the entity commended Sonic. “But I can make a Ring Bond with you and silence you in an instance, no less gain all of your memories. After all, they seem to be unnaturally intact. I never would have believed there were any who could resist my mastery of the Rings. Still, even through this vessel it will be no problem dealing with a simple, boastful, Dirt Dweller.”

Spinning up from the rapidly growing cloud of Rings and Ring Gates, a single Ring presented itself between Rosy and Sonic. The smirk on Rosy’s face deepened the scowl on Sonic’s and entertained the entity that possessed her. Still, Sonic walked forward unfaltering. It bothered Ix as he had seen the speeds Sonic could run at.

“Perhaps it would be best if we simply eliminated him now, Benedict,” Ix suggested, and at last gave a name to the entity possessing Rosy.

“And where would the fun in that be Pir’oth,” Benedict laughed through Rosy. “This Dirt Dweller, he is so fun I may yet let him flounder. It has been too long that I’ve slept, and to be greeted by so perfect a gift. I can hardly discard it so readily.”

“Then I shall devote myself to planning your awakening ready for this one’s challenge,” Ix held from arguing and turned to enter a Ring Gate that awaited him. He kept his blue glowing eyes on Rosy a moment longer though. “I will not allow your need for pleasure to keep you asleep any longer. The world shall know once more of the name Emperor Benedict Yoluku of the Empire of the Ring. Stay well old friend, I hope to see you once more, far sooner than later.”

“And now he’s gone and ruined the surprise,” Yoluku laughed, watching Ix disappear through a Ring. Surprise came to Rosy’s face as Yoluku turned his attention back to Sonic. “Oh? Is there something amusing.”

“Don’t mind me,” Sonic snickered, even as he held a tight smirk. “I just didn’t realize how accurate I was. Benedict? Yolk? Come on, you’re like a breakfast food, Eggs Benedict.”

“Ah, so the Dirt Dweller has a sense of humor.”

“I bet you look like an egg too, don’t you,” Sonic pressed, obviously agitating Yoluku. “Well, you know, or I guess you don’t since she’s missing her memories, but scrambling eggs is my specialty.”

Stopping before the Ring Yoluku had summoned, Sonic casually collected it. “A foolish move, Dirt Dweller. That was your last link to this precious girl. Soon the floor shall fall out from under you and you’ll be helpless to take her back. Unless that is how you foreign Dirt Dwellers beg for mercy. It’s so hard to say. It has been ages since the concept of foreigners could even be had. Little matter, I accept this girl as your gift and will let you fall to where the Rings may take you.”

Sonic had not been paying attention to the fact that Rosy had been floating this whole time, but it was impossible to ignore when she floated down to the walkway he was standing on, the whole thing turning to Rings at the touch of her feet leaving him with nowhere left to stand. Naturally, he fell helplessly.

“How boring,” Yoluku remarked, a look of disappointment weighing down Rosy’s normally cheerful features. “I suppose I shouldn’t have let his boasting get my hopes up.

“Guh!?”

The sound of collected Rings reached Yoluku far after he felt a gloved hand take Rosy’s wrist. He hadn’t expected it at all. And turned to look with Rosy’s eyes through a Ring into Sonic’s emerald eyes, stunned by the surprise he felt. “A Light Speed Dash? Performed by a mere dirt dweller?”

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises,” Sonic smirked as the Ring he held burst into motes of golden lights.

“Yet you are still a fool, Dirt Dweller. There is nothing you can accomplish by making a Ring Bond with me. I shall dominate it and make you my servant.”

“Who says I was making one with you, Eggs? I’m making one with Amy, and you’re too late to stop me.”

“What can you possibly offer her that would be a threat to me, Dirt Dweller?”

“If you could see her memories, then you’d know that even Dark Gaia couldn’t dominate me.”

With Rosy’s widening eyes, Yoluku realized he was bested, and laughed as Sonic spoke to Rosy. “Impossible”

“It’s time to wake up, rascal,” Sonic gently whispered to Rosy and watched her right iris return to the shade of blue that always reflected him. He still had a few last words for Yoluku however as he saw the Gear Star Ring still turning in Rosy’s eyes. “And don’t think I’m done with you either, Eggs. I’ll find a way up to you and put a stop to this foul Ring Bond myself.”

“I welcome the challenge,” a youthful, pleasant, and cheerful voice greeted Sonic from the Rings. “I have not had this much fun in ages. I look forward to seeing all of the ways you two entertain me for your short little lives, Dirt Dweller!”

~Maybe I hear voices in the darkness. But Sonic shared something with me in that Ring Bond. And not just the ability to resist the will of the gods, which is so strange. I’ve never resisted them so openly before. I can only wonder how that will affect my relationship with my cards. But it’s so hard to tell right now. There was something else in that Ring Bond from Sonic. It’s so, so warm. But I can hardly focus at all. I can barely see Sonic, or the red glowing eyes behind him. I think they’re supposed to be familiar. I can feel myself getting scared, but they also feel so much like Sonic. But Sonic seems to recognize them. I can hear his voice, and maybe it sounds scary too.~

“I should have known there would be one last troublemaker to come and crash my party crashing. Heh, and all things considered, I should have expected you sooner.”

~I’m too lost in Sonic’s warmth to hear the name he says. That’s okay. I know this is the real Sonic in this warmth. And for once, I think he’s willingly engulfing me in it. Tee-hee~♥ A shame I can’t enjoy it, just a little… longer…

~…~    

Scene 54 · CLEARED Party Crashing & Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Season 1, End

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And that’s that. Season 1 is over. Hooray!

\(^o^)/

With celebrating out of the way, I do have to admit that I am exhausted. It was a daunting project to start with, but with several idea changes and honestly discarding my original ideas for The Journey to try and be more welcoming to everyone who has been following my AU. Now though, with everything set up, the other characters addressed as being out there, and establishing Sonic’s main goal, I can finally start to make The Journey what I originally imagined.

What is that you ask? The original idea to The Journey was to tell a story with only Sonic and Rosy. An unending road trip that explores the dynamic of Sonic and Amy and how they can work together as characters, friends, traveling companions, and even as boyfriend girlfriend, all without sacrificing their individual characters. It’s an even more massive undertaking for an amateur writer like me, but the smaller cast of characters and a more focused, yet also more open approach I’ll be taking should hopefully make it easier for me to nail. Or as close I can.

I hope everyone will continue to stick with me on this journey, even as the other characters become more of an occasional background element. Of course, if you want more out of them than that, I’ll be opening prompts again when it is time to start expanding the world of the story again. I may have my own plans, but Sonic Ring Bond is a communal AU. So please, come join me on the next leg of the Journey!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra and every one of you! Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Fuse Man Stage (Arranged) – Yoshiya Terayama – MEGAMAN 11 Original Soundtrack

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[editorbea]

Cling To Each Other Chapter 5

I’m trying out a new way of uploading these to tumblr! I’m trying to write this consistently, but I’m also trying to-- y’know-- not fail every one of my classes. Bad excuse, I know. Hope you lot enjoy!

AO3

Warnings: None

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

The next several hours were entirely uneventful, which would have been nice if it wasn’t for the whirlwind in Fundy’s head. It didn’t help that Techno had seemingly turned him the cold shoulder. The Piglin hybrid sat on his bed, facing the wall, entirely engrossed in his reading, red blanket draped loosely about his shoulders.

It wasn’t that Fundy couldn’t understand where Techno was coming from. He understood hostility, the holding of grudges, the breaking of trust, it was all familiar waters. What he couldn’t understand was the inability to push all of that aside for the sake of pure decency.

How far would you have to be pushed to do that to someone? To hate someone so much that you would take their life before helping them? Fundy pushed the thoughts down. It didn’t matter, anyway. He wouldn’t have to find out.

Fundy had no plans to fight.

Screw Techno. Screw stupid humans and their stupid cities and their penchants for causing pain. He hated every last one of them. He was going to leave and never come back.

Unfortunately, that seemed easier said than done.

He stood, stretching, his mattress making an obnoxious creaking noise as he got up. Techno seemed to tense at the sudden noise, but didn’t turn to look at him. Fundy approached the bars, placing his forehead against them, staring out into the cell block. He remembered from his few ventures into the block that the cells were somewhat staggered, placed at intervals back and forth across both walls, but if he got close enough to the bars he could see both of the cells across the room to the left and right. He couldn’t see any residents, though. He mentally jotted down a reminder to check if there was anyone in either cell.

“What are you looking at?” Techno’s low voice cut through the silence, making Fundy jump.

“The other cells.”

“What for?”

Fundy turned, scowling at Techno’s back. “Maybe I’m looking for a conversation partner.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

He sat down on his bed with a bit more force than was probably necessary. Techno’s unshakable-ness might have been an act, but the monotony that he seemed to surround himself with was certainly irritating.

Somewhat disconcerting, too.

“You’re hard to talk to.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Fundy swung his feet back and forth, scuffing the toes of his boots on the cement in a rhythmic stutter. “Don’t you have emotions?”

After a beat of silence, Techno let out a long sigh and turned to look at Fundy over his shoulder. “We have a conversation. You don’t like what I have to say. You snap at me. I take this as an indication that you no longer want to talk. Four hours later, you try to strike up conversation again. Do you see why I’m avoiding you? Avoiding this?” He gestured vaguely between himself and Fundy.

Fundy scowled down at his hands, picking at a nail to avoid looking at Techno. He felt bad for snapping, but it seemed justified. In fact, it still seemed justified. He wasn’t sure quite why he felt bad-- it wasn’t like he owed Techno any particular kindness.

Then again, he could have easily been worse to Fundy. He had shown him around, walked him through his first day, talked to him after he had a nightmare (as desperately irritating as that had been).

“So what do you want me to say?” Techno turned back to the wall. “I’ll leave you alone. It’s no skin off my back.”

“Your hair,” Fundy said suddenly.

Well, that certainly got his attention. Techno turned back around, raising one eyebrow. “My hair?”

“I like… your hair.” Fundy could feel his inner organs melting from embarrassment. He hadn’t really meant to say it, but he was looking for something, anything, to keep Techno talking. The silence in the cell felt oppressive. Heavy.

“Thank you?” Techno’s attention was now fully focused on Fundy, dark eyes glinting in the dingy lantern light.

“I mean-- the braid.” Fundy motioned dumbly to Techno’s head. “Did you do it yourself?”

Techno’s bewildered expression had thawed somewhat, settling into an expression of barely-concealed fondness. “Yeah.”

Words died in Fundy’s mouth, and her looked back down at his hands. He cursed his mind for being so incapable of conversation, but he supposed that was just a side effect of being a forest-bound recluse. Say something, anything-

“Want me to teach you?”

Fundy’s gaze snapped up, back to Techno, whose mouth had turned up slightly at one corner.

“Yes- yeah. Yeah, that would be cool.”

Techno climbed out of his bed, sitting down on the floor. Fundy copied him, sitting on the cold cement cross-legged. Techno carefully extracted a part of his hair, pulling it free from the braid and letting it hang down in front of his face. “So you start by sectioning it into three parts--”

He showed Fundy the left-over-middle-right-over-middle pattern, doing it a couple times until Fundy insisted he had the hang of it, then let Fundy try. The first few times, he messed up, hopelessly knotting Techno’s hair, but after the fourth or fifth attempt, he got the pattern down, painstakingly threading his pink hair into a tiny braid.

“Not bad,” Techno commended, his smile just big enough to show the tips of his sharp teeth.

“That takes forever,” Fundy complained, massaging his fingers, which were tingling from keeping the braid pinned in place.

“Not if you’ve got practice,” Techno replied, leaning back against the side of his bed.

“Okay, then you do it.” Fundy did the same, stretching his neck. His back was already stiff from sitting on the floor, but he didn’t really mind. As obnoxiously meticulous it was, Fundy liked braiding Techno’s hair. The constant pattern and looping of the hair made his brain quiet down into a comfortable hum.

Techno squinted at Fundy for a moment, as if deciding whether to take out his braid to prove his intolerable cellmate wrong was worth it, before sighing, pulling the rubber band out of his hair and letting his hair tumble free.

Fundy’s eyes widened a bit as Techno shook out his hair and combed his hands through it. Out of the braid, his hair was even longer. If he was standing up, Fundy would have guessed it would’ve fallen to his waist.

Techno pulled the hair over one shoulder, deftly pulling it into three parts and starting to weave them together. He made it look deceptively easy, fingers passing the strands to each other like a loom or a well-oiled machine.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Techno stopped for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. “My father taught me to do it. He used to get so angry, because I’d go running through the woods and get mud and leaves and grass in my hair, and it would take forever to wash and clean, so he said it was more manageable to keep it like this.”

Fundy blinked. “The woods?”

Techno nodded, already close to finished with his braid. “I grew up there.”

Fundy wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Techno had never mentioned growing up in the city-- for that matter, he hadn’t mentioned his childhood at all-- so there was no reason for Fundy to assume he had always lived in the city. Still, it was strange to hear Techno say it.

“So did I,” he agreed, watching Techno loop the rubber band around the end of the braid. “Wait, show me how to do that--”

About an hour later, after their conversation had faded into a comfortable lull and they had both huddled back into bed, blankets wrapped tightly around them to block out the damp chill, they received their third guard visit of the day. Techno seemed in no rush this time, waiting for the guard to move on before unfolding from his blanket and reaching for his boots. Fundy hadn’t bothered to take his off after coming back from the fight, which Techno had complained about for some fifteen minutes (You’re gonna get all kinds of dust and grime in your sheets. We don’t get showers enough as it is, you might as well try to keep your bed clean).

“Where are we going?” Fundy braced for some absurd answer, which wouldn’t be out of line considering the day’s events, but Techno simply responded, “Dinner.”

The duo made their way out of the cell. As they left, Fundy glanced into one of the cells visible from their own. For some reason, he was surprised to see that it was occupied. There was one girl, with short, light-colored hair, sporting a black shirt, jeans with mismatched patches on the knees, a dark blue jacket and boots that Fundy quickly clocked as hiking boots.

Techno caught him staring and elbowed him. “That’s Niki.”

Fundy quickly looked away before the girl-- Niki-- caught him as well. He had noticed other girls, sure, but they all looked rough, rugged and muscular. Niki certainly didn’t look like the fighting type, not by a long shot.

“She’s a rabbit hybrid.” Techno answered Fundy’s unspoken thought.

“A rabbit?” Fundy cringed at the doubt dripping from his voice.

“Sheesh, kid, with that attitude you might as well go ahead and condemn yourself too.”

“What’s that supposed to--” One look from Techno silenced Fundy’s offended jab.

“She’s fast. Like, really fast. Whoever lines up matches always ends up putting her with people bigger than her, and slower by that measure. She’s won two fights, one a-”

“Do you just have mental tabs on everyone here?” Fundy prodded as they moved into the atrium, nose twitching at the smell of something emulating chili. His stomach grumbled.

“Not everyone, but it’s not every day you see a rabbit hybrid that can-- y’know-- actually fight.”

Fundy shrugged. He supposed that was fair.

Techno led him to one of the cafeteria counters. The mixture stewing in the massive, industrial-sized pot actually looked and smelled rather good, a mixture of beans, rice, meat and veggies engulfed in a reddish-brown broth. Both boys took a bowl, heading off towards the same table they had sat at during breakfast.

“Is this usually where you sit?” Fundy stirred his bowl, working up the courage to take a bite.

Techno pointed up at the third-story walkway with his spoon. “I usually sit up there. By the door I showed you.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Not a people person.”

Decent answer. Fundy finally gave in, taking a tentative bite of the… chili? It burned his tongue for a moment, still steaming hot, but once it cooled down enough for him to taste it, he was surprised at how good it was. Techno must have noticed his expression, because he said, “They have to keep us well-fed. If we were all sick and hungry, we wouldn’t fight very well.”

Fundy scarfed down his bowl in five minutes flat. Techno watched in amusement, not talking for once to let him eat in peace. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

The two talked for some fifteen minutes, Techno telling stories about almost everyone that passed by their table. With every minute that passed, Fundy became more sure that Techno really did have tabs on everyone in the ring. He found himself becoming more relaxed, bantering with Techno more easily, firing back at every jab.

Things were going surprisingly well-- until Techno’s eyes darted over to Fundy’s left, locking on something as his face fell. Fundy knew who it was before he even turned. He felt a hand lock onto his shoulder, and he turned, staring up into the face of Pandas, the day’s victor. His right eye was ringed with a faint purple bruise, and his bottom lip was split, sporting a nasty red wound, but otherwise he hardly looked any worse for the wear.

“Evening, boys!” His victory seemed to have made him braver. He grinned widely at Techno. “Enjoy the show?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Techno answered coolly. “I would’ve liked to see you get pummelled a bit more, but I guess you get what you pay for.”

Pandas’ grip on Fundy’s shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. “Oh, and you have paid, haven’t you?”

“I’ve paid about a dozen times over, yeah.” Techno leaned back in his chair, eyes glowering dangerously.

“And what about your friend?” The posse of hybrids that seemed to follow Pandas collectively snickered, sounding not unlike a pack of hyenas. “Has he paid yet?”

“He will,” Techno answered, eyes still focused on Pandas. Fundy felt his heart drop into his stomach. What the hell did that mean?

“Now seems like as good of a time as any, doesn’t it?” Pandas clapped Fundy on the shoulder, and Fundy felt his pulse quicken.

“Let’s not make a scene.” Techno hadn’t made any shift in tone or temperament, but Fundy felt a slight change in tension. Maybe Pandas felt it too, because he took the smallest step backwards, fingers still digging into Fundy’s shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Fundy registered that that was the same place the man had gripped him when he dragged him down that alleyway. Was that only two nights ago? Maybe that was why the spot was so sore.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Fantastic.”

“But you know it’s tradition. He’s going to get it at some point.”

“Why don’t you politely fuck off?” Techno spoke the words with such hushed venom that Fundy thought he might have misheard him.

Pandas hesitated for a moment, before letting his hand drop to his side. “So you’ve adopted the foxboy, huh? Never took you for a softie, Blade.”

“Leave.” Techno’s eyes had darkened to such a degree that Fundy felt palpable rage in the air, sending his alarm bells into a swinging frenzy. “Now.”

Pandas laughed, although it sounded ever-so-slightly forced. “Enjoy your meal.” With that, he turned, taking his crew with him. For the second time that day, Fundy watched him recede into the crowd until he was swallowed by the clamor.

“What was th-” Fundy turned back around, cutting himself off as he realized Techno had already gotten to his feet, marching off towards the staircase-stepladder. He cursed under his breath, quickly clambering out of his seat, tossing his plastic bowl into the trash and half-jogging after him.

[thousandsunnywrites]

Serendipity

Luffy & reader; platonic

the origins of Luffy’s smile

a/n: happy birthday king♡

“Ha! Brace face, brace face!” A swarm of middle school kids single out a tiny boy, not above the age of 12, and backing him up to a corner of the cafeteria. It was a Monday my dudes, and you know what that means— it was the start of another dreadful morning for Monkey D. Luffy... or as what the other kids say, Monkey D. Brace Face. 

Growing up, Luffy has had some whack ass teeth and Dadan being the good guardian that she is, forced him to get these metal restrictions on his teeth for a nicer smile.

“Shut up!” A bit of drool peeks out as his words slur together, “leave me alone or else I’ll kick your ass!” The kids laugh even more, nobody daring to help the poor Luffy out of his predicament. 

“Horse face!”

“Beaver mouth!”

“Nerd! What a loser!”

“Metal mouth! Train tracks!”

Out of frustration, Luffy growled as his legs lunged towards them like a ravish beast. Just in time, Principal Garp’s reflexes caught him mid air, effectively preventing Luffy from biting the heads off of the little twerps.

“Boys! Office! Now.” 

After a few phone calls to parents, the endless teasing faded into the distance as Luffy stayed behind in the office.

“Boy, quit getting into trouble will ya? Can’t keep covering your ass forever y’know.” Garp swung his legs onto the desk, leaning against his chair to comfortably enjoy his donut. 

“I know. I know,” he repeated, stubbornly refusing to look at his grandpa, “they started it! They call me brace face and train tracks. They’re annoying so I thought to kick them in the head to shut them right up.”

“You’re liking I’m not telling dear old Dadan.” Shivers run down Luffy’s spine. Nobody likes it when Dadan is mad, especially Luffy. Last time he made her mad, he was homeless for a week. 

“Aight, thanks old man! Well that settles it—“ he turns on his heel, “see ya around!”

“Wait! Keep your mouth shut next time.” Garp exhales a big breath, “and bring me my donut.”

He doesn’t like to smile. There was no reason to smile because every time he did, he always ran into trouble. 

He hates smiling. He hates his stupid teeth. Hates how people are so fucking mean because he’s different. It never really bothered him until now; puberty really be no joke, even if he was a little late to the party.

In amidst his sad train of thoughts, he ran into this girl in the middle of an empty hall, who uhm, had a very interesting fashion choice—tank top over a shirt with some colored leggings, a stack of bangles decorating her wrists all the way up to her forearm and whew don’t let me get started on those leg warmers. 

“Oh, hey! Never seen you around before,” he smiled, the metal protruding from his mouth, “shishishi, you’re weird!” He took a closer look at you, taking you aback from his honesty.

“O-oi! These are cool!” Proudly displaying the matching rings on your hand, Luffy’s smile became impossibly bigger. “And I’m not weird, fish eyes. I just happen to be way ahead of my time.”

“I like you. I’m Luffy!”

You introduced yourself and returned the smile, only to retract it back when he called you the wrong name. This was the start of the strangest friendship, who would’ve thought Thomas the train tracks and ugly Betty McGee would become friends?

—-

“Ha??? What’s this? Ugly Betty and the Ugly Fuckling got together!” The bully boys were back, disheartening Luffy’s new profound confidence. “gRR SHUT UP,” his big mouth says without processing, “pick on someone your own size jackass!”

“Can’t do that since there’s nobody above me, moron.” The boy grabbed the milk from Luffy’s tray and squeezed it, the warm milk splashing all over his face. “Take that, pathetic loser. That’s what you get for getting us in trouble the other day! I’ll rip that shit from your teeth if you test me again, nerd!”

Before the bitchass can do anything more, you stood up for Luffy. “Back off buddy. Luffy was literally breathing and you came over. Stop picking on someone defenseless.” 

He scoffed and commended your retort mockingly. To show his unwavering resolve, he dunked the nearest tray all over your Hannah Montana jacket. “Fucking sucker.”

The kids stopped eating and paid attention to the scene that was about to go down. 

“Leave Y/n out of this.”

“Try and stop me Thomas.”

That was the last straw. A punch was thrown across his face, knocking him down, his cockiness replaced with fear. “You can insult me all you want, you jerk,” he spat out, “but don’t you ever DARE hurt my friend. Because next time, I’ll give you more than a black eye. I’ll beat your ass.” 

Everyone watched in shock. Luffy was on top of the table, fists balled and nostrils flaring. The bully looked so helpless.

“Damn it LUFFYY,” Garp’s voice boomed throughout the cafeteria, causing Luffy to scramble off the desk and run away, laughing, while pulling you along with him. 

—

And from there, middle school was great. It was almost like a fairytale adventure! The amount of pranks pulled and not giving a single fuck of what people thought was what really made it memorable. The laughter and Luffy’s toothy smiles were a bonus. Alas, it was the end of an era when promotion happened and you had to leave, but at that time, Luffy wasn’t alone anymore; he now had the grumpy little moss head named Zoro by his side.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

“I’m sure I’m not tryna be left behind!”

His hands crossed behind his head as he kicked the nearest pebbles on the floor. “How sure are you?”

“Pretty sure I’m leaving with my fam, bro.” You slammed the last of your tunics into your stocky suitcase. “But all the memories we shared... they were all gucci my man. It was the pea to my pods, the fucking yin to meh yang, the apple to my eye,” he had no clue what the hell you were saying and was even more confused when you placed your hand on his shoulder. Your first was balled up into a ball and over dramatic tears spilled down your cheeks.  “I will forever miss you, home dawg. But on some real shit, this be an end to an era.”

“Y/n, you’re leaving, not dying,” he pouts, “speak English not shaker speaker.”

“Shakespeare,” you corrected. “Don’t forget about me you hoebag.” You ruffled his little tangled locks as Luffy nods and holds his two thumbs up in affirmation. You squeeze him in that annoying hug he hates so much. And it dawned upon you: you need a picture. This one is hitting the scrapbooks you’ve been making.

You shuffled around for your Sony camera and flipped it to take a selfie. Luffy hesitates for a moment. 

“Cmon man! Just one for my scrapbooks please.”

You pull him closer to your frame and smile the dorkiest smile you can muster, he does the same. This was for the scrapbooks you treasured after all. You reviewed it with him. It looked perfect, the red-lined braces being the most prominent thing in the photo along with your Nirvana tee and animal-shaped rubber bands. 

“You should smile more bro! You look so good here!”

And maybe for the first time, he does smile at the compliment, ignoring the string of metal wires along his teeth. He was gonna miss you.

Before you departed, he gave you one last fist bump. “See you around, Y/n!” was the last thing you heard before the taxi drove off.

And he doesn’t see you for a long time. And his braces get removed, making high school a bit easier than the years prior. And yes, maybe he doesn’t see you until college, but one thing is for sure, he never stopped smiling.

[capriciouswriting]

— coping mechanisms.

pairing: agent whiskey / unnamed (agent absinthe) oc. (ao3, oc pinterest aes)

warnings: angst. minor character death. mentions of blood, drugs and guns. swearing.

word count: 1.6k

angst prompts from this list:

52. “Don’t look at me like that.”

59. “I’m fine. Stop asking.”

45. “You can’t keep it all inside, you know? Bottling it up won’t do any good.”

Her older brother had been the only good thing in her life. Granted, she couldn’t say the same for him. She was a complicated woman, someone who was too difficult to handle and much too opinionated for her own good. She was frustratingly unabashed, and far too lacking in the self-care department.

Her brother was too good to her, far too kind, and far too forgiving. He put up with all her bullshit, and loved her through it all. He saw her for who she was before the booze, drugs and guns - saw who she could be, even when she forgot who that was. He didn’t have to try and always help, he had a good job working security for some whiskey making company (she learns differently later, of course), and had left her back in Texas while he made his way to Kentucky. Whilst her brother moved onto bigger and better things, becoming successful and making good money, she moved down and started to get mixed in with the wrong people. 

It wasn’t always like this, either, for a while she had been doing well and was even enlisted in the police academy - ranking as the top female in her class and best overall with her weaponry. She was doing well, but the tragic cliche story of most downfalls is usually just that - tragic and cliche. A bad boyfriend who got her mixed into his bad business, promises of material goods and an everlasting love. Her brother warned her countless times, telling her that the man was no good for her and the two nearly exchanged fists when he spoke badly to her in front of her older brother. The only good decision she made while her brother was still here was leaving that boyfriend, the bad decision was that she was already knee deep in bad shit to just up and leave. 

So, she didn’t.

When her brother died, she felt like a ghost of herself. The two men on the doorstep of her barren apartment looked upset, feeling the loss of her brother heavy on their own shoulders. This is when everything was explained to her by a man who simply went by “Agent Champagne”. Her brother wasn’t just running security for a whiskey company, and the low-life drug and gun running business she worked for had been the reason her brother was no longer around to bother her.

(“He was doing it for you,” Champ explains, “He wanted to get you out.”)

She couldn’t bring herself to cry, but what she did do was run straight to her bathroom and vomit all the contents of her stomach. The emotions coursing through her becoming all too much for her to handle in that single moment. 

When she’s sitting across from the two men again, Champ’s voice barely meets her ears as he speaks. She knows she’s looking directly at the one in the black hat, Agent Whiskey, as he looks at her with such disdain she swears he thinks she killed her brother with her own two hands. She can’t bite her tongue, she wishes she had more self control to, but in that moment she can’t find it within herself to be polite towards Whiskey.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

She has to take her anger out on someone, she thinks, and he just happens to be the one to mess with the bull.

They’re in each other's faces before Champ can even really comprehend,Whiskey going nose to nose with her. She’s unafraid, looking at him dead in the eye while her nostrils flare with anger - and if Whiskey weren’t so angry with her he would’ve commended the bravery. But he’s too angry, and so is she, so instead they’re standing toe to toe while Champ is pushing on both of their chests and trying to yell over them to step away.

She does, and asks them to quickly leave so she can finally stop her hands from shaking and so she can focus on what she’s going to do next. Champ breaks her heart, though, explaining that they can’t do that. He explains that her brother had explicitly stated, if he had died, she was to be in the care of the Statesmen. And as angry as she was with Agent Whiskey, she couldn’t bring herself to go against anything her brother would ask. Not anymore.

Not when the guilt was clawing its way up from her stomach, into the valves of her heart, and threatening to escape through her throat like the vomit. The guilt and anger burned her insides while simultaneously turning her veins into ice, making everything ache - from her bones to her soul.

She learned about the Statesmen slowly, mostly unwilling. Meeting them all one by one but staying obnoxiously close to Champagne. Memories of her brother were shared between everyone as time went on, except Agent Whiskey. His own judgement clouding any sense of actually getting to know her. They both steered clear of each other for a long time, despite Champ speaking to them both individually about the matter. Whiskey was, after all, her brother’s best friend within the Statesmen. But neither of them heeded the advice. Sneers and glares were haughtily shared, and there was one more instance where Tequila had to step in between the two in question when they got into another yelling match about her brother.

(“It’s your fault he’s gone, he was trying to protect you from your shitty decisions!” Whiskey had yelled at her, she swung at him as soon as the words left his mouth. Choosing to lash out physically instead of verbally.)

This time they completely avoid each other, and as more time passes she becomes more involved and acquainted with Statesmen business. Champ kept his last promise to her brother, and when she finally took over her brother’s title as Agent Absinthe, Agent Whiskey was none too happy. He stomped out of the meeting room despite voting her in, but tells himself it’s because it’s what her brother would’ve wanted. Not him.

They go back to not speaking, and avoid each other at all points humanly possible. This changes when they’re sent on a field mission together to watch and infiltrate the same group of people she was once affiliated with, the same group of people who killed her brother - and the same group of people who nearly killed her.

Whiskey barely got her out, and she had been covered in blood and screaming obscenities at him and the people who had killed her brother. Absinthe is barely able to walk right, and she’s leaning so heavily on him that he’s practically carrying her out. Arm wrapped around her middle, her own arms wrapped around his neck for support. She’s lame in one leg, blood oozing from a gunshot wound she had sustained early on. 

(“They’re dead, Absinthe, they’re dead,” Whiskey chanted to her as he hauled her away, she’s still panting out obscenities, “I promise, they’re gone.”)

Her body is starting to feel heavy, to both Whiskey and herself. So, he gets them a safe distance away from the chaos before he stops, setting Absinthe on the ground carefully. He works quickly, removing the belt around his waist and wrapping it around her thigh. He keeps asking her under his breath if she’s okay but she’s refusing to speak or even look his way.

“Hey,” He snaps his fingers in front of her face in an attempt to get her attention. Her breathing has slowed, and she looks far away. Like she’s there, but not really, “You okay?”

“I’m fine, stop asking.”

He frowns, aggravated. Whiskey wants to shoot something back at her, and feels like he has every reason to be an asshole.

“Why’d you get me out of there? You don’t even like me.”

He looks up as she speaks. She’s paler, and covered in blood in random places on her face and clothes. But when Whiskey looks at her, really looks at her, he sees the dark circles under her eyes and the smallest indent of her cheeks sinking in. The exhaustion is evident, and he can’t bring himself to recall if she actually ever cried when him and Champ came to tell her that her brother was gone. He can’t remember if she ever shed a tear when stories were shared from other Statesmen. Whiskey knows she didn’t even cry, when she had all the reason to, when he put her brother’s death on her shoulders.

“He’d kill me if I didn’t.”

The understanding is immediate, and it’s the first time he’s ever gotten a laugh out of her - granted it’s short, and akin more to a huff of a laugh than anything, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

Whiskey shifts on his haunches in front of her, “You can’t keep it all inside, y’know? Bottling it up won’t do any good.”

Absinthe leans back against the wall, shoulders falling slack as she looks towards him finally, “Don’t really have anyone to talk to, do I?”

Whiskey sighs, leaning down to help her up so they can start moving again. They’re quiet for a long time, it’s a silence that - for the first time - is very comfortable between them. Neither say anything, and only when they’re both sitting on a plane to head back to the Statesmen headquarters, does Whiskey decide to say something.

“He wouldn’t want this for us,” he shifts to look at her, “And although you’ve been nothin’ but a pain in my ass, and I’ve been nothin’ but an asshole back… He’d want me to listen if you’d need it. So, I’ll listen.”

Only then, does she finally cry.

[millipop]

stole my mind and found my dreams

Summary: Princess Clarke is known as Wanheda - an assassin Graced with the skill of killing. But it's not until she meets Bellamy Blake that she starts believing she's capable of being so much more than the King's thug. Bellamy has a Grace of his own, and in him she meets her match - physically and emotionally. But Clarke's haunted by a violent past, and Bellamy has secrets of his own. When his family is threatened, Clarke and Bellamy discover the kingdom of Polaris is not all that it seems, and they must work together to uncover the truth behind Queen Alie's City of Light - and perhaps fall in love along the way.

chapter 4/4: if only you could see, heartstrings

read on AO3

There’s something about the lady in the red dress that bothers Clarke.

Something about her eyes, maybe. Or perhaps it’s the blood-red shade of her dress, or the way her eyes keep darting down to Madi. For some reason, Clarke thinks her eyes should be a different colour. Brown? Why is that thought coming to her head?

Clarke doesn’t like her, but she can’t explain, even to herself, why.

But Queen Alie is being very nice and welcoming, inviting Clarke into the room, and smiling at them. The group around the table smile too. They aren’t doing anything – not eating or drinking or working. It’s as if they’ve been waiting, gathered around for the sole purpose of Clarke and Madi’s arrival.

There’s a dark-skinned man with a gaudy crown on his head, with features that seem familiar in a way. A woman with dark hair and light eyes next to him, her face gaunt yet elegant. Across from them is a younger woman, the same dark hair but eyes brighter, piercing. And a man next to her, strong and built, with tattoos. She knows this man; he’s her friend. Lincoln. He works with Eden. That’s right. She can trust him.

She takes a hesitant step into the room. Proceed carefully, she tells herself. Madi is clutching at her, crying, and sobbing words into Clarke’s jacket.

‘She’s lying. She’s lying. Don’t listen to her, please Clarke! She’s lying.’

So Madi doesn’t like the woman either. That would have to be taken into consideration.

‘My heir, my missing heir,’ Queen Alie says. She stands up from her chair. A larger, more extravagant chair, a throne really, that doesn’t match the simple carved wooden ones the others sit in.  ‘She’s sick,’ the woman says, sorrow lacing her voice. ‘It’s horrible to see her suffer, I wish to take her pain away. If she would just come to me.’

‘No, no, no,’ Madi cries. ‘She’s lying, don’t let her touch me.’

Clarke frowns. Madi’s sick. Queen Alie has clearly said so. And she could take the pain away. But was that right if Madi didn’t want her to?

‘Octavia, go and help your niece.’

The name makes Clarke’s head jerk up. Octavia. Bellamy’s sister. It doesn’t make her relax. The younger woman stands and comes towards them, hands out to Madi.

‘Come on Madi. I’m your Aunt Octavia. You can come with me.’ Octavia’s voice is husky and deep, and a mix of the Arcadian and Trigedan accents.

When Octavia reaches them, Madi screeches, holding on tighter to Clarke and kicking out at her aunt. Octavia frowns, a puzzled expression aimed at Clarke.

‘She’s hysterical.’

‘Madi, don’t you know your Aunt Octavia? You loved stories about her. Slash don’t stab, remember? She can protect you.’

But Clarke’s pleas fall on deaf ears, and Madi just turns into Clarke’s arms even more, muttering under her breath. ‘Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.’

Clarke shrugs at Bellamy’s sister. ‘Sorry. I promised to take care of her. I think she’ll only trust me or Bellamy right now.’

Octavia purses her lips at this. ‘Where is my brother?’

‘Indeed,’ a cool voice rings out again. ‘You seem to be missing one of your party. Prince Bellamy is alive, I hope?’

There’s something under Queen Alie’s voice that makes Clarke, just for a second, think that may be a lie. But just as quick as the throught surfaces in her mind, it’s gone.

‘Yes,’ Clarke says uncertainly, because she knows that’s true. But she can’t help the feeling she’s supposed to be pretending he’s dead. But why would that be?

Queen Alie’s eyebrows rise. ‘How wonderful. Maybe we can help him. Where is he?’

‘No!’ Madi suddenly screams. ‘Don’t tell her, Clarke! Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t tell her.’

‘Shh,’ Clarke tries to calm the girl down, but she’s looking at her with such wild desperation that she can’t help but nod slightly, if just to appease her.

‘Don’t tell him, please,’ Madi begs.

‘I won’t,’ Clarke promises. She tucks her own face into Madi’s hair, and it seems to ground her a little. When she’s not looking at the others, with her eyes closed and her arms full of Madi, it feels right not to tell Alie where Bellamy is. Even if they could maybe help. After all, the girl is so adamant.

When Clarke looks up again, Octavia is hanging back a bit, expression still confused. It matches the faces of the others, still stationary and vacant eyed around the table. Only Alie’s eyes are sharp, but she’s still smiling genially at Clarke.

‘I see,’ she says. ‘That’s fine. We can find out later.’ She runs her eyes over Madi again, as if calculating. The girl whimpers and slinks behind Clarke more, hiding. ‘Princess Madi isn’t herself,’ Alie finally says. ‘She’s ill, and confused, and for some reason thinks I’ll hurt her. Of course, it’s the opposite. I won’t let anything hurt my dear Madi again.’

The Queen steps out from her chair, sliding to the side of the room. She doesn’t walk any closer, though, seeming to realise Madi would make a fuss.

‘I’ve been telling the Arcadian royal family here, Lady Clarke,’ she sweeps a hand at the people at the table. ‘About what happened in Polaris. How poor Madi ran away after Princess Luna’s tragic accident. How you and Prince Bellamy found her, and you’ve been keeping her safe for me. I must thank you most ardently for that.’

The Arcadian royal family. Clarke’s eyes scan the room again. The crowned man, whose features reminded her so strongly of someone. Proud and noble. A king. A Jaha. Wells!

But there’s a vagueness to his eyes that never existed in the friend she rescued. Rescued? From whom? Something swirls in Clarke’s mind. Hadn’t it been Alie? No, it was Mount Weather. That was where she had met Bellamy.

Bellamy. The woman next to Jaha, her features were so like his. Because it was his mother. Aurora, Clarke manages to remember.

The woman in question is staring at Clarke, her chin jutting proudly just like Bellamy’s. The same cheekbones, perhaps?

A cleared throat interrupts her thoughts, and Clarke stares back at Alie again.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I’ve kept her safe.’

‘I’m curious, Lady Clarke,’ Queen Alie hums. ‘So curious. How did you leave Polaris? Did you cross the mountains?’

‘Yes,’ Clarke answers, before she can think about it.

The Queen’s eyebrows rise again, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, a disturbing sort of smile graces her face, like she’s angry and humoured at the same time.

‘That seemed like the most logical answer, when we couldn’t find you,’ she nods. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I should just wait for you to surface somewhere in the other kingdoms. But then I found out that you weren’t welcome in Sanctum. Princess no more. And of course,’ she adds, eyes on the royal family. ‘I needed to find my heir again. Everyone is searching the kingdoms for you, but I decided to try Arcadia myself. You were with Prince Bellamy, after all.’ She stops, eyes glittering on Clarke’s. ‘It was the logical conclusion.’

‘You didn’t have to worry,’ Clarke replies, confused. ‘I kept her safe. I made sure we survived.’

‘And I thank you for that. Especially now you’ve brought her to my estate, here in Arcadia.’

Her estate? Wasn’t this Bellamy’s estate? Or was it hers? But that was ridiculous. She was a disgraced ex-princess of Sanctum. This was the first time she’d set foot in Arcadia. It can’t be her estate. Why does she think that?

Clarke’s head hurts. It’s like there’s a thick fog behind her eyes, impenetrable and dizzying. And it feels familiar. But she can’t quite place it.

‘You’re welcome,’ she manages, although there’s not much sincerity behind it.

‘Now,’ Alie says, taking a heeled step towards them. Madi draws back, and Clarke with her. If only to protect her. Alie just smiles. ‘Now I just want to make sure you’re okay, Madi. I am medically trained. I can make sure she’s in no more pain. But I need her here to examine her.’

No pain for Madi. That sounded good right? Madi was crying, and Queen Alie could help.

‘Yes,’ Clarke agrees, but Madi is still collapsed against her, and shaking her head with vigour. Clarke pauses. ‘I will,’ she continues, ‘But maybe later. When she’s feeling a little better.’

Alie’s smile freezes on her face. ‘I think she needs my attention now,’ she says calmly, yet there’s an edge to her voice that pulls at the fog in Clarke’s mind.

‘Madi’s my responsibility,’ Clarke says, her voice coming out firmer than she feels. ‘She’ll stay with me for now.’

The Queen’s blue eyes glitter again. Something tells Clarke, in the back of her head, that there’s danger. But what? It’s a cold rising in her, but the fog stays, curling around every thought, as much as she tries to shake it away.

But Alie smiles again, retreating a little, and the alarm Clarke’s body feels subsides a little. ‘Well it’s commendable you’re so intent on protecting her, Wanheda. I will examine her later.’

‘What about my brother?’ Octavia speaks again. She’s standing near Lincoln, frowning at Clarke. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Yes,’ agrees Aurora, speaking for the first time. Bellamy’s mother stands up, looking intensely at Clarke. ‘You haven’t said whether he’s okay. Is he injured? Hurt?’

‘We are so anxious to hear,’ Alie chimes in. ‘Is he nearby? In reach of our help?’

Clarke blinks at them, once again confused. She wants to talk to Bellamy’s family. Assure them that he’s safe, or so she hopes. But weren’t there things she had to keep secret too? The fog made it hard to separate. What was important, what did she have to hide?

‘I don’t want to talk about Bellamy,’ she says defiantly, shaking her head. ‘He’s fine.’ If she can’t be sure, better to say nothing at all.

Bellamy’s mother looks disappointed, Octavia angry, but Alie purses her lips. ‘A shame.’ She begins to walk very slowly behind the throne, a deliberate pace. ‘He is such an interesting man. An accomplished fighter, so I hear, and incredibly loyal. And brave.’

The Queen seems to have realised that walking any closer will make Madi or Clarke nervous now, so she just wanders around her chair, manicured hand trailing over the armrests.

‘But of course,’ she continues after Clarke nods. ‘We all have secrets. And he, I believe, more than anyone.’

The hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck stand up, and her heart speeds up suddenly. Yet she can’t quite grasp why, the fog pulling away the answer as she reaches for it.

‘Yes,’ Alie says, staring directly at Clarke now, bright blue eyes boring into her own. ‘He posed a problem for me, you see. But then you spirited Madi away,’ she clears her throat. ‘To protect her, and I didn’t get to talk to him or you about it. But I am so interested, and I have a theory of my own, about our dear Bellamy.

‘And since he may reach our shores one day, from wherever he is…waiting, I believe I should enlighten you all, his family, of my theory. Yes, his loyalty is a commendable quality indeed. But I don’t believe Prince Bellamy has been quite as faithful to his family as he could be.’

Clarke is frozen in her gaze. Alie doesn’t even blink.

‘I think you, Lady Clarke Griffin, might hold the answer to solving this most unfortunate conundrum.’

Octavia, Lincoln and Jaha are frowning, but Aurora looks confused, glancing between the Queen and Clarke like she’s watching a racquet match. Clarke herself finds herself blinking furiously, trying to remember something. Something important, lost in the fog.

‘The secret, you see, is about Prince Bellamy’s Grace,’ Queen Alie concludes, standing in front of her throne with her arms clasped elegantly together.

Aurora stands suddenly, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. ‘Wait, no,’ she begins, and looks at Clarke. Instead of confusion, there’s fear, and Clarke knows it’s mirrored back at her. Twin alarms. They both know something is very wrong. But what? What was so important and dangerous that Clarke knows Alie shouldn’t say it?

‘I believe that your honourable prince, your son, your brother, has been keeping an immense secret. Am I correct, Lady Clarke?’

Clarke can only stutter, head barely shaking.

‘His Grace,’ Queen Alie says. ‘I think that it’s…’

The fog occupying Clarke’s mind doesn’t dissipate or go away, in that moment. Instead, it crystallizes, shards pressing into her consciousness. She knows with unerring certainty that she cannot let Alie continue talking.

She’s not even altogether sure why. And she’s not sure why it feels so familiar and right to draw her gun and aim it at the Queen in the red dress.

All she knows is Bellamy has a secret, and if it’s revealed, it will hurt him and ruin his life. And she loves Bellamy, and she can’t let that happen.

Queen Alie is standing in front of her throne, a slight smile on her face as she’s about to speak her next words. She only just registers Clarke drawing her gun, too focused on delivering her words to the others, before Clarke squeezes the trigger.

read more on AO3

[ourneverendingpossibilities]

What I Yearn For...

Anime: Kuroko no Basuke Pairing: Kasamatsu Yukio x reader Rating: K+ A/N: The next chapter to this series.. I hope you guys enjoy! And if you have any questions feel free to ask! I’d be happy to answer C:

______________

He was going to be late...

Damn Kise and his fangirls... They're always causing him a headache... And of course with that comes with practice going past its usual time... Not just because of Kise's antics, but because the coach deemed it necessary to make them stay longer... After their almost loss in a previous match... He sighs, rubbing his face with one hand as he sits in his seat, anxiously tapping his foot..

Could this train move any slower?

"Girlfriend waiting for you?"

The soft voice brings him from his thoughts, a small blush adorning his cheeks.. The older woman is smiling softly at him, wrinkles on her face as she assesses his reaction. He finds himself sweating a bit, and not from the previous practice... His nerves are at an all time high, and he wishes he had water in his hands.

"N...No..."

She shakes her head, the smile growing bigger. "I see... Well, I know whoever they are, they will be happy to see you."

He can feel his heart thump rapidly in his chest, and tries to hide the nervousness beneath his fingers. The older lady, notices this but doesn't say anything after that. Can feel by his movements he just wants off this ride. She makes a move to gently squeeze his knee, as if reassuring him things will be fine, and it seems to ease Kasamatsu a little. When he hears his stop on the intercom, he smiles at her, politely telling her good-bye before making a run off the train. He wants to beat the rush, wants to make up for lost time. 

Without hesitating, he grabs his phone, opening his messages and hastily sends a text.

"I'm on my way."

___________________

The vibration from your phone goes unnoticed as you watch Kagami and Kuroko practice in the gym. Here it's just the three of you, everyone else has left the gym. You keep one door open to let in the soft breeze, finding comfort. You couldn't understand how they had so much energy to keep going... Despite the vicious aura emitting from Kagami's frame, you find your attention honed in on the two. How they practice, it's very much how Kuroko and Aomine used to.. 

And yet... There's a difference between Kagami and Aomine… But you couldn't place it...

Your attention is taken from the boys when Nigou sits up abruptly, blue hues glued onto the outside. You curse, chasing after him, not wanting him to get too close to the roads. And when he stops suddenly, wagging his tail and barking a little, your eyes land on the very person who gained Nigou's interest. You watch with soft golden hues as Kasamatsu leans down to rub the puppy's belly... The excited yips, along with the tender gaze in Kasamatsu's eyes has your heart racing in your chest.

"K....Kasamatsu-senpai!"

He hears your voice, and turns his head up, his smile slowly turning into his usual scowl. He assesses your reaction, and raises an eyebrow, before standing up straight.

"I take it you didn't get my message?"

You blink, slightly flustered before pulling out your phone, eyes wide.. A...Ahh... You bite your bottom lip, sheepishly scratching your head.

"S...Sorry senpai!! I was watching Tetsu-kun and Taiga-kun…"

It was that moment Nigou rolls onto his belly, running back to the gym and you turn around quickly, holding up a hand to Kasamatsu before chasing after the pup. It's then you realize they were still practicing, Nigou watching with a renewed interest, tail wagging. You bend down then, rubbing his head and lightly pecking his nose, before moving to grab your bag. You wave at the boys, who stopped and gave it back, knowing grins on their faces. It's then you go out the back door, where Kasamatsu was waiting patiently for you, and you grin at him.

"I'm ready to study!"

___________________

The walk home was short, but peaceful. Despite not saying much on the walk, Kasamatsu seemed to be in a world of his own, you chose to focus on the fact you'd be home alone with him... Your brother wasn't coming over until tomorrow, and your parents were away for a business trip... Any other day, you would've cancelled plans and took advantage of having the house to yourself for a night...

But you craved for attention... More specifically, Kasamatsu's.

You were becoming whipped, and although you didn't like the idea of being attached to another person... The thought of being around Kasamatsu didn't make you uncomfortable. This had you frowning until you reached your front door.

"Feel free to make yourself at home, senpai!" you chime, unlocking the door and entering.

You don't hesitate to run up the stairs, dumping your backpack on your bed. You hastily grab your books, phone charger and bound back down the stairs, almost crashing into the boy who remained in place. He takes in the living room, finding himself sweating at the wide open space to the kitchen. An island separates the two rooms, and he's left wondering just what your parents do to have a house so big...

You walk around him, placing your books on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen.

"You thirsty senpai? Can I get you anything?"

Upon hearing your voice, his eyes meet yours, and he finds himself blushing, slowly walking towards the couch after removing his shoes... Gosh... He's never felt so rude in his entire life... He was too busy ogling the room to notice you standing there.

"J...Just water for now... please, ____-chan..."

There it was.... That suffix again... It sends both of you in a flurry, but you busy yourself with getting the drinks, trying hard not to focus on the fact your friend/crush is in the opposite room... You know he's staring at the table, but you feel as though he's staring at you... Leaving you an anxious mess. And yet, you commend yourself on not trembling too hard... You wanted to enjoy your time without making a complete fool of yourself... After closing the fridge, you find yourself carrying a water bottle, along with a cup of hot chocolate and a bowl of popcorn. 

He feels as though he screwed up again... With calling you by that suffix... But he finds himself not caring, because when it's just the two of you, he's at peace... He feels there's nothing he can't hide. You don't seem to be bothered when he addresses you that way, and it makes him exuberant with emotion. He looks up at you, taking the bottle from your hands and nods as a thanks, before drinking out of it. 

"Alright... Let's get to studying..."

______________________

At some point, the two of you stopped studying and ended up watching a show on the t.v. . You had all weekend to study for the upcoming test, and while Kasamatsu was a good tutor, you wanted to just spend time with him away from school. You weren't really paying attention to what was on the screen, but rather, the man who was sitting up above you... Your head rested on his leg, sneaking glances between commercial breaks.. For some reason, Kasamatsu didn't force you off his leg, instead rested a hand in your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

You can't help but let out content sighs at his affection, eyes closing in bliss.

"Someone's enjoying themselves...."

At his voice, your eyes snap open, meeting his humoured gaze with a blush on your cheeks, before you stammer. You can't think of what to say, so you turn your gaze towards the couch, curling into a ball and bury your face in your hands.

"K....Kasamatsu-senpai!!! You're mean!"

He raises an eyebrow, before chuckles at your words, shaking his head.

"You're the one using me as a pillow... Why don't you get ready for bed, _____-chan?"

You glower at him, before rolling your eyes.

"It's 8pm on a Friday night... What kind of teenager am I if I go to bed early?"

He snorts, "A responsible one."

You sit up then, bracing yourself on your hands and knees as you stare him down. "It makes me an old lady senpai!! My mom doesn't even go to bed that early!"

His eyes meet yours for several moments, as though contemplating his next response. Instead, he turns his attention back to the television, his hand going back to your head as he brings you back to your previous position.

"Show's back on _____-chan..."

There it was again... His tone changes, and your heart is fluttering like crazy.. Ugh.. How does it make you weak? But you do as you're told, resting your head on his leg, snuggling into his warmth. You didn't realize you're shivering until a jacket is draped over your form. You see the blue, realizing Kasamatsu had grabbed his jacket to rest over you. 

It smells just like him...

The thought makes you fluster further, but you find yourself unable to hide from him. Between the gentle strokes of his hand on your head, to the smell of him in person and on his jacket, you're completely emerged in everything that is Kasamatsu. It brings you a comfort you didn't realize you needed, and you somehow found yourself falling asleep in the presence of your companion.

The guy in question didn't seem to mind, instead continued his stroking of your hair as a smile curls on his lips. 

"Sleep well, ______-chan..."

[anubislover]

Halloween AU Fic: Hide and Seek with the Heart Stealer

Bright moonlight shone over the old cemetery, carved headstones old and new casting shadows like soldiers in long, neat rows. Translucent spirits floated about, some wailing in despair, others striking up conversations as they went on a leisurely stroll. A few zombies shuffled about aimlessly, searching for human flesh, and a werewolf could be heard howling in the distance.

Normally, Nami wouldn’t come within miles of such a spooky place; despite being a witch, she was a notorious scaredy-cat. But there was one thing that could make even the most haunted graveyard bearable: treasure. Luffy, her grim reaper friend, had complained to her about how he’d attempted to ferry the spirit of a selfish miser, but the old man had refused to move on, too obsessed with the chest of gold he’d had buried with him. At the word “gold” the greedy witch had eagerly volunteered to relieve the ghost of his worldly attachments, much to Luffy’s obvious delight.

Map of the property in hand, she carefully crept through the cemetery, everything from her long, sunset-colored hair to her high-heeled feet cloaked in a powerful invisibility spell. Even with her magic, and despite having years of experience breaking and entering into more guarded places than this, she knew to be cautious. She wasn’t worried about the ghosts, as the golden, enchanted Jack-O-Lantern charm at her waste would keep her from being possessed, and the zombies were easily avoided so long as she kept her eyes open.

No, her biggest concern was the undertaker who ran this particular necropolis. Those guardians of the dead were considered strange, even amongst the supernatural community; no one quite knew for sure where they came from, and they weren’t exactly social beings, mostly rarely straying from their territories for more than a few hours. Nami had always been told that if you ever saw one out and about, it was best you run, because horrifying trouble was afoot. Really, only reapers were known to socialize with them regularly, and that was purely as a business arrangement.

The undertaker that called this graveyard his territory was notoriously creepy—rumor had it he enjoyed collecting the hearts of trespassers. His abilities made him especially troublesome; her fellow witch, Robin, had warned that he could see through even the best illusions if he suspected something was off in his domain, and he was known for cutting people into pieces and rearranging their limbs. There was also gossip circulating that he was something of a mad doctor, performing dark experiments on his victims.

So, despite her spectacular skillset, she remained alert as she tiptoed past the crumbling mausoleum in the center of the graveyard, hoping she could get in and out before the heart stealer could notice her. Luffy had assured her that the undertaker wasn’t as bad as all that, that he’d never seen him steal any hearts, and he kept to himself most of the time anyway, but Nami was fairly certain the reaper didn’t realize that he wasn’t bothered only because Luffy was doing his job. That, or the undertaker didn’t want to deal with such a hyperactive being.

Wind tousling her short, ruffled, black and purple skirt and the lapels of her matching crop top, she briefly wondered if she should have brought a sweater. Cute as her outfit was, the icy touch of the restless dead made ever her usually hot blood go cold. She dared not cast a Heat Egg to warm herself, though; that would break the mirage, and most definitely attract attention.

Some company would be nice, she thought, rubbing her arms. Unfortunately, her friends would be more of a hinderance than a help. Luffy would probably run off to push zombies back into their graves. Demon Hunter Zoro would have gotten lost within minutes. Franky and Brooke wouldn’t have looked out of place among the dead, but the cyborg was too loud, and the skeleton would have driven her crazy with requests to see her panties and skull jokes. Robin might have been more manageable, but her morbid sense of humor would have kept Nami on edge all night. Sanji the werewolf would have gladly protected her with his life, but his fawning and constant declarations of love ruined any semblance of stealth.

So, forced to go it alone, the mikan-haired witch cautiously navigated the maze of headstones, until finally the scent of fresh-turned earth tickled her nose. A glance at her map confirmed it; she’d arrived at the miser’s grave. The marker was simple, cheap, and had no flowers or signs of mourners—typical of someone who had valued money more than living, determined to take it with him to the grave. Normally, Nami wouldn’t stoop to robbing the dead, but that was because most were smart enough to not demand they be buried with a chest of gold, instead leaving it to their loved ones. What good would it do anyone buried in a grave, least of all him? It was better for everyone that she dig it up and go on a shopping spree, redistributing that wealth and showing the old miser’s spirit that money was great, but only if you used it to enjoy life. Once that happened and the old fool was free of his material attachments, Luffy would be able to guide him to the afterlife. Really, everyone won.

Warily, she looked around. The zombies were shuffling about on the other side of the cemetery, and the ghosts were too wrapped up in their own affairs to notice her. There was also no sign of the mysterious undertaker, a fact that allowed her heart to stop pounding like a marathon runner’s.

“Treasure, treasure, treasure!” she whispered giddily, breaking the invisibility spell to instead enchant a nearby shovel. Next, her wand was transformed into a second shovel, and she immediately set to digging. She doubted the old man would have paid for a particularly deep grave, but she had no interest in wasting time, especially now that she was out in the open.

In less than an hour her shovel was halted by a dull thunk, and she bounced on her toes in glee, thrilled she’d finally hit gold. Eagerly, she pried open the coffin, though her cheer was dampened as the scent of early decay and embalming chemicals wafted into her nose.

Yeech! Glad I got to him before he got too rotted, she thought, holding her breath as she yanked the small wooden chest out of his stiff arms, though she grinned as she heard the tell-tale clink of coins within. Climbing out of the grave, she took a moment to study the lock; nothing impossible or magical, thankfully, but it was intricate enough that she’d have to bring it home, lest she linger too long.

“At last she crawls out of the grave she dug herself,” came a cool, baritone voice behind her.

Whirling around, Nami quickly transformed her wand into a staff, hoping she’s simply been caught be a nosy ghost. Alas, it seemed her luck had finally run out; leaning against the headstone was the infamous undertaker. His long, charcoal coat was tattered along the edges, and his matching top hat had long, diagonal tears that indicated he’d once fought a particularly vicious beast. Slung across his back was a black, polished coffin wrapped in chains. Dark bags under his eyes and the narrowness of his face should have made him look gaunt, but the sly smirk, olive skin, and glittering gold eyes counteracted it, making him unnaturally handsome. Ominously, he had DEATH tattooed across his long fingers, and she could see crosses and other designs inked into his muscular forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves.

He assessed the beautiful thief with interest. “Most graverobbers don’t come this far into my territory, Miss Witch, and I have to commend your illusions—I hadn’t even realized you’d snuck in until you started digging. Of course, the moment anyone breaks ground in my territory, not even the best spell can hide them.”

Swallowing hard, Nami took a cautious step away from the open grave. Inwardly, she cursed her lack of forethought; of course there would be some sort of magical alarm to alert the graveyard’s guardian of thieves and desecraters. It had been foolish to assume that, just because she’d gotten so far in undetected, that she was in the clear. Life was never that easy, especially for her. But she’d been so eager to get her hands on the treasure before someone else could, so over-confident in her skills, that she rushed in without thinking. Who was she, Luffy?!

Knowing she had no chance in a fight, she went to the old stand-by; charm her way out of trouble. “Coming from someone as famously powerful as you, that means a lot,” she cooed, leaning against her staff in a way that seemed casual, but positioned her right forearm beneath her generous bust to give it that little extra lift. She was pleased to note that Law’s gaze immediately dropped to her chest. He may live among corpses, but he’s certainly not dead, she thought cheekily. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, mister…”

“Dr. Trafalgar Law,” he stated, tipping the brim of his hat. “And will you give me your name, or shall I just call you Miss Witch?”

Looking up at him through dark lashes, she gave a coy smile. “Well, you are the dark and mysterious undertaker; if I gave you my name I’d have no more secrets, and that just doesn’t seem fair.”

His smirk widened at her answer. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got secrets aplenty behind those pretty eyes.”

Her giggle was calculatingly shy. “How sweet! I really am sorry to have disturbed you, though. Were you sleeping?” She might actually feel bad if she had; those rings under his eyes screamed “insomniac.” Perhaps she’d do him a favor and cast a sleep spell over him to make sure he could enjoy a nice cat nap while she left.

“No, I was conducting some experiments,” he replied casually. “I was testing how a beating heart reacted to electrical shocks. Unfortunately, your arrival distracted me at a rather inopportune moment, and now I’m in need of a new, fresh heart.”

Like a bucket of ice water, fear washed down Nami’s spine. Suddenly, the way he was looking at her chest was a lot less encouraging.

“Well, I hear the local butcher’s shop sells pig hearts at a decent price. If you hurry, you might get there before it closes,” she coaxed, desperately trying to keep her newfound terror from showing on her face, even as cold sweat formed on the back of her neck. It seemed those rumors might have some merit after all.

Law took a slow step forward, chuckling when Nami instinctively took one back. As his head tilted, the brim of his hat cast a menacing shadow over his eyes. “I’m in no rush, especially when I’ve got such a lovely guest to entertain. It’s not every night a witch comes calling, after all.”

“Unfortunately, this witch has a busy schedule, and I’d hate to overstay my welcome.”

“Yes, I’m sure picking the lock to that chest will take all night,” he said, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “Perhaps I could save you some time—I have the key tucked away in my lab. If you’d be kind enough to aid me in my research, I’d be happy to give it to you as payment.”

She could only imagine what kind of wicked experiments he had planned for her, and she gripped her staff tighter. Her every instinct was to turn it into a broom and fly away, but she knew the second she tried, he’d strike, and she doubted she was strong or fast enough to escape if he got hold of her. “That’s very generous of you, but I doubt I’d be much help. I’m not very well-versed in the sciences.”

“Nonsense. Mugiwara-ya is always going on about how smart you are, and your weather spells could prove quite useful, especially if you can produce lightning.”

“I—what?”

His gentlemanly grin morphed into something more devious and threatening. “Your idiot friend has a nasty habit of incessantly talking my ear off about his beloved nakama. Is it true you once robbed Thriller Bark? That’s quite the accomplishment, Nami-ya.”

“You knew who I was the whole time!” she screeched, pointing her finger at him accusingly.

That was a mistake, as Law’s hand snapped out like a whip, grabbing her wrist and yanking her forward until she was pressed flush to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her lower back to entrap her. The staff was knocked carelessly to the ground, where it reverted back to the small blue wand with a pop. “Of course I knew,” he chuckled lowly, his hot breath tickling her ear as he gazed down at her smugly, hunger and amusement glittering in his amber eyes. “There aren’t many witches bold enough to attempt to steal from my territory, and what hot-blooded male hasn’t seen your bounty poster?”

Despite the dangerous situation she was in, Nami couldn’t stop the faint blush from rising to her cheeks. Up close like this, there was no way to ignore the strong line of his jaw, the wolfish flash of teeth, or the intensity of his eyes. Even in her three-inch heels he loomed over her, frightening but somehow equally enticing. Had they met at a bar instead of a graveyard, she wouldn’t mind being in his muscular arms, and might even press a teasing kiss or three to his smooth, tan throat.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to remain calm. “Well, then, if you know who I am and you know Luffy, then you should realize that I’m here doing him a favor. He can’t reap the old man’s soul if he’s still got worldly attachments, so he asked me to take them off his hands.”

“An honorable motive, but if that’s the case, why didn’t Mugiwara-ya ask me to do it? Or at least inform me ahead of time of the plan? And given your reputation, how do I know this was the only grave you planned on robbing? It all seems a little too convenient.”

Nami could have screamed. Why didn’t Luffy do any of that? Really, the undertaker should have been his first choice for help, not a known thief.

Openly admiring the witch held captive in his arms, Law continued, “I find myself at a crossroads, Nami-ya; by rights, I should punish you for trespassing and stealing from my charges. I’m sure I’ll hear the old man’s groaning for days because you managed to dig up his plot and find his treasure. Typically, I demand an organ or two as recompense.” The heart stealer chuckled as he felt the shiver of fear rock her whole body, her free hand shooting up to futilely push at his chest in an attempt to make him release her. “On the other hand, the old bastard had been pretty rude when picking out his spot, and I’m sure if I removed any vital body part, Mugiwara-ya and your friends would be coming for my head.”

“Then how about you let me go? I promise I won’t tell, so nobody will think you’ve gone soft and try to steal from your territory in the future,” she pleaded, mentally making a note to thank Luffy for his inadvertent protection after she beat his face in for getting her into this situation.

“I have a better idea; it’s impressive that you managed to get this far, which shows your magic is powerful, or you’re at least clever enough to use it to its fullest potential. So, I propose we play a little game. You hide, and I’ll try to find you.”

Nami ceased struggling, caught off guard by the sheer absurdity of his suggestion. “Hide and seek? What are we, children?”

“Would you prefer I treat you like the other morons who dared desecrate my home?” he retorted harshly. When she quivered in response, his calm, arrogant grin returned. “We’ll have three rounds—five minutes each—and if I can’t locate you even once, you’ll walk out of here alive, fully intact, and with treasure and key in hand.”

Such a deal seemed deceptively simple, and Nami knew a hustle when she heard it. No one proposed a game they couldn’t win, least of all supernatural creatures like them. “And if you win?”

The arm around her lower back shifted, his large hand resting on her exposed waist, calloused thumb rubbing teasing little circles beside her navel, coaxing another shiver from his prey. “I’ll admit, I’ve always wanted to study a witch’s heart,” he relished the way her brown eyes widened in panic, “but again, Mugiwara-ya would hound me to give it back before I could make any real use of it.” Releasing her wrist to rub his chin, he considered her carefully before his mouth stretched into a wide leer. “Since you tried to steal from one of my charges, it only seems fair that, each time I catch you, I get to steal something from you.”

As much as she hated the idea of losing any of her possessions, the thought of him taking her heart was far scarier. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, she weighed her options. “I can use magic, right?”

“Of course. It’d be too easy, otherwise, and I want to see if you’re as powerful as Mugiwara-ya brags. I’ll even give you a 20-second head start before each round,” he replied, curling a strand of silken, sunset hair around his left index finger.

Sneaking around and avoiding creeps like him is my specialty, she thought. Besides, I can easily just hop on my broom and fly right out of here.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Nami met his piercing gaze head-on. “One condition—you can’t take my wand or anti-possession charm.”

The hand caressing her hair dropped to play with the little golden pumpkin at her waist. “A reasonable request. I’d hate for the ghosts to interfere with our game, after all.”

“Then you’ve got a deal. Three rounds of hide-and-seek, and win or lose, I get to leave alive and with all my body parts in their correct places. Otherwise, Luffy will come kick your ass.”

Reluctantly, Law released her, and as the ghostly chill of the cemetery brushed her skin, she almost wished she could stay in his arms. He exuded more body heat than she’d expected—weren’t undertakers supposed to be as cold as the dead they kept?

Unwrapping the chain around his shoulder, the coffin dropped to the ground with a menacing thud. Turning around, he folded his arms across the top, resting his head on them to cover his eyes. “Best start running, Nami-ya. Unless you’re that eager for me to catch you.”

The second the first number left his lips, the witch snatched up the chest and her discarded wand, transforming the latter into a sleek wooden broom. Climbing on, she pushed off the ground with all her might, shooting into the air like a firework. Not wasting time, she flew as high and far as she could, heart pounding as she spotted the front gates, determined to cross the border of the cemetery and finally escape. Like hell she was going to stick around and play games with a creep like that!

Unfortunately, when the edge of the property was mere feet away, she was suddenly surrounded by a strange, blue bubble, and in less than a second her broom vanished from underneath her. A moment passed where she seemed to float in mid-air before gravity claimed her, sending her plummeting towards the cold, dead earth. Screaming, Nami was certain the next time she opened her eyes, Luffy would be standing before her, tasked with collecting her soul. After all, not even a witch could easily survive falling a hundred feet and cracking her skull open.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and after a few moments, she realized she was no longer falling. Cracking an eye open, she was startled to find herself cradled in Law’s arms, safely on the ground, her broom and the treasure resting at his feet.

Smirking down at her, he said, “Flying out of the cemetery wasn’t a bad idea, but you never should have attempted it while carrying the chest. It made it extremely easy to find you.”

“Wha—how?!” she asked, wildly gesturing to the sky.

Insufferably smug. That was the only way she could describe him as he replied, “Everything inside this graveyard is under my control. I can find anything and anyone and shift things around at my leisure. I can empty locked coffins, uproot trees, and even pluck tricky little witches out of the sky.”

Frustrated—not just at the unfairness of Law’s powers but at herself for not anticipating just how much power an undertaker would have inside his own territory—she squirmed in his arms, fighting to get down. The ghoulish man refused to relinquish his prize, though, and simply held her tighter. “Ah, ah, ah, Nami-ya. I found you, and I refuse to start the next round until I’ve claimed my reward.”

Autumn brown eyes flashed in anger, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. Arms crossing, she pouted. “Fine. Just remember the wand and charm are off-limits.”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got something better in mind,” he whispered, leaning close so his steamy breath danced across her lips, throat, and collarbone.

Before she could question him, he closed those last few inches, pressing his mouth to hers in a hot, deceptively gentle kiss. His lips were slightly chapped, but they slanted over her soft pout almost perfectly. When she didn’t resist—too shocked to fully grasp that the mysterious being who held her captive was kissing her of all things—his lips parted, taking a moment to teasingly nibble her plush, rose-pink bottom lip. The slight sting made her heart stutter, and unconsciously she clenched the lapel of his coat in a delicate fist.

It only lasted about ten seconds, but when he pulled away, it took Nami a moment to find her voice. “The hell was that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I stole a kiss.”

Nami stared, gob smacked. This guy had a pair of brass balls on him the size of Franky’s fists, that was for sure! She usually wasn’t one for letting a man kiss her—most who tried wound up with a crack in their skull and a lightning bolt through their nervous system. But Law…

He just caught me off guard, she justified, glaring up at him, even as her heart rattled against her ribcage. I most definitely didn’t enjoy it.

Ignoring her sneer, he carefully set the witch back on her feet, though it didn’t escape her notice how he continued to hold her close, letting her soft curves slide along his body. Nami told herself she was not impressed with the muscles she felt beneath his white dress shirt—plenty of guys had washboard abs!

Once he knew she was steady, he turned away. “Time for round two. Leave the treasure here; it’ll be too easy if you carry it around, and I want to see whether Mugiwara-ya’s full of shit when he brags about you.”

Part of her hated the idea of leaving her ill-gotten goods behind, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that, so long as she won, she’d get the gold back. Heeding his advice, Nami cast her best invisibility spell before dashing off as fast as her long legs could carry her. Frantically looking around, she spotted a copse of gnarled trees not too far off, perfect for taking shelter in.

Darting between the twisted trunks, part of her couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the place. I guess even a graveyard has its bright spots, she mused. The October chill had turned the leaves red, gold, and orange, matching her hair and probably serving as the only real splash of color in the dead and grey yard. It was both amusing and comforting that, if her invisibility spell somehow wore off, she could probably climb a tree to blend in.

She was almost tempted as a thorny bush briefly snagged the hem of her skirt. Carefully detangling it, she was grateful it hadn’t cut her—among the supernatural, if someone got hold of your blood, they could track you easily, whether by smell or spell. Law already had the home field advantage, and she refused to hand over another.

Heavy footsteps startled her out of her thoughts, and she turned to find Law strolling into the trees, glancing about so casually she nearly forgot she was invisible. “I know you’re in here, Nami-ya.” He patted the trunk of a gnarled elm. “Unless these old things have started growing fruit, your scent is quite distinctive. Ozone and mikans—a stunning combination.”

Mentally, she cursed herself. She’d done her best to wash away the lingering aroma of her weather magic and potions, but the man had a nose that rivaled a werewolf’s. Or maybe it just stood out because he was normally surrounded by the scent of death? Either way, it appeared she’d be found once more.

Not yet! Nami assured herself. Just because he knew she was there didn’t mean he had caught her. A little spell could distract him long enough for her to sneak away and find a new hiding place. After all, she only had to elude him for five minutes. If she was smart, she could keep just enough distance and run out the clock. Quietly pulling out her wand, she aimed a gust of wind towards some distant thorn bushes, pleased at the way they rustled noisily.

The moment she saw Law’s course divert to the sound, she carefully tiptoed towards the edge of the trees, minding where she stepped to avoid snapping any twigs. Unfortunately, a low branch caught her skirt, and as the fabric ripped, she knew the undertaker would hear the sharp, out-of-place noise.

Choosing to run rather than stay and be caught, she bolted, but just as she’d crossed into the open graveyard, she stumbled, tripping over a fallen headstone and plunging to the hard ground. She bit back a yelp as she felt a rock cut into her knee and another scrape her elbow. Before she could regain her feet, Law was literally on top of her, grasping at her invisible, squirming form and pinning her with his body weight.

“Drop the illusion—you’re caught, and I need to see how badly you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine!” she argued, struggling beneath him.

“I can smell the blood, Nami-ya, and if we don’t bandage your injury, you’ll attract all manner of creatures. Things far worse than me.”

She shuddered. He had a point. Vampires, werewolves, and all sorts of other monsters would flock to her location if she spilled more than a few drops of blood. It was one of the dangers of being a witch—she was closer to human than most supernatural beings, and therefore often seen as prey. Some creatures even found the taste of magic in a witch’s flesh to be a fine seasoning and hunted them specifically, while others sought to enslave them. Luffy had saved her from one such monster—a shark demon named Arlong.

So as much as she wanted to defy Law and try to make a run for it, she knew it was better to take her chances with the undertaker than whatever foul beings she might attract. At least he knew Luffy would kick his ass if he dared cause the woman further harm.

Breaking the spell that surrounded her, the witch’s beautiful body was once more exposed to his intense gaze. Getting off her, Law tsked as he studied her scraped elbow. “Here,” he murmured, pulling a roll of white bandages from his coat pocket, along with a small bottle of pale green liquid. “Let’s clean that up before it gets infected. Zombies pass through here frequently, and sometimes bits of rotten flesh fall off and seep into the ground. I’d hate for you to catch some horrible infection.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, surprised at his consideration.

Ripping off a small piece of the gauze, he soaked it in the potion before rubbing it over the injured skin. Nami hissed slightly at the sting, and for a moment, she imagined he looked apologetic before he began wrapping her elbow in the soft bandages.

“Not a bad job hiding this time, though the trees were kind obvious. Still, your Mirage Tempo spell is as strong as he said. There wasn’t even a shadow or a ripple when you moved. Guess Mugiwara-ya was right to brag about you.”

“Does Luffy come here that much?” she asked, eyes fixated on the precise but gentle manner he treated her arm. It was hypnotic, in a way, seeing how evenly the layers of linen fell on top of each other.

“You have no idea. At first it was annoying how often he’d hang about jabbering on about his nakama, but I guess he grew on me; kind of like a tumor.”

There was no stopping her giggle. “Yeah, that’s a fair description.”

“He talks about you the most. I guess he realized the best way to get me to actually pay attention is when the punchline is him getting his ass kicked by a pretty witch. Plus, I liked that most of your victories came for actually using your brain.”

Full lips quirked at the compliment. “I’m surprised he hasn’t introduced us. Normally, when he makes a new friend, he’ll throw some kind of party to show them off.”

“My duties mean I can’t leave the cemetery too often; otherwise grave robbers will ransack the place while the zombies and restless spirits would roam free and cause all kinds of trouble for everyone. Besides, most don’t care for the company of an undertaker—people tend to run away if they see us coming. Makes me rather unpopular at parties.”

A twinge of sympathy pricked her heart. Law may have been a cocky jackass, but she couldn’t imagine dealing with that kind of responsibility or stigma. Her own life was filled with freedom and laughter and nakama and adventure, and while sometimes she was certain her friends’ recklessness would lead her to an early grave, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. And she was now ashamed to admit, she’d certainly bought into some of the unwarranted prejudice without even questioning it. “That…sounds lonely.”

One shoulder raised in a shrug, though he didn’t meet her gaze. “I prefer not being bothered, but that obnoxious reaper has gotten it into his head that we’re friends ever since I saved his life.”

Like a lightning bolt had been blasted through her spine, she jerked forward in realization. “Wait—you’re Tora-o?”

He grimaced. “Damn fool refuses to get my name right.”

“Luffy’s been going on about you for months! He said you were a doctor!” she accused.

“I am a doctor—I’m just also an undertaker.” Moving down to clean up her leg, he continued, “And did you really expect some normal human surgeon would be able to fix him up? The damage he’d sustained was remarkable. Had it not been for the Will of D, he’d be deep in the bowls of Hell, not badgering me when he should be reaping souls.”

Rosy lips pursing, she nodded in agreement. Those with the “D” initial were rumored to have devil blood in them, making them particularly strong and dangerous. It was even said that they could look into your very soul and uncover your deepest secrets. She’d never believed such stories until she met Monkey D. Luffy and witnessed the insane things he could do. That didn’t mean he was invincible, though, and she’d spent over a month feeling guilty that she hadn’t been around to help him during his time of need.

“Well, then, thank you for saving him, Dr. Law,” she said, voice sincere and soft. Whether Luffy was part Devil or not, she owed him more than she could ever repay, and he did always seem to have a knack for sensing if a person was trustworthy or not. If this man was really the one who saved him, the one he’d been raving about and declaring his new friend, perhaps he wasn’t as sadistic and cruel as he was made out to be. “He’s a pain, but he’s one of my best friends, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, tying off the bandage around her knee. “But if your thanks are freely given, I’ll have to claim something else as my prize.”

With her guard down, Nami was easy prey. He lunged forward, burying one hand in her mikan hair while the other clamped over her hip, dragging her into his lap. Hungrily, his mouth captured hers, biting at her bottom lip in a sensual demand for her submission.

For her part, the fiery woman did her best to keep her mouth closed, unwilling to let him have his way without a fight. Amused at her feeble defiance, Law chuckled low in his throat as his left hand stroked a hot trail up her bare midriff to shamelessly squeeze a soft breast. Outraged and a little aroused, she tried to pull back, but the right hand entangled in her vibrant waves held her in place, forcing her to do little more than gasp from the hot pleasure that shot from her sensitive chest to pool in her lower belly.

Taking his chance, Law’s slick tongue darted between her parted lips to dance with hers, dominating and devouring her soft gasps. He tasted like cinnamon and spiced rum, and was that brimstone that lingered in the back of her throat? It was utterly heady and enticing and she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and battling his slick tongue until her lungs were screaming for oxygen and they both had no choice but to break apart, panting and desperately gulping down the cold autumn air.

Pupils blown wide, chest heaving, and lips bruised, Nami was amazed at how aroused she was from his kiss. Normally, she was the one who teased and tempted, but she never gave in to her own desires. Sure, Law was handsome with a dangerous appeal, but that usually wasn’t enough to make her want to indulge in the sexual vices many of her kind relished in.

“That time, I stole your breath away. I wonder what I should take for my last prize,” he growled, yellow eyes bright and lust practically dripping from each word like molten honey.

“Nothing,” she panted, “because I’m going to win.”

His laugh was low, confident, and sent a spike of heat between her thighs. “Pride goes before the fall, Nami-ya. I’ve won twice—what makes you think you can beat me now?”

A seductive, calculating smile curled her lips. “Because now I know your weakness.”

Smirking at her proclamation, he helped her stand, his movements smooth and graceful and predatory. “That so?”

“Yeah, so quit wasting time and start counting.”

The fire in her eyes pleased him. Turning away and covering his eyes, he began the countdown to the final round.

Nami smirked in earnest, only bothering to put about a dozen or so feet between them before pulling out her wand and getting to work. This time, she wouldn’t settle for just invisibility—she would cast every veil and illusion she knew.

First, a thick stream of fog poured from the tip, filling the graveyard with a near-impenetrable miasma. She even went the extra mile and gave it a mikan aroma, hiding her own scent in the process. Once she was satisfied, she set about creating mirages of herself to dart about and distract him. Next, she used a little bit of heat to burn the piece of bloody gauze she’d swiped from him his pocket during their kiss; perhaps he hadn’t planned on using it to find her, but she wouldn’t take the chance. With the ashes scattered to the winds, she concentrated on casting her invisibility spell, pleased when she no longer left so much as a shadow. Finally, she added one last touch—tiny clouds under her feet, allowing her to hover just above the grass so she’d leave no footprints, break no ground, and make no noise.

This much magic at once was sure to bite her in the ass later; her stamina wasn’t exactly at Zoro or Luffy’s level, but at this point, more than treasure was at stake. Now, she fought for her pride. The desire to show up that smug undertaker and prove her reaper friend’s claims that she was one of the smartest, most talented witches around trumped even a mountain of gold.

The witch was done running, and Dr. Trafalgar Law was going to learn not to mess with her.

“Three. Two. One. Ready or not, here I come,” he finished in that low baritone voice. Turning around, he blinked in surprise at the half-dozen Namis that stood before him, identical, catlike smiles on their faces. “Well. You’re definitely ready.”

Without a word, the mirages ran off into the fog, each in a different direction. A low chuckle escaped his throat as he gave chase, unknowingly passing the real witch.

Extremely pleased with herself, she took a seat on a nearby headstone. Her copies would fade quickly, as they couldn’t maintain their form if they got too far from the original, but it was enough to send Law on a wild goose chase and throw him off her trail. It was a big graveyard, and even after he realized he’d been fooled, he’d likely waste his time searching the more obvious hiding spots, like the mausoleum or the copse of trees again. All she had to do was sit pretty and wait.

Unfortunately, after only a minute and a half, she was already bored. Yes, the thick fog was excellent for hiding in and getting smug heart stealers lost, but it blocked out any scenery beyond about ten feet, leading to her staring at nothing but dull, grey graves. Maybe it was because the night so far had been such an adrenaline rush, but the sudden lack of stimulation left her anxious and unsatisfied.

Kind of wishing I hadn’t been so efficient, she thought with a sigh.

Footsteps echoed through the fog, and her heart leapt. Law’s silhouette broke through the dense veil of mist, and she felt oddly relieved. She rationalized it as preferring to know where he was so he couldn’t catch her by surprise, but really, deep down she was just glad she wouldn’t end up dying of boredom before she could rub it in his face that she’d won.

Creeping behind him, the little voice of caution she normally listened to asked why she wasn’t trying to sneak away from him—the undertaker was still a dangerous opponent, after all. A thousand voices answered, her pride declaring that it would be more satisfying to show him up with how close she’d been the whole time. Her rational side chimed in that Law would be expecting her to run to the gates or other obvious hiding spots, so the smartest thing was to stay close where he’d never think to look. One more voice pointed out that, dangerous as Law was, if Luffy trusted him, she really had nothing to fear even if he did catch her, so why waste the energy running?

The fog swirling around them blocked out even the brilliant light of the moon, and the man before her paused, peering about, trying to choose his next course of action. The look on his face was one of genuine confusion, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he tried to determine her movements. Nami wondered if he’d intentionally come back to where they’d started—he lived in the graveyard, after all, and probably could navigate it blindfolded, as the thick fog didn’t seem to effect how easily he sidestepped every rock and grave. He was as graceful as a shark in the water, perfectly at home in his element.

She really should just leave him be, not take any chances, but something in her took over, and her hand reached out, batting the top hat off his head like a cat knocking over a vase.

She leapt to the side just as he whirled around, grasping at the empty air. She stifled a giggle at the irritation on his face when he realized she’d tricked him.

“Getting confident, are we?” he murmured, carefully scanning the area, searching for the slightest clue as to where she hid. The quick response showed he’d absolutely expected she would be there, but the way he looked right past her betrayed how little that knowledge meant when he couldn’t find her.

Amused and pleased that she finally had the upper hand over the thus-far unflappable undertaker, her lips curled into a feline smirk. Carefully and silently, she wove another mirror image of herself, and together, they snuck up towards his back. Nami gave his coat a playful yank before skittering away, watching as he attempted to grab the illusion, only to be angry and disappointed as it dissolved into a fine mist the moment he touched it.

He almost looked like a little boy pouting that he’d been denied a treat, and she audibly chuckled at the comparison.

That was a mistake, as he quickly dashed towards the noise, Nami only just dodging his lunging form. Stumbling slightly, he growled, but the smirk had returned.

Ok, better take this seriously, she thought, creating two more copies as she backed away.

He seemed to have caught onto her trick, though, ignoring the mirages to search for any sign of an invisible enchantress. “Clever as a cat, and twice as cute. Much as I’m sure this is plenty of guys’ fantasy, I’d much rather get my hands on the real Nami-ya.”

Mockingly, one of the doppelgangers struck a rather provocative pose, licking its lips enticingly and running its hands along its curves, capturing Law’s full attention.

It didn’t escape the real Nami’s notice that he was watching the display with barely contained hunger. “When I find you, you’re in so much trouble,” he rasped.

An idea popped into her head, and she instantly channeled her energy into creating more illusions, surrounding him with mirages of the beautiful witch he sought. Each one posed and strutted about attractively, giving “come hither” gestures and inviting stares.

Law didn’t move, simply watching the visions of Nami as they danced around him. He may know they were just illusions and were only there to distract him, but like he said, this was most guys’ fantasy. His eyes ogled each one, taking in every dip and curve, admiring the sensual show they gave. A faint flush had risen to his cheeks, his breathing was irregular, and though his eyes remained fixated on the illusions, a tattooed hand reached up to undo one of the top buttons of his white dress shirt, fanning the fabric against his skin as if it were a scorching summer afternoon.

For her part, Nami was starting to feel a little hot under the collar, too. Watching Law watch her was…arousing. His reaction was different than most of the men she’d encountered; blood didn’t gush from his nose, he didn’t turn into a slobbering idiot, and he wasn’t making crass, gross comments. He was just silently appreciating her sensual beauty, clearly turned on but patient enough to sit back and enjoy the show without losing his head, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A bead of sweat trickled down her cheek as her breathing grew ragged, and the witch quickly realized it wasn’t just from arousal—casting so many illusions, especially after the powerful weather and invisibility spells, was draining her magical reserves faster than she’d anticipated. She knew she’d have to drop either the copies or the veil hiding her from view; there was a full minute left before the game was over, and she wasn’t certain she could maintain it all for that long.

Deciding to sacrifice her invisibility, she snuck behind Law before dropping the veil, joining the virtual harem of Namis, arching sexily against a gravestone to blend in. He spun slowly in a circle, studying each beautiful body with clear appreciation, before halting suddenly.

“Decided to join the fun, did you? Did you get tired of watching me from the sidelines?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she was grateful she wasn’t the one he was looking at, as it would have instantly given her away.

“There’s one more of you than a minute ago, so either you decided to give me one more lovely vision to appreciate or staying invisible for so long was taking its toll. Given how little time is left, I’d say the latter.” Licking his lips, he nodded. “By my count, you’ve got twenty seconds left. You’re absolutely as good as I heard, and you’ve provided a hell of a distraction for the evening, but it’s time we finish this.”

Before she could even think to ask what he meant and blow her cover, he murmured, “Room,” and the blue bubble from before engulfed the area, encasing Nami and all her doubles.

“Scan.”

Instantly, the weather witch stood before him, and tired as she was, she didn’t resist when his arms encircled her, yanking her forward and molding her soft curves to his hard, muscular frame. Instead she banished her doppelgangers, sagging slightly in relief at no longer having to expend her energy on them.

“Caught you, Nami-ya,” he murmured, voice dark with promise as his hot breath tickled her ear. “Now I get to claim my final prize.”

Heart pounding in anticipation, she couldn’t help but shiver at the promise in his voice. Much as she hated losing, her first two forfeits had been so sinfully delicious that she was quite eager to find out what he had in store for the grand finale. Closing russet eyes, she waited with bated breath for him to claim his prize.

After a full minute of silence, Nami cracked an eye open, curious as to why she wasn’t being ravished. To her shock and disappointment, Law stepped away, tossing a gold bangle into the air and catching it effortlessly. “I think I’ll take this. Gold for gold seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Upon realizing that he’d taken Nojiko’s bracelet from her wrist, cold fury swept through her like January wind. “Give that back!”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, giving it another toss. “The only things off-limits were your wand and charm—surely a thief like you has plenty of bracelets at home.”

“It was a gift from my sister,” she snapped, lunging forward, but he merely lifted it high in the air, using his impressive height to dangle it just out of her reach. No matter how she stretched and strained, the simple gold ring eluded her grasp.

“Is it really so special?” he grunted as she attempted to climb his lean frame like a tree. She doubted he was really complaining; the feel of her luscious curves rubbing against him was turning him on if the telltale bulge pressing into her hip was any indication.

Hatching a plan, the sunset-haired woman grasped his coat, sighing in his ear, “It’s precious to me—you can have anything else, but please, give it back.”

“Tempting, but we agreed I’d steal something—offering me anything I want defeats the purpose. Besides, why steal what you’d willingly give?”

Inside she was seething, but externally she remained coy and submissive, giving in to her earlier urge of trailing her lips along his Adam’s apple. “Please, Law-kun,” she whimpered, flicking the very tip of her tongue against his skin. He tasted like rain and fresh-turned earth, a delicious contradiction she found herself relishing, going in for a firmer lick. This time, she caught a hint of ice and electricity, and she nearly moaned at the tantalizingly dangerous flavors. He tasted like a storm, and as a weather witch, she couldn’t help the giddy anticipation that ran through her.

Throat muscles contracting, his arm slowly lowered, hand at her waist grasping her hip in a bruising grip. “Are you a witch or a damn succubus?” he growled, arching his head back to give her more access to his vulnerable flesh.

At that point, it would have been easy to grab the bracelet and run, but honestly, she was way too turned on. Watching him grow so visibly aroused as her provocative copies teased and tempted him was hotter than any strip show. She’d always found more pleasure in gold and the thrill of a good con than in the sins of the flesh, but tonight, she was feeling greedy in a different way. Perhaps what enticed her most was the fact that she’d finally found a man who was as intelligent as he was handsome, who could actually challenge her in a battle of wits and wills. If she couldn’t walk away with the treasure chest, she’d settle for hot, carnal satisfaction.

Apparently he was in agreement, as he lowered them both to the ground, wrapping her long, powerful legs around his waist as he pulled her in for a smoldering, lustful kiss. His hot, wet tongue stroked along her own as his hands roamed her delicious body eagerly, squeezing and massaging every inch of sensitive flesh they could reach.

Straddling him, Nami couldn’t help but feel like the richest woman in the world as she buried one hand in his soft hair while the other scratched his nipple through his shirt, coaxing a deep moan from him. Involuntarily, he bucked beneath her, and she smirked, pulling away to taunt, “Been some time since you’ve had a woman, hasn’t it?”

His glare could have terrified a sea monster, but he admitted, “Like I said, I don’t get many visitors.” Biting along her jaw, his hands cupped and fondled her chest, chuckling as he pinched the diamond-hard peaks. “And you’ve got no room to talk. With how responsive you are, you haven’t been bedded in ages, either.”

“Maybe,” she squeaked when his tongue delved into her ear. In retaliation, she ran her nails across his scalp as she suckled his pounding pulse-point, pleased when he moaned.

“Then I guess we’re both a little pent up.”

Satisfied with the dark purple bruise she’d marked him with, her lips delicately trailed up his cheek. “Bet I can make you cum first,” she panted in his ear. “Winner takes all.”

“You sure about that?” Grasping her hips tightly, he ground his obvious erection against her sensitive core, smirking at the way her hazelnut eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Then you’ve got a deal.”

A sharp whine escaped her throat as he gave another heady grind, and Law chuckled, mouth latching onto the pale column of her throat, sucking and biting as he continued to roll his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “Fucking hell,” he growled against her skin as she matched his rhythm, bucking and grinding in a desperate bid to tease him to completion. “That’s it Nami-ya—ride me. Wish I was inside you right now. I’d fill you up and fuck you senseless, give you more pleasure than you can handle. You’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?”

Swallowing hard, she couldn’t help but imagine how that would feel. Based on his height and what she could feel tucked away in his jeans, he’d be deliciously hard and girthy, stretching her until she reached that delightful crux of pain and pleasure. Heat and pressure built up between her thighs as she envisioned having him eager and naked beneath her.

“Yeah,” she moaned breathily, nibbling his ear, tongue playing with the duo of gold hoops, “but I bet what you really want is me tied to your bed, naked and screaming your name. Your own, sexy, bewitching fuck toy, wet and waiting for you every night.”

“Fuck!” he grunted, rhythm stuttering briefly as his dirty fantasy was turned against him. Eyes clamping shut, it took him a moment to regain control, but when they opened, they had a truly devilish glint. “Damn right I do. I’ve got all kinds of whips and chains for the occasion. Other toys, too, that’ll take you right to the brink.” Slowly, his hands left her hips to provocatively squeeze the firm meat of her ass, even as the tempo of his rolling hips increased. “By the time I’m through with you, not an inch of skin will go unmarked. No hole unfucked. And you wouldn’t even want to leave, because you’ll be too busy begging me for more.”

Small, white teeth dug into her plump bottom lip as she felt his hips adjust their angle to rub just the right spot with every thrust, his filthy words making her embarrassingly wet. If he went into any more detail, she was done for, and she refused to lose this time. So, burying a hand in his midnight blue hair, she pulled him in for a wicked kiss, silencing his words and forcing his tongue to try a new trick, like thrusting in and out of her mouth in time to his hips. Sensing how close he was to the edge, she raked her nails down his back just as his teeth pierced the delicate, swollen flesh of her lower lip. The taste of blood mixed with one last rough, sensual grind made her see stars, and her hips began spasming, a dry orgasm overwhelming her.

Law clearly wasn’t much better, as he pulled away from her mouth to throw his head back in a loud cry, hips bucking and jerking against her erratically.

After several long, pleasurable moments, the pair came down from their high. As they sat there, breaths hot and heavy and exhausted, Nami’s head lolled against Law’s shoulder, while he struggled to keep upright, both their bodies lethargic and full of lead.

Finally, he murmured, “Seems it’s a tie.”

“Guess so.”

Cool, smooth metal slipped onto her wrist. “You can have your sister’s bracelet back; I don’t really have a use for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” she sighed happily. A voice in the back of her head said she should probably get up, to leave before any regret could set in, but the rest of her was far too comfortable in his arms. She’d never been one for pillow talk, but she felt…safe in his embrace. Wanted. “I’ll stick to robbing the living, so you won’t have to worry about me digging up your graves again.”

The hum he let out sounded vaguely disappointed. “You know, even if you hadn’t broken ground, I would have noticed you. A vibrant thing like you stands out in a place like this.”

“Yeah, I guess without my Mirage Tempo, I’d be shit out of luck for camouflage.” Carefully, she adjusted her position, settling in so she could talk to him more easily.

Tattooed, muscular arms tightened around her trim waist, as if worried she was about to try and leave. “True, but that’s not what I meant. You’re warm and full of life; you attract attention like a lighthouse in the fog, drawing lost souls to you.”

An orange eyebrow raised at his response. Luffy had said something similar when they’d first met, but from Law, it sounded a lot more wistful. “So, you’re saying I should stay out of graveyards. Got it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Annoyed at just how reluctant he was to just say what was obviously on the tip of his tongue, she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her dead in the eye. “Law, do you want me to come back and visit you?”

It was clear he wanted to avert his gaze, but with no choice but to stare into her russet brown irises, he gave a defeated sigh. “I’m fine being left alone. Used to it. But I suppose if I must have visitors, you’d make far better company than Mugiwara-ya. Less noisy, at least.”

That brought a little grin to her face. “Probably. He totally set us up, didn’t he?”

“I have no doubt, especially since he tricked Zoro-ya and Black Leg-ya into wandering in last week.”

“Then you knew his plan the whole time?” she screeched, furious that she’d been tricked.

Once more his grip tightened, unwilling to let her storm off. “I guessed. It could have been coincidence, but knowing that idiot, he figured if he couldn’t bring me to his nakama, he’d send them to me. I doubt he planned this, though,” he said, indicating their entangled limbs and sticky laps.

With an annoyed huff, she rested her head back on his shoulder. “Why the game, though?”

“I really was curious if you were as good as he claimed, and I thought it might be amusing—especially after that first kiss,” he said, devilish grin returning to his lips.

“Cocky asshole,” Nami grumbled.

“Witchy graverobber,” he countered affectionately before brushing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Speaking of, getting rid of that gold really is a good idea—part of my job is making sure spirits don’t lose their chance to pass on to the afterlife. If Mugiwara-ya thinks you using the money for a shopping spree will help, I’ll let you have it, but only on one condition.”

“Which is?”

Carefully removing her from his lap, Law stood and hoisted her to her feet. “Come visit me again. Your idiot friend clearly thinks I can use the company—”

“We’ve played enough games for one night, Torao-kun; just say it’s because you want me to spend time with you.”

“Don’t order me around, Nami-ya,” he growled menacingly, but when she refused to back down, he sighed. “Fine. Come by and visit me every once in a while, and the treasure’s yours, plus I’ll let you know of any other greedy old bastards that need you to break them of their material chains.”

Grinning, she stood up on her tiptoes, pressing a quick peck to his jaw. “Deal. And maybe next time I’ll bring Luffy; we can kick his ass together.”

The smirk he gave her was dangerous and oh-so-sexy as the purple aura encased them up to the mausoleum, the treasure chest and a small brass key dropping into her hands. “It’s a date.”

A thought came to her, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “Hey, since you forfeited the bracelet, you didn’t get your last prize, did you?”

“What, are you saying I didn’t steal your heart?”

“Sorry, that’s locked up tight,” she replied as she tapped her chest, though she couldn’t help the cheeky smile that lifted the corners of her lips.

Law’s was just as smug. “Then I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

The End

[bigskydreaming]

Dropping off another commission which means okay NOW I only have one to finish. This one is a throwback to that time I was talking Marvel/DC crossover ships, and I said okay but what about Dick/Wanda because yeah, like two of the only Rom heroes in anywhere being a thing would be pretty cool, but also like.

Batfam + Magnetfam holiday dinner gatherings.

Someone agreed, and asked for more along those lines and asked that I not worry about the crack potential but feel free to embrace it instead, citing that Batboys adopted by Zatanna AU I wrote as a tone they’d enjoyed. Their only other requests were they wanted to see if I could include Luna and Crystal in any ways, and that I give Stephanie some time in the spotlight. I warned them that my usual take on Stephanie is ADHD as hell, but that apparently was not a problem, so uh...hang on when it gets to Steph or be prepared for her to leave you in the dust. She doesn’t slow down for stragglers.

There were a ton of characters to juggle in this so not everyone gets the same degree of focus, but I did my best to work everyone relevant to the scenario in as best I could. Also, I don’t actually know where a couple of these particular takes came from - I’ve never ever written Lorna anything remotely like this in my life, but I kinda just let the crack do what it wanted to do. *Shrugs* I have no defense, only oops.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you 15K, yes you heard that right, 15K of crossover crack that puts the Batfamily and the Magnetfamily at the same dinner table, lights the match and then runs for cover.

************************

We enter unobtrusively through the dining room’s lone doorway. Our awkward approach is that of the mockumentary style; our hushed atmosphere is that of taking ourselves very seriously, because if we don’t, who will? 

Said dining room’s doorway is perfectly situated so as to allow only one point of entrance and exit. Also: maximum drama while doing so. The architecture of Wayne Manor was designed with a clear set of priorities in mind. We invite you to picture the airs of Downtown Abbey, but  as if skewing less towards the egalitarian passive aggressive stylings associated with British High Drama, and more towards the rather more direct passive aggressive stylings of American High Drama. 

As an example...where a British soap opera might depict someone dramatically gasping “Why, I never!” and clutching symbolically at their heart in order to convey they’re mere insults away from having a myocardial infarction, an American soap opera might instead depict someone dramatically yelling “Bleep you!” and then vaulting across the table to punch someone in the face in order to convey they’re really quite angry and the only way to fully express that is by starting a feud that will last 72 episodes and only end when one of them is murdered and replaced by their evil twin.

That sort of thing. 

We return to unobtrusively entering through the doorway whose very singular purpose in the narrative is as a conveyance that this is the House That Drama Built. 

It should be added as an afterthought that only just occurred to us but is no less important because of its poor punctuality: the House That Drama Built also exists as a kind of metaphysical Drama vampire that cultivates an atmosphere of Drama whilst simultaneously feasting on the Drama it creates just to harvest as its crop of choice.

Quite nasty and shiver-inducing, to be sure, but let it serve as a good rule of thumb: Don’t trust centuries old rich people houses. There’s always something messed up about those places. Seriously. You know its true.

Proceeding onward, and despite having explicitly mapped out why its impossible to do so, we nevertheless manage to sidle into prime vantage points without being noticed. Look, we can do stuff like that because we’re magic, okay? Also fictional, and really just a tonal framing device introduced as a thin coat of varnish overlaying everything with the glistening sheen of crack fiction. Now shush and pretend we’re not here, which should be easy because we’re not.

The two family patriarchs, Erik Lehnsherr and Bruce Wayne, each sit at opposing heads of the excessively long dining room table that is almost certainly an indication one of Bruce’s direct ancestors felt a clear and urgent need to overcompensate for something.

Locked in an epic battle of wills that looks remarkably similar to the staring contest perfected by kindergartners everywhere, though that’s undoubtedly just a coincidence,the two titans of temperament face off in a face-off for the ages. 

Both steel-faced and with backs so straight the sight would make any right angle weak in the knees, these bastions of brooding are equally infamous for their rigidity and refusal to bend, even when they probably should - because sometimes its a battle over the fate of the world and a fight for the very heart and soul of humanity, yes, absolutely true, but other times their children just asked if they could have pizza tonight instead of meatloaf and it really didn’t need to escalate that quickly, but oh well.

Heedless of the judgment of fictional narrators as well as every person to ever suggest to them that their sphincters might actually benefit from the occasional attempt to unclench, the Master of Magnetism is an irresistible force while channeling the unleashed totality of his willpower through his steady gaze, as fixed and unwavering as the North Star itself. At the same time, his counterpart is an equally immovable object while planted firm and steady in his convictions, the imposing edifice of his impassive expression not likely to be eroded by the mere disdain of another mortal. Not when the Man of Bats has stubbornly stared down gods. 

Admittedly, the last one used the opportunity to blast him through time and space instead, but that’s the kind of risk one takes when matching an ageless deity ego for ego. It should not be viewed as an indication as to whom among these two mighty mortals might appear the victor when engaged in similar combat. Especially as neither is in possession of magic eye beams which technically should count as cheating, if you really think about it.

They match each other fractional eye squint for fractional eye squint. Both lost in the intensity of each other’s gaze in a way that regardless of tropes is less enemies to lovers and more enemies to psych, we’re still enemies and if our kids do tie the knot, I’m totally going to insist on hosting the wedding at my big-ass mansion and you can call that a power move if you want because it totally is, what about it?

In response to the challenge that’s conveyed with crystal clarity thanks to the power of crack, Erik’s own gaze narrows fractionally further as he reaches down with his mutant abilities until they chance upon a vein of iron miles deep. He then proceeds to push and pull on it in such a way as to make the earth shift beneath their feet.

He is not subtle about being the cause. That sort of thing isn’t really in his wheelhouse.

However, in the name of defending Erik from his children’s exasperated glares, it should be pointed out here that Bruce did in fact ask, what about it, and Erik did in his own fashion simply indicate what about it indeed.

Well. Sorta.

The initial clash of wills meeting wills subsides and assures both men that their opponent will be no easy pushover. With that, the concrete aspiring contenders retreat once more to their far sides. They proceed to keep eyes locked and faces solemn and still, neither taking their gaze off the other even while eating or responding to some conversation piece directed at them by another denizen of the dining room.

“This is quite the meal, Mr. Pennyworth. You are to be commended,” Erik says sincerely. His face is still as smooth as Lake Placid, with nary a Syfy Original killer crocodile lurking dangerously beneath the surface.

“Yes, truly some of your best work, Alfred, thank you,” Bruce adds completely deadpan, not to be outdone.

Eternally placing his professionalism above all else, Alfred waits until he’s out of the room and halfway to the kitchen before venting an exasperated exhalation of his own.

Of course, Wayne Manor does have excellent acoustics.

Elsewhere along the table’s lengths, Pietro and Damian also keep their stares deadlocked from across each other, never deviating throughout the entirety of their meal. Their detente, however, is more accurately termed an ‘arrogance-off,’ with each refusing to give way before a lesser opponent. If Pietro is remotely bothered that he’s deeply invested in establishing his superiority over a twelve year old, it doesn’t show.

Look, if he starts making allowances for age, where would it end? With him letting toddlers walk all over him simply because they managed not to blink first? Don’t be absurd.

On the other side of Pietro, Jason is gleefully lobbing conversational grenades down the length of the table. Seizing advantage of even the slightest lull, he packs every sparse moment of silence full of yet another philosophical hot take he’s strategically brainstormed to cause maximum conscience carnage. 

Each carelessly uttered but carefully aimed moral dilemma-turned-mortar fire is tactically engineered towards setting each and every highly opinionated diner to warring over the higher ground. There are always holdouts of course, those who instead hunker deeper down in their trenches in an attempt to wait out the bombardment without engaging. Persistence has never been something Jay lacks, however, so even the few duds that fail to properly detonate only end up followed by a rapid-fire encore the first chance he has to reload.

Meanwhile, Lorna downs a glass of wine like its a shot of tequila and she’s a veteran of the collegiate drinking experience. Then again, she actually is, even if most tend to forget that. It doesn’t quite lend the same weight to her resume as actual freaking superhero, you’re welcome for the planet’s continued state of existence does, so she doesn’t tend to lead with it. 

But that doesn’t mean that even this dubiously termed ‘skill’ lacks a time to shine. One does what one has to in order to make it through family gatherings when the family in question is hers, the mistress of magnetism maintains. Be sure to note both lower case m’s in the script of her full title, because sharing a powerset with her father doesn’t mean she actually has to indulge in silly shows of power with the sole purpose of establishing one’s right to self-brand with fully capitalized letters. 

She finds such things exhaustively tedious, as dull as they are droll, and as much as she loves her father, she could really stand to see him embarrass himself less in public, with his ridiculous insistence on those farces.

In his defense, the enemies that flee in terror upon such displays, wetting themselves all the while...well, clearly they’re suitably impressed. But that doesn’t mean Lorna can’t still be embarrassed for him. Honestly, would it really kill him to act his actual age of....

Oh hell. She’s not nearly drunk enough yet to try and make sense of her father’s age. 

Full disclosure, and also full awareness that her brother will never fail to bring up her own recorded instances of ridiculous grandstanding whenever its remotely relevant, and most other opportunities as well - yes, those happened, yes, she agrees they were ridiculous and necessary, but she also requests it be on the record that in all such instances she was either very young, very possessed, or very both.

Probably.

Look, the possessed thing happens often enough its not like even she can keep track of it. If she wants to squeeze a few perks out of that particular trend towards things that are obnoxious and unnecessary for five hundred, Alex, she’s damn well entitled.

And why, in the name of all the gods she hasn’t been teammates with and seen drunkenly stumbling around in their underwear at some point, is she picturing her ex Alex’s face when whimsically thinking of the Jeopardy host? Better question, why is she still not drunk enough to not give a shit if she does?

Ugh, if this leads to her having to admit Betsy was right and she’s begun indulging in her family’s tendency towards being excessive about anything and everything that keeps their minds off boringly pedestrian events like a break-up, well. That would really suck. 

Mostly because Betsy is unbearable when she’s right about anything.

Driven to extreme measures by the fact that her thoughts are being rude and contentious and mean to her, Lorna trades introspection for the potential hazards of engaging directly with her dinner companions. Risky as that may be. They could be more unbearable than Betsy, for all she knows. And bad things tend to happen when she gives strangers the benefit of the doubt. She usually ends up disappointed, or bored.

Also, possessed.

Girding herself with jaded detachment, Lorna resigns herself to the mortifying ordeal of having to know other people - people who when taking into account her sister’s track record with such matters, could easily turn out to be serial killers or even worse, annoying robots. 

Shuddering at the memory of the Pencil Sharpener That Walks Like A Man, she surveys the chaos she’d mistaken for white noise when still busy being her own entertainment. Its slightly livelier than she’d assumed it would be.

Lorna’s never lacked her father’s eye for tactical analysis and strategic scheming, to be clear. Its more that she’s absent his desire to see her molded into any kind of mini-me that could potentially carry on where he leaves off when he dies, as if no interruption has taken place.

But never mind her issues with her father, that she steadfastly refuses to refer to as Daddy issues. Coolly assessing the commotion around her, she decides the only role worth adopting here is that of the official fanner of flames. The only side worth taking is of course the only side ever worth taking: hers, obviously.

She wades in without any warning beyond a green-lipped smile that toes the line between bearing just enough menace to act as a threat, but never so much as to warn people to take sufficient precautions when facing her.

It’s been said that the difference between her and her father is that Magneto causes natural disasters.

Lorna is one.

Wasting no time before establishing herself as an enemy to all and a friend to none, as if she needs any, she sets up shop as a random sequencer with no allegiance or agenda other than making everyone regret insisting on her attendance. 

She deftly diverts Jason’s verbal volleys off their intended course with dry, sardonic wit and she wields sly insinuations like a racket with which she redirects grenades of great ethical weight at whomever strikes her fancy. She is whimsy: watch her do whatever the hell she wants. Object, and catch hellfire.

Rather than take offense at her interference, Jason tips his head to her in appreciation of her craft. Like calls to like, after all. Lorna decides in a burst of decisiveness that she likes this one, at least. 

She tilts her glass to him with a smirk and refills, topping off Kate Kane’s glass as well when the older woman holds hers out with a look that leapfrogs right over seduction and practically all the way to the morning after. She decides then and there that she likes this one as well. Two for two, look at that. And people say she’s anti-social. Distinctly recalling she’d taken a second look at Kate’s legs before sitting down, and adding in those eyelashes....

Well. Lorna’s never seriously considered taking another woman up on one of these looks before, but it wouldn’t wholly be accurate to claim she’s never thought of sending one to say...Ororo or Betsy a time or two herself. 

Or even a little accurate, actually, but that is neither here nor there.

Lorna thinks, though, that if she were to take up this particular woman up on this particular offer on this particular night - there might at some point be explosions. 

This is not a dealbreaker.

Look, she didn’t get her degree in geology because she held any particular interest in literally dull as dirt sandstone. Pyroclastic igneous rock formations, on the other hand...now that’s a different matter entirely. Fire pretty. Batwoman pretty. 

Okay, she might be a little tipsy at this point. She looks at her wine glass accusingly; she shouldn’t have to find these things out on her own. It neither confirms nor denies. 

Bitch.

Still further down the table, Dick's usual charming composure has been knocked out and left tied up in a coat closet somewhere. With the anthropomorphic embodiment of the emotion Frazzled then stepping in to take his place, and not at all very obviously acting out of sorts, if the amused but completely unhelpful smirks of his siblings are anything to go by. 

The Dick-shaped entity seated in his place makes occasional token attempts to direct the flow of conversation like the maestro he’s usually known to be in such settings. In this particular setting and time, however, he mostly just manages to exist as a sentient display of the condition or state of being I Have Regrets. 

His attention flits from one person to the next as he periodically tries to distract everybody from plotting the murders of everyone else at the table. Or covering up the murder of someone else, as committed by one of their family members. Or from plotting to frame someone else at the table for murder. Or from broadcasting that they’d absolutely get to the bottom of any frame job and prove their relative’s innocence and see the real culprit behind bars. 

Also, he may or may not have to every so often stop and distract himself from plotting murders of his own.

Dick lands briefly on Jason every now and again with an “I know what you’re doing and would greatly appreciate it if you’d stop” glare. 

Its met each time by his little brother’s “I have no idea what you’re talking about, this is just how I partake in family gatherings, isn’t that what you want or should I just go home” mask of blatantly transparent faux-innocence. 

Jay’s expressions are practically close captioned, that’s how far he is from even attempting to bother with the whole thing.

Dick returns fire with a narrowing of the eyebrows that screams: “I’ll get you for this, and your little dog too.” 

Jason’s lip only upticks at one corner, his otherwise studied indifference sending back his crystal clear response: “Bitch, I died. What’re you gonna to do, threaten to go a week without trying to ambush me with hugs?” 

Dick’s jaw shifts like a tectonic plate movement, teeth grinding as he holds the glare. “You’re the worst.” 

Jason beams and tilts his head, eyes drifting upwards in silent contemplation, as if to say, “Well, we all aspire to great heights in our own unique ways.” 

“Allow me to congratulate you on your successful achievements then.” Dick’s now puckered expression fires barbs from a blowgun.

“If you really cared, you’d show me with a trophy. What’s a guy gotta do to get his brother to try and buy his love and affection,” said little brother lofts at him by way of an obnoxiously exaggerated batting of his eyelashes.

Next to Dick, Wanda has her elbow on the table, propping up her head in one hand as she lazily pokes at her food with her fork. She’s not even trying to hide how much she regrets every decision that led to this. She likes Dick, quite a lot, but clearly, neither of their families are fit for conjoined festivities. Lesson learned. 

Duke is shoving dinner roll after dinner roll into his mouth, as if afraid to risk missing out on anything by attempting more focus-intensive food handling than that. His eyes are feverishly bright as they dart from one length of the table to the other and back again. This is the best day ever. 

Tim and Cass are seated side by side and occasionally dip their heads together in hushed conversation. At other times they flick their fingers at each other in sign language just below the surface of the table. 

Periodically, Tim will then wade into one conversation or another, never staying focused for long on any one single conversation partner before moving on. 

If one were to view this whole....event...as an exercise in conversational warfare, one might be tempted to view Tim’s patterns of discussion as somewhat akin to guerilla warfare. Brief engagements not aimed at achieving any kind of victory so much as feeling out the oppositions’ defenses and tactics before withdrawing to form more firmed out plans based off the gathered intel. 

Dick closes his eyes and sighs as he sees Tim and Cass dip their heads together again. Right after Cass’ eagle-eyed gaze spent a few moments lingering on the wake of Tim’s latest ‘tactical retreat,’ which was plenty of time for their sister to soak in a fair amount of everyone's reactions and responses.

Dick coughs into his hand. When Tim looks his way and meets Dick’s stern gaze with an inquiring eyebrow, Dick reaches a hand to the side of his head as if to smooth back a lock of hair. Instead he then signs with grimly dancing fingers, “Please tell me you and Cass aren’t using a holiday dinner together as a chance to develop contingency plans for taking down members of my girlfriend’s family.”

Tim cocks his head slightly and frowns. The only indication that his fingers are once again busy at work beneath the table is the slight ripple of movement along his upper arms. A few moments later, Dick’s phone vibrates with a notification. He slides it into his lap and reads Tim’s text.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you just said. I don’t speak ASL.”

Dick tilts his own head and fires an unimpressed look across the table. “Seriously?”

Cassandra pokes Tim in the side, sending him an inquiring look of her own. No doubt curious what he’d texted Dick to elicit such a response. Tim grins and answers her in swift, practiced gestures the little twerp makes no attempt to hide this time. Blatant ASL, just one of the several different sign languages they were all fluent in. Cass raises a hand to her face and hides her giggle behind the back of it, just as Tim finishes. Dick darts his sour face at her, texting her phone in turn.

“Et tu, Cass?”

She glances down at her own phone and then just shrugs at him, utterly unrepentant. Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. Okay then.

Pietro’s daughter Luna had long since retreated to one of the Wayne family dens to watch movies, citing a headache. No one doubted that the precocious young empath was just entirely uninterested in being in the vicinity of all their entangled and extremely loud emotions. 

Her father had briefly attempted to impress upon her the importance of being present with the rest of them for at least some of the dinner. His daughter had simply met his token effort at imparting politeness protocols with a pointed look first at him and then at Damian, who was at most two years older than her. 

Pietro had grimaced. In an ideal world, caving to her demands would not be easier than him just conducting himself like a mature adult for the duration of a single dinner gathering. But then, none of them came from an ideal world, and he suffered no illusions about being an ideal parent. And more importantly, in the grand scheme of things it was hardly like this was one of the really important battles, the ones that needed to be picked carefully. 

That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. And thus Luna had been excused to entertain herself with the Waynes’ vast video library.

Wanda’s twin sons thus far seem content to keep themselves busy with their own back-and-forth in the private ‘twin language’ they’d crafted over the years - more due to cheating than the existence of some preternatural twin understanding of each other. Neither boy pretends to have a clue how the other’s mind works. 

Essentially, Tommy just talks to his brother at full superspeed, while Billy has a spell in place that allows him to keep up and understand his twin no matter what speed his ramblings take. No one seems entirely sure what mechanism they have for Billy to speak back to Tommy in a way no one else ever picks up on, or even if such a mechanism exists at all. It's entirely possible that due to the nature of their dynamic, they’d never found creating one to be at all necessary. 

That isn’t to suggest that Billy is a follower in temperament or by nature. Its more just that when dealing with Tommy, one either follows (or tries to play catch up slash does damage control) or else one waits until Tommy races off to do what he wants, for however long it takes for him to eventually figure out that nobody has followed or is even going to. Then finally racing back and submitting to following someone else’s lead, sulking all the while about how nobody ever listens to him about anything. 

Basically, letting Tommy take the lead in the more low-stakes engagements is just being efficient, in Billy’s opinion. The alternative takes way too long and his twin is a pain to deal with when in a heightened state of Sulk.

However, as to just how low-stakes or not this dinner actually is, well, that seems to be a matter of some debate between the twins, and not something Billy himself has even settled his opinion on. 

Frequent high-pitched squeaks occasionally sound out from their corner of the table, most too quick to even register for anyone other than their uncle Pietro, who currently is still preoccupied with his extended staring contest against his diminutive rival in all things pertaining to ego and attempted sovereignty

If anyone else were even to register their existence or frequency, the combination of squeaks and Tommy’s repeated glares at his brother might lead to the conclusion that Billy is repeatedly poking or jabbing his twin in order to rein Tommy in from leaping into some fray or another and escalating the already existing tension to biblical proportions. As is his wont. 

And Billy, at least, is enjoying his meal.

Well, he’s trying to, anyway.

But the closer he gets to completely clearing his plate, the more frequent Billy’s longing glances in the direction Luna had vanished become. Clearly, the teen is debating the merits of faking some ailment of his own and following his cousin’s example all the way to blessed, blessed relief from the chore of being the only one capable of saying “Tommy no” and actually producing an end result that isn’t just an accelerated timetable.

It’s not hard to tell when Billy’s inner war of his self-preserving tendencies vs his self-sacrificing tendencies is ultimately decided with a final score of Sanity: 1, Pointless and Unappreciated Gestures of Nobility: 0.

The seventeen year old sighs loudly and slumps back against his chair, his entire demeanor broadcasting an aura of “I give up” on so many clear wavelengths, it interrupts every skirmish currently in progress and results in every adult at the table sending concerned looks towards the twins’ corner of it. 

Billy’s crossed arms and the empty space his gaze is determinedly fixed on combine to clearly convey he has nothing to do with whatever has happened or is about to happen. 

Leading to every scrap of attention thus trekking further down the table to his twin, where Tommy is beaming with the brightness of a thousand supergiant stars about to go supernova and make a mess that will span galaxies and last for ten thousand years. 

His Aunt Lorna’s own penchant for pretty explosions and fireworks has nothing on his, other than seniority.

Tommy’s own family knows that gleam in his eyes well enough to be aware their own immediate reactions should be duck and cover. Unfortunately, the Waynes’ dining room affords few actual defensive positions, all of which are already occupied by members of the Family Batshit. Resigning themselves to the inevitable, the Family Maximumoff Damage brace for impact.

Not being familiar with the gleam in Tommy’s eyes themselves, but more than observant (and paranoid) enough to recognize the braced positions of the other family and adapt accordingly, the members of the Family Batshit are all quick to follow suit.

Wanda meanwhile takes the scant seconds before collision to close her eyes and try to recall why she ever wanted children so desperately she literally wished them into existence.

She’s got nothing. 

Dick uses the same time to gulp and take a deep breath, frantically trying to fortify himself with everything he knows of Wanda’s more....mayhem-inclined child. Hopefully he can use that intel to prepare contingencies for whatever fallout may follow in the next few seconds.

Ever the optimist, that one.

Into a silence stretching longer than a speedster in the spotlight has ever before allowed silence to linger - with Tommy clearly savoring the focused attention and abundant awareness of his Impact™ and reputation - the silver-haired teen grins with teeth bright enough to ignite the ensuing firestorm all on their own. The fateful words he finally utters almost seem overkill. At least until he finishes saying them and everything else ceases to matter, because boom.

Ignition.

“Hey Dick, if you end up marrying our mom, does that mean we can call you Dad?”

The silence that follows that particular detonation is akin to the death-knell of the dinosaurs, in the moments immediately after a giant asteroid wiped out 80% of life on the planet.

Then: anarchy.

“How dare you!” Damian launches himself out of his seat with what would normally be described as a hiss, were it not uttered at a decibel closer to being an actual sonic boom.

Jason looks like he can’t decide if he wants to fall to the ground laughing or fall to the ground tucking and rolling. To avoid having to make a decision, he grabs his until now untouched wine and guzzles it like a man who just found the only oasis in a hundred mile wide desert.

Lorna uncorks another bottle of wine and raises the whole thing like she’s toasting existence itself, on her way out the mortal coil’s exit-marked door. Kate thrusts her glass in front of Lorna for another refill. 

“I know many lesbians can and do have kids in any number of ways, but do you think its okay if I cite this as proof we’re the highest evolved life form and if I was meant to have kids of my own, God wouldn’t have given me such an obvious hint as to the opposite?” 

Kate absently muses to Lorna under her breath and out of the corner of her mouth, both of them still fixed on viewing the various diners turned statue-still by the Medusa like turn of the table’s conversations. 

“It feels like that’s one of those things people tell me I should keep in my head and just gets me in trouble when I decide to share it instead, but honestly, I can never tell.”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Lorna whispers back. “I get possessed by this one psychic ghost enough that one of the few perks is I don’t have to worry about ticking people off anymore. Nowadays if I piss someone off, all I have to do is wait a couple of days and then say I was possessed again at the time. Then I just ask why the hell did nobody notice and dramatically make a lot of noise about that until everybody forgets what the hell they were even ticked at me for in the first place.”

“Ugh. Lucky bitch.” 

Lorna shrugs with the faintest of smirks. “It’s all about just working with what you’ve got.”

Elsewhere at the table, Duke is frozen with his mouth still stuffed so full his cheeks are puffed out like a cartoon chipmunk’s. The only movements coming from his direction at all are the twin orbs that are his eyes, currently imitating tennis balls being rocketed back and forth across the court by pro players who never miss a swing.

Tim and Cass are clutching each others’ forearms, the closest either has come to displaying a panic reaction in literal years. In Cassandra’s case, more like in her entire lifetime.

But the title of ultimate attention draw is for the moment a dubious honor bestowed upon the Wayne patriarch himself. 

Bruce leaps from his seat like an Olympic sprinter off the starting block, managing to catch up to his youngest before Damian plus Damian’s butter knife make it more than a foot towards Tommy. He snatches the twelve year old up by his waist, smoothly disarming his son and spinning around to plant himself between the boy and his target with the practiced and precise moves of the bedlam ballerina that he is.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last. His eyes fly wildly around the room as if seeking permission to land. They settle on making repeated loops of a race track that runs from Tommy’s smile of success to Damian’s enraged expression, and then to his own father’s attempt at a poker face: normally flawless, but now only warranting such acclaim if Bruce’s intention actually was to mimick the poker face of someone steadily ingesting lemons and nothing else throughout the course of a game. 

Its not Dick’s finest work, obviously, but to be fair he’s also quite busy,trying to will himself through the floor. Possibly the Earth’s core while he’s at it. Results are still pending.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the inhabitants of the dining room, Pietro’s ex Crystal has arrived as previously agreed, so she can pick up Luna and their daughter can spend the back half of the holiday with her mother and the latter’s teammates. 

They were on their way to the dining room so Luna could say her goodbyes to her father, aunts, cousins and grandfather, when the current chaos had erupted.

Her own heroic impulses instinctively compelling her to charge in and attempt to help, Crystal’s tugged back by her daughter’s hand in hers. Knowing full well that Luna’s empathy-fueled instincts are superior to just about anyone else’s, Crystal halts and takes in the scene before them again, still with caution but with slightly less urgency.

“I suppose you have some idea what’s going on in there?”

Luna just smiles softly at her mother, as if shyly amused by the situation they’re witnessing.

“Did you hear how just when we were coming down the hall, Tommy said something about calling Wanda’s boyfriend ‘Dad’ if they get married?”

Crystal furrows her brow and nods; she hadn’t been paying that much attention, but one didn’t engage in superheroics (let alone marry and live with a hyper-active speedster) if one had poor situational awareness. Well one did, theoretically, but in such instances, one usually just died before gaining any kind of reputation or relevance.

“Well see, that set off Damian, Mr. Wayne’s youngest son and Dick’s baby brother - he was the one shouting ‘How dare you’ - “

“Don’t tell me this family has some kind of superiority complex about the twins or Wanda not being good enough for one of their own,” Crystal interrupted. The air around them crisped and heated even as a stray wind arose inside the manor and teased the ends of her hair into furious activity. 

She and Pietro might not be together anymore, but her fondness for him and certain other members of his family hadn’t ceased to exist simply because their marriage no longer did. Wanda had been her friend for years before she and Pietro even began to date, and her twins were still Luna’s cousins. All of which made them still family as far as Crystal was concerned. 

And she’d certainly put up with enough of her own family’s nonsense about nobody being good enough for one of them...more than she should have, to be honest, even if that was still ultimately the reason she’d cut ties with them and made her teammates her and her daughter’s true family. Crystal wasn’t about to stand idly by while strangers subjected her daughter’s cousins and aunt to more of that bullshit, even if they were hugely respected heroes of this universe’s Earth.

But Luna just shakes her head swiftly and decisively, and Crystal forces her metaphorical hackles to subside at her daughter’s apparent lack of concern. 

“No, its nothing like that. Well, Damian’s kind of a brat sometimes, but it feels like he only acts out like that when he doesn’t have instincts about how to react to a given situation and he’s embarrassed about that. He had some kind of messed up childhood none of them like to talk about too much. But honestly, he feels more jealous right now than he does anything else. Aunt Wanda gave us all a rundown before we got here, about Dick’s family and things to not ask them about or bring up, and what kind of stuff they’d been told about us for similar reasons. Anyway, she told us Damian didn’t even live with their family until a few years ago, and when he first came to live with them there was a year when Mr. Wayne was missing and most of them thought he was dead....and so Dick was basically Damian’s first real kinda dad even before Mr. Wayne got a chance to be, and even though he’s been the one raising Damian ever since he got back, it sounded like there’s a lot of mixed feelings and confusion and tension between him, Mr. Wayne and Dick ever since.”

“And of course your cousin just couldn’t resist poking the elephant in the room, once he’d been made aware of its existence, if only to see what would happen,” Crystal sighs. That boy....

Not for the first time when around her ex’s family, she finds herself reminded to be grateful for the relationship she and her daughter share, mostly due to her daughter’s willingness to be understanding of others’ flaws, her own included. Crystal makes sure to will forth a wish for fortitude in Wanda’s direction while she’s at it. Couldn’t hurt.

And of course, speaking of Luna’s ability to be understanding....

“Tommy was just trying to have a little fun, he honestly didn’t mean any harm by it,” her daughter defends the cousin in question. “I know he didn’t really have any idea how much of a reaction he’d get, and just how deep and strongly they had about this. And I know it probably sounds like I’m just trying to make excuses for Tommy to keep him out of trouble, but maybe this is a good thing, that he made this happen? Because I can tell they definitely don’t talk a lot about these things or let them out in the open instead of trying to shove them down all the time. So Damian feels jealous, probably because he still has feelings of seeing Dick as a father that he feels he can’t act on because he doesn’t want to upset their actual dad or cause fights between them.”

"And I can feel Mr. Wayne feels jealous too, but of how Damian feels and the fact that he acted on what was so clearly jealousy to everyone else, but also he’s upset at himself, probably because he thinks its not right for him to feel jealous towards his own son and specifically because he and his brother have such a strong relationship and Dick did such a good job taking care of him when Mr. Wayne couldn’t. And then Dick feels guilty but also a little upset at himself as well, maybe because he knows he has nothing to feel guilty for? I’m not sure about that part, I haven’t totally gotten a feel for their usual emotional dynamics. But also he feels jealous too, and of Mr. Wayne, most likely because he gets to be Damian’s father and on some level Dick wishes that was still him occupying that role.”

“Maybe you should be explaining all of this to them instead of me,” Crystal concludes when her daughter finishes her run-through in a rush of hastily accelerated words. Luna is leaning to the side, as if trying to be subtle about craning to look around her at the drama on the other side. 

“I will if they ask me to,” her daughter says, now sounding somewhat defensive of herself. “I don’t think they would have liked it much if I just tried to talk to them about all their feelings that they refuse to acknowledge or act upon, even just with each other in private.”

“Hmm,” Crystal just hums thoughtfully. Luna rushes to present the rest of her case, though Crystal still lacks a clear picture of just what the specific endgame is that her little schemer simply can’t resist trying to nudge things towards.

“Besides, like I said, maybe this was a good thing, Tommy got it out in the open where now they have to talk about it with each other, since its pretty undeniable to everyone. I mean everyone else in their family definitely feels kinda satisfied I think? No, vindicated. That’s it. I think they’ll be fine on their own. They all definitely love each other and if anything, the jealous feelings are all just from loving each other more than they feel they should or have a right to, because they don’t want to make one of their other family question whether they love them too. None of them have done anything bad or wants anything bad, they just need to talk it through.”

“Well that’s all good to hear, but it still sounds to me like there’s no real reason for us not to interrupt, and every possibility it might defuse some tension and give them all a little time to cool down before talking about things.” Crystal crosses her arms and looks down at Luna knowingly. 

She might be the best daughter Crystal could have ever wished for, and light years more mature than anyone else her age, but she’s still only ten and every ten year old has room for more maturing.

Sure enough, her daughter squirms guiltily. 

“I guess. But I still think its better to let things just happen on their own. You’re always telling me that my power isn’t permission to insert myself into the problems of everyone I meet. And that assuming otherwise can be bad for me too.”

“That’s true,” Crystal nods. All the same, her left eyebrow starts to climb. “However, another truth I’ve heard told to you by your father is if you ever feel guilty and are put on the spot for something, have two truths and a lie ready to explain yourself. And always lead with the lie.”

She loves Pietro still, she does, and she's at times even painfully aware of just how much she always will. But their vastly different ideas about parenting were just one of the reasons they hadn’t been able to make things work. She vividly recalls the time she’s referring to...and the argument she and her husband had immediately following it.

Pietro’s stance had always been that children were just little versions of who they’d grow up to be, and didn’t need to be taught dumbed down versions of the advice no one would a problem giving to the grown up versions of them.

“I see nothing inappropriate in teaching her that,” Pietro had said stubbornly at the time. “I do the same thing all the time and I’ve never attempted to pretend otherwise. In fact, I clearly remember explicitly describing that as my life philosophy on one of our earlier dates, and if I recall correctly, you laughed and called me a charming knave at the time. And I am of course remembering it correctly, as I have perfect recall listed among my numerous attributes.”

They never did reach an understanding about that particular bit of parenting. Probably because that argument had ended up seguing into the make-up sex that had kept them married far longer than they probably should have been.

Not that the latter detail is of any relevance at the moment. She coughs awkwardly.

In the here and now, their daughter continues to fidget beneath her mother’s now imperious gaze and newfound resolution to not allow her semi-fond nostalgia to cause her emotions to waver.

“Fine!” Luna groans at last, throwing up her hands in as explosive manner as the usually contemplative girl ever does anything. “I also don’t want to interrupt or go yet because I still have some of the popcorn Mr. Alfred made me and its really good and also if you had to have dinner with some of the most tense and repressed people on two different Earths, and feel everything they were trying to pretend they didn’t feel, you would want to at least get to enjoy the part where they finally stop doing that and get all dramatic and dumb. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Crystal says primly, fighting a smile at her daughter’s rare display of immaturity before remembering who she was talking to and ceasing to bother with the pretense. Besides, its not like she doesn’t have a point.

“But I believe we’ve also talked about people not being your personal entertainment,” she adds. It just feels like the kind of moment where she's supposed to say something along those lines. Even half-heartedly. 

“But is it really my fault if people are being entertaining through no fault of my own, and I just happen to be nearby and have every right to just stay put until being right where I am stops being entertaining?” Her daughter counters.

The glint in her eye and the wry smile that says she knows she’s scented a moment of weakness and has no shame about pouncing on it - those are wholly among Pietro’s contribution to their child, and not anything Crystal can truly fault him for, at the end of the day. He is who he is, and part of that is who their daughter is, just as much as she is part of Crystal. She sighs and relents.

“If one of the Waynes catches us treating their conflict like a reality show and feels the slightest upset about it, it is your responsibility to either justify yourself to them too, or acknowledge responsibility for their upset. Whichever it takes to reverse the negativity you contributed. Understood?”

"Promise,” Luna says, bobbing her head repeatedly as she holds forth her hands, unprompted, to demonstrate that she has no fingers crossed as she did so. A follow up that has been normalized for years, given that crossing fingers behind one’s back is another one of the bits of parental wisdom Pietro had imparted upon their precocious daughter when she was younger.

Crystal just sighs once more and shakes her head fondly as she steps to the side and provides an unobstructed view through the open doorway across the room.

Back in the dining room, heedless of having garnered spectators to their spectacle, as well as equally heedless of the passage of time, the room’s inhabitants exist in a state of suspended animation. 

Everyone knows a reaction to what just happened is required. That the pregnant pause persisting since then demands a clear follow up to the blatant display of certain emotions from certain parties. All of whom are usually quite certain they’d rather witness the end of the world than see those specific feelings slip out into the open where anyone could see them and from that, draw certain conclusions.

Nobody is confused on that front. Not even their guests from an entirely separate universe.

But the unthinkable has happened nevertheless, and as it has been neither preceded nor succeeded by any hint of an apocalypse, there is no alternative. The naked display of previously avoided topics can not in any way be avoided at this point. What was done was done and now things have to be said or done as a result.

The problem lies in the fact that not a single person present has the faintest idea of what those specific things were. And thus no one seems interested in showing any initiative in ending the stalemate that has been forged from the uncommon uncertainty that was their only commonality.

 The rise and fall of chests are the only movements betraying that the tableau they set exists in all three dimensions, rather as a static snapshot someone had taken in commemoration.

And even breathing seems done reluctantly.

If cosmic entities such as Uatu the Watcher were prone to hyperbole, as the only other witnesses to the unprecedented anomaly, they might narrate that for a time it seems as though two of the most powerful and influential families of two different universes are fated to spend the rest of eternity existing in this rare moment. This endless moment where some of the most reckless, impulsive, tactical, analytical, insightful and decisive heroes to ever exist on two separate Earths......are all equally stricken with indecision and uncertainty as to what course of action to take next.

Who could even imagine what kind of consequences that might result in, for two entirely different multiverses? What deviations from intricately plotted grand designs that could cause, what opportunities might be missed, from the most potentially fortunate events that otherwise might stem from these various heroes’ heroics?

How far might the ripple effects of this seemingly innocuous moment in space and time reach? How many worlds might rise and fall, universes live and die, all because this one singular family, this comparatively tiny collection of dissonant souls who regardless of their frequent discord still manage to come together in harmony often enough to chart the course of cosmic events....

These unlikely conductors who at separate times are both the voices of the people, and the music of the spheres themselves? Their choices often doing more to directly affect various celestial bodies than the choices of entire civilizations added up across countless millennia?

Regardless of the degree of potential calamity, that remains a fate both universes will be spared their discovery of. For in this hour of need, where some of the prime movers and shakers of worlds sit motionless whilst hardly daring to breathe, all mutually frozen in their seats, all seemingly powerless to act or speak until someone releases them from this spell that has been cast upon the room and all within it....

Well, unto this unlikely conundrum, there arises an unlikely hero.

Not the hero anyone present deserves, perhaps, but certainly the hero they need.

And so it is that with great daring - and dare we say, even panache - a voice rings out loud and clear. One overflowing with bountiful mirth and a zest and zeal for life. Not to mention one brimming with reckless disregard for any potential consequences, even those not very dissimilar to the kind that have in years past made even the hardiest villains quail in fear...

And all at the same time, all undeniable, all contributing to the sudden spasm that erupts along the fault line that is Bruce Wayne’s entire face - that treacherous, forbidding chasm that exists at the edges of the two tectonic masses that are on one side his disapproval, and on the other side, the muscles that control his expressions...

Into that momentous stillness lands the only response truly appropriate, given the root cause of all of this.

“Awkwaaaaaaard,” Stephanie Brown sings out, half standing out of her chair to stretch across the table in front of Wanda and Duke in order to retrieve the gravy boat. She returns to her seated position and proceeds to slather her mashed potatoes with its contents, blithely paying no attention to the fact that all other faces in the room have swiveled to face her with stunned disbelief. “Seriously, I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since I farted in front of Superman.”

“When did you even get here?” Bruce frowns at her, exasperated enough that Damian is able to use his distraction to slip free of him and slink back to his own seat.

No one else has ever managed to achieve the depths of distraction Stephanie and Stephanie alone can push the usually unflappable Bat to. Or is it heights, and the joys of alliteration might need to be sacrificed upon the altar of accuracy? Whatever.

She pretty much considers it her superpower, though. She's still working out how to weaponize it for use on other targets. Or even better, how to capitalize on it for use when living Whilst Reluctantly Capitalist. Currently, she’s testing market research along the veins of blackmailing Bruce into paying her a monthly allowance in exchange for her keeping her levels of Intentionally Irritating him to below a Level Four on a ten point scale. Its her own custom model in the fashion of the ‘rate the pain with a number from one to ten’ scale, but she’s taken the liberty of specifically tailoring it to Bruce’s condition of Suffering Stephanie the Supreme’s Presence. She's pretty sure she’d ultimately settled on the title: “How much is my chewing gum while I’m supposed to be being sneaky causing you actual physical pain?”

There’s an itty bitty chance she actually picked something totally else on account of how she’d been super drunk at the time and she’s crap at reading her own handwriting so deciphering the notes she’d made while especially inspired were like....seventy percent guesswork.

But close enough, anyway, and also like, shut up and stuff. Wait. But is that really considered blackmail, technically speaking, or is it more like bribery? Not that it really makes a difference, but she does prefer being as precise as possible when listing her crimes slash achievements. It’s like. The principle. Or maybe the aesthetic? Whatever.

Really, though, this is just her and the Big Guy’s thing. Its just what they do. Their dynamo depiction of a duo doing things after their first take on being a Dynamic Duo detonated so disastrously. Yeah, she could never bear to part with her precious alliteration merely for the sake of precision. Its important to have clear priorities after all, and if it for whatever reason that probably will involve fifth dimensional imps, like, some nefarious ne’er-do-well demands she make a choice between alliteration and precision, well, she’s as of right now making an official ruling on which darling she’d kill first. 

Sorry, precision, but you just haven’t done for me lately what alliteration has brought me in joy and also usefulness.

“Wait, my bad,” she realizes suddenly, on account of how everyone is staring at her when all she’s doing currently is stuffing her face like a pro. And as hype as she is on her ability to make anything she does look like a Feat™, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t make it look that good. “What was the question again?”

Bruce faces her fully, arms crossed in an attempt to restore himself and his dominion to some semblance of its usual order, his face schooled back in his usual Mona Lisa smile aka stone cold impassivity. Which nobody here was buying, for the record. Big faker.

“How long have you been here?” Asks Stone Cold Steve Austin, wait no, the Stone Cold Steve Faker. Faker Austin? Ugh, this is gonna bug her.

Also, nobody here is buying his voice as being Forbidding right now so much as just Deeply Embarrassed Because I Had Feelings And They Distracted Me. Honestly, she should start keeping a tally. For what, she’s not sure, but you never know what might come in handy some day. There’s a whole TV show about hoarders to back her up on that supposition. See? Science, suckers.

“I dunno. Since way before dinner even started though. Dude, I’m literally on my thirds.” 

As if making a show of evidence, Steph shovels more meat in her mouth. She’s not entirely sure what they're even having, like it could be veal or lamb or turkey for all she knows - look, she never got around to mastering “How To Solve the Mystery of Mystery Meat” or whatever. She’d been busy learning how to tell the difference in blood spatters, because like, meat may be murder sometimes but murder is always murder and thus takes priority. Soooorry. 

Point is, who knows what the fuck kind of meat it is, but its damn good and just further proof that Alfred is probably secretly God in disguise or maybe just a lower case g kinda one, but whichever, he and his culinary arts are definitely proof she’s too weak to ever walk the Way of the Vegan.

She finishes chewing fully before continuing. Because she’s a proper lady, obvy.

“And way to make with the Rudeness, B. I know I can pull off pretty much any look, but Fly On The Wall is not one of them. How dare you come for my self-esteem like this. I’ll sue you and get all your billions and use them to make a swimming pool of gold coins all Scrooge McDuck style, because its like, the one thing you could never and thus the perfect way to establish my dominance and stuff.”

“Has she seriously been here this whole time?” One of Dick’s girlfriend’s twin kids stage-whispers from the other length of the table. “How did we not notice before? Not exactly flying under the radar there.”

“I’m a goddamn social chameleon, that’s how, Cloud.” Stephanie jabs another meat-laden forkful in his direction for emphasis, on its way to her food hole. Ugh, bliss. “Also, I would be like, a kick-ass spy. But nobody ever gives me the spy jobs because everyone’s always like, you can’t be quiet or still or even serious for longer than five minutes, Stephanie, and I’m always like, umm, just because I choose not to doesn’t mean I can’t, but do they ever listen? Of course not.” 

The kid wrinkles his nose at her. “Why did you call me Cloud?”

“Isn’t that the name of the Final Fantasy guy whose hair you ripped off?”

“Is it? I don’t know, I’ve never played. And maybe he ripped me off, you don’t know,” Not-Cloud says, looking suddenly intrigued, though who knows by which part. 

Stephanie swivels towards Tim for confirmation. He looks back, vaguely irritated. 

“Why does everyone always look at me for stuff like that? I have no idea. When exactly would I have time to be a gamer in the first place? And for the record, back when I had actual hobbies, I used to skateboard.”

“Jeez, sorry, Tony Hawk. I didn’t recogize you cuz I was too busy giving you mad props for that sick wicked half pipe ollie oopsie.” Steph rolls her eyes. Then she cocks her head to scrutinize him more fully and maybe give him a serious answer. She settles for flapping a hand at him vaguely as she says, “And you just have like, a certain Quality about you or whatever. I don’t know what it is.”

“She doesn’t even live here,” Bruce says, almost plaintively. Y’know. If he were someone who does anything plaintively ever.

“She’s our guest,” Cass says, almost primly. Y’know. If she were someone who does anything primly ever. “You’re being rude.”

Steph plasters on her most injured expression, the better to make like Exhibit A when Cass sweeps an arm towards her for demonstration. 

Also though, oh shit, oh shit, look whose internal monologue stumble-stepped into a motif. She’s Emily Dickenson-ing this place up tonight. Finally, someone bringing a little class into the House of Ass. You’re welcome, all the ghosts of Bruce’s equally gloomy ancestors who definitely haunt this place on the regular.

“Yeah, Alfred has always impressed upon us that there are certain protocols for how we’re supposed to treat guests in our home, Bruce,” Tim adds in a tone that was equal parts thoughtful musing and suppressed merriment. 

He slides a smirk down the table to Steph. His own irritation of 7.5 seconds prior has completely evaporated into the ether, because that’s just how they roll. Look at them, making with the maturity like they’re just a couple of motherfucking bosses. She’s seriously so impressed with the both of them on their own behalves.

“If I were a betting man,” Tim continues nonchalantly, “I’d put down money that hanging on to guest privileges is one of the main reasons she turned down that adoption offer we all pretend we don’t know B’s definitely given her at some point.”

“Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself, being the one whose dating history with Steph makes adopted siblinghood seem weird and icky and stuff,” Duke suggests from further down the table. He smirks, lounging in a way that looks lazy and careless to those uninitiated in the sacred Bat arts of being anal about everything at all times, like literally even when just looking at things. Because B-Man’s secret superpower is how to make anything boring, even things that are literally just using your eyes.

Though in defense of B but also like, the years of their lives they’ve all committed to obsessively training themselves according to his fucking anal doctrines anyway, like a bunch of absolute suckers, there is an upside to all that anal retention. Such as how people who make healthy but boring life choices would look at Duke right now and be like oh shit, that kid’s about two seconds from falling asleep like he’s a cat and that’s a super inconvenient place for him to fall asleep, which everyone knows is basically the same thing as Kitty Nirvana.

But meanwhile, the other teen still clearly shows all the checked boxes that spell out hey this dude could be ready to kick your ass in 2.5 seconds, like just give him a reason punk, he’s ready to go. Or at least, that’s how he registers to those of them with Bat-supersenses that aren’t actually super but really just the end result of lots of boring training exercises that honestly don’t sound anywhere near as cool so just let them have this.

Point is she totally lost track of her point, but then Duke follows up with an accusing pointer finger aimed at Tim, one appropriately dramatic and just like, making her so gosh darn proud of the latest castaway to wash ashore on their weird ass little Island Of Misfit Toys. Kids. They grow up so fast.

“Of course you wanna distract everyone from how you’re a Sister Depriver,” Duke intones, putting some super thematic bass into his boom. That right there, that little something extra...that’s how you make fucking art. Hot damn. “And as a result, poor Cass has to bear the weight of being the only girl in the Wayne clan all by herself. For shame, Timothy.”

“Yeah, Timothy,” Cass echoes smugly. “For shame.”

Tim shoots betrayed eyes at her, but its his own fault for forgetting the Cardinal Rule Of Cass: her allegiances are fickle and prone to shifting in the direction of greatest potential drama. Cass loves drama. Lives for it. Something about how refreshing it is to be able to immerse herself in the movements of people who are actively trying to speak or act in contradiction to what their body really wants to say, instead of just being lying douchebags who necessitate caution when they do anything similar.

The rest of them are split 50/50 as to whether that’s true and heartwrenching, or whether its well-played Cass bullshit aimed at distracting them from what a gossip-loving drama queen she really is.

“Whatever,” Jason says dismissively as he chimes in. He swipes the last few exchanges out of the way like they’re open apps he’s not using at the moment and he’s all uh, you can go now, losers. “The real issue here is that obviously the Old Man has never figured out how to interact with a teenager or young adult he hasn’t adopted or can’t adopt. Middle D over there is proof that even B’s vaunted no meta rule isn’t really a dealbreaker, so betcha the real reason Dickie and Tim’s Titan friends never come over is because their parentals are worried about B trying to snatch them up too. And since B adopts, fosters or otherwise absorbs via osmosis every other kid or teen he comes across, there’s never been a control group for him to practice his non-adoption-intending behavior on other kids. And no practice means no way of being perfect at that, and we all know how not being perfect at something makes B cranky as fuck.”

Duke takes a beat to contort his face into a Rubik’s Cube of half-formed and hastily discarded expressions. Most likely trying to work through whether Middle D counts as a weird-ass endearment for this particular family, or something he’s gonna be endlessly annoyed by if it happens to catch on. Its a process, especially considering it has to be filtered through the Jason to English dictionary first.

Finally he just shrugs in a lazy non-reaction that in Batspeak manages to count as a challenge. Basically a ‘try and guess what I decided if you can, chump.’ 

Jason’s face morphs Terminator style. The later ones, not the Governator model. He ends up displaying a mash-up: the smirk of inevitable victory meets the narrowed eyebrows of intent focus as bestowed upon a worthy foe. 

Then the whole piece makes like an Etch-a-Sketch and is wiped completely away before being replaced with an annoyed jaw clench. 

“Jay’s theory game is strong,” is the route Duke ends up taking though. “And here we thought the reason Bruce always says no about Superboy coming over is to prevent him from being a Brother Defiler. But all along it was just the insidious work of a Brother Depriver, with Superman himself being the culprit who told B hands off, this one’s mine. It all makes sense now! Superboy even fits the standard issue black hair and blue eyed, in store model.”

He tips his head towards the older boy in a gesture of appreciation for Jay’s detective work and connect the dots high score. Jason scowls back. By the standards of the Family Batshit, he’s clearly been caught off guard. With him so readily taking up the implied but not outright stated challenge teased by the younger boy, he’d completely failed to prepare for the compliments Duke then followed up with instead.

His siblings hide snickers behind faked coughs and gratuitous napkin usage. He’s netted himself an undeniable loss, according to the intricate rules and traditions of their family - ironically, many of which had been laid down by Jason himself when first established back in the misty years of yore. That mysterious, little spoken of era of legend and mystery, one that is nevertheless oft whispered of in hushed rumors and hearsay. The time before time, better known to the Bats and Birds as The Age of The First Two Robins.

If it had just been the family present, it might have been a different matter, but the presence of others changed things. Cuz see, in the eyes of anyone who isn’t a member of their observation obsessed and perpetually paranoid family, the relatively minute exchange between the two boys no doubt looked like Jason had been needlessly aggressive while the younger boy was just trying to pay him a compliment.

In a nutshell, Duke goaded Jason with what seemed like a challenge but didn’t technically count, so Jason’s attempt at responding to Duke’s not-challenge actually counted as the first actual sign of aggression, which Duke neatly side-stepped by already being in the process of paying Jay a compliment between the time Jay actually launched his challenge but before it actually landed.

Ergo, Duke wins. 

Look, if its hard to follow, that’s probably for the best. They’re all pretty sure stuff like that isn’t supposed to make as much sense as it does to them.

Jason huffs but then finally heaves a sigh and tosses a tight-lipped and grudging but genuine nod of acknowledgment down the table to Duke. Despite himself, he can’t help but be a little impressed by the kid, having already picked up on even the more minute ins and outs of their family’s complicated interactions. But then, of course the younger boy is as precocious as the rest of them. Their family could single-handedly keep the nature vs nurture debate going for centuries.

Duke beams back before licking the tip of a finger and painting a single stroke in the air in front of him. A clear declaration that this round of the Batkids’ never-ending game goes to him. Jason rolls his eyes but can’t exactly begrudge him his endzone dance. Its not like he’s known for being graceful and gracious in victory either.

Come to think of it, none of them are. Huh. That explains a lot, probably.

Its at this moment that Dick finally regains enough composure to make his presence felt again. 

Its understandable, really, the others acknowledge via conspiratorial looks of sibling solidarity that bounce their way rapidly across the table by way of their patented younger sibling network.

Anyone would have trouble juggling the combined stressors of introducing the girlfriend’s family, mediating their own eternal family mayhem, and on top of all that, seeing shoved into the spotlight his ‘shh, we don’t talk about that, what are you, new,” tendencies towards acting parentally protective and possessive of Damian, even with (and at times especially with) Bruce himself. 

Not to mention the occasional clashes over the parenting strategy, or lack thereof, that Bruce still manages at times to bumble like the perfect dope that he is. Because if anyone has super strong feelings about Bruce’s parenting and no patience whatsoever for watching their father repeatedly fail to learn from his mistakes, well. That’s all Dick’s territory.

So with all of that kept firmly in mind like the efficient little multi-taskers they all know how to be (when they feel like it), they’re all poised to lend Dick a certain amount of leeway in how much amusement they enjoy at his expense today.

In all fairness to them, its not like he makes it easy. They had perhaps overestimated just how well Dick was juggling the various stressors in play today. After all, you can take the acrobat out of the circus, but that doesn’t mean jack shit about whether or not he can juggle because that’s an entirely different skillset, duh.

Hindsight’s not just sometimes a bitch. Its sometimes quite bitchy as well. Ugh, their subconscious minds could be such brats, honestly.

Look, the point is, even as they all patiently watch their eldest brother struggle his way back to a state of coherency and and managing to be present in the actual present, they’re still expecting him to pop out the other side with something at least approaching poise.

Instead, they get an encore.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last. 

Tim buries his face in his hands. Duke tilts his head back and mutters prayers to some higher power. Cass closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly and sorrowfully. Lorna reaches across the table with her wine bottle and refreshes her sister’s glass. Wanda looks like she needs it.

Damian sits with arms crossed over his chest and scowl firmly directed at the table top, Judging Everything. Then again, that is still his default setting and pretty much what he’s been doing all night anyway. Say whatever else you want to about the kid, Steph reflects, but when he commits to a theme, hoo boy. 

Jason, meanwhile, has thrown himself bodily at his brother, clamping a hand over the older man’s mouth and stage-whispering with exaggerated emphasis: “Careful! You could set off the exact same chain of events and we’ll all end up trapped in an eternal time loop we can never break free of! I mean, its practically a guarantee, if you combine my knack for being in the worst place at the worst possible time, Tim’s shitty spleen-phobic luck, Cass’ destined to someday prove ironically prophetic name, and your own lightning rod-esque ability to attract cosmic-level catastrophes to you like you’re catnip and they’re really just a cute little furball named Fluffy McWhiskerson.”

“Must you always insist on going the extra mile when being ridiculous, Todd?” Damian cuts in testily. Also, cuttingly. 

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my coping mechanism for being part of a family that goes that extra ridiculous mile every damn day.” 

“And people wonder what possible reasons I could have for not wanting to be adopted into this family and instead hanging onto a golden parachute option?” 

Steph wonders aloud (and loudly) as she maneuvers the side of her fork around her plate like its a zamboni hard at work on an ice rink. Really, she just refuses to let a single scrape of Alfred’s home-made mashed potatoes go to waste. She’s not some heathen.

“You. You seem pretty smart.” That loaded statement and the finger pointed in her direction come courtesy of the Final Fantasy kid whose name may or may not be Cloud but probably isn’t, which is a shame, because Cloud is a pretty kick-ass name in Steph’s estimation. Not that anyone asks. Typical.

Also, where did they end up landing on the subject of what his name should be? Or is? Whatever? Was there a flowchart passed out at some point and she just missed it while busy being fabulous, or was this an actual oversight on B’s part and thus something they should all bring up as often as possible from now until the end of time?

No doubt spurred by a desire to be absent from whatever follows his twin’s newest train of thought, Billy raises his hand half-heartedly. No one bothers to point out the absurdity of raising his hand like he’s in school. He just seems like its a thing with him. He has that certain Quality, Steph decides.

“Can I be excused?”

Nobody seems sure who he’s asking, so its probably okay that nobody responds to grant permission. Besides, suffering through the awkwardness and drama like the rest of them is probably like, good for building character or something.

After about half a minute, Billy nods to himself as if that’s about what he’d expected. He lowers his hand again and uses it to prop up his head as he slumps over the table and idly sketches patterns atop the antique oak surface.

“I’m a galaxy-brain level intellect, you little Silver Whatever-the-Adorable-Baby version of a Fox is called,” Steph declares at last, jabbing her finger right back at the apparent Greater of Twin Evils. Y’know. To see how much he likes it. But also just because its fun to make like a drama queen in a place like Wayne Manor. Ambiance really is everything. “I even took my SATs and correctly informed the moderator that I was in fact there for the SATs and hadn’t gotten them mixed up with my ACTs.” 

“Hmm,” the twerp says then, not at all appearing to be taught a lesson by her dramatic finger pointing reversal. He sweeps his eyes over her, assessing. Given that she hasn’t decided yet if she even likes the little twerp, let alone what he’s trying to assess and also if she even gives a shit on account of she might not even like the little twerp, Stephanie splits the difference and settles for combining bitch face with her best “How you like me now,” pose. Let him make of it what he will. ‘Snot like she knows what she’s going for there.

Also, its probably rendered slightly less effective due to her forgetting to factor in that she’s sitting and not standing, but whatever, she commits like a champ. Also, she’s still at most 60/40 on the liking of the twerp, so who even cares, honestly.

“I used to be able to count on my own smarts,” Platinum Punk says, seemingly settled on an opinion at last. “But I naively gambled that away in the name of wishing upon a star for family or what the frick ever, and I forgot to set wish parameters for ‘and also please let them all not be completely nuts.’”

“Watch the ableism please, sweetheart,” Wanda says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says with an eye roll that nevertheless seems to somehow satisfy her. “But see? I’ll get a lecture about my language, but I skip school with my friends to fight giant robots in Times Square and she doesn’t bat an eye. My family’s priorities are not like your Earth’s priorities.”

“Or my Earth’s priorities,” he adds as an afterthought. “Or any Earth’s, probably. Maybe not some really weird and out there Earth, but they don’t count, probably.”

“Well I don’t like it, certainly, but I don’t want to be a hypocrite,” Wanda says defensively. “When I was your age, I was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list for being a mutant terrorist. All things considered, I have relatively few objections about how you and your brother spend your time.” 

Several members of the Family Batshit direct eyes that are ever so slightly on the wide side. She meets them with an unapologetic shrug.

“I had a complicated childhood. I got over it.”

Lorna snorts into her wineglass. Wanda shoots her sister an annoyed glare, but still amends her statement.

“Mostly, anyway.”

Lorna smirks and waves her glass in some attempt at a meaningful gesture. Who knows what its actually meant to be. She seems to accept the amendment, at least.

“Please excuse our dear little sis her porcine displays of condescension,” Pietro interjects in silky smooth tones that do nothing to hide the sharp edges thinly veiled underneath. “She didn’t grow up with us and our dear, doting daddy, yet has never lacked for opinions on what superior choices she would have made in our positions. The fact that she’s still made plenty terrible choices of her own, is apparently quite irrelevant.”

His green-haired sister opens her eyes artfully wide and projects feigned innocence. “None of those were my fault. I was possessed a lot by a very evil psychic. Who, if you recall, actually called herself Malice. The evil was right there in her name. Advertised. I was innocent. She was evil.”

Pietro swirls his own wineglass, unimpressed. The other set of siblings have clearly been down this road a time or two themselves. 

“I was primarily referring to your romantic history with a Summers. And not even the competent or aesthetically pleasing one, at that,” he drawls.

“She also had terrible taste.”

“Anyway, not to tear focus away from discussion of my dear auntie’s romantic selection process, as she and Uncle Pietro both lack the shame gene and they absolutely can and will traumatize all present via a thorough analysis of each other’s past partners in the most bizarre game of sexual chicken you will ever have the misfortune to witness...”

“Bold of him to make that claim when he’s never seen Dick and Jason do the exact same thing for the exact same reasons,” Tim mutters. Cass and Duke both nod. Jason glares, but seems stuck at the ‘come up with actual proof that he’s actually wrong’ stage of the rebuttal process. Dick has by now returned to the land of the living, but seems to have along the way decided discretion is the better part of valor as best guess is he’s currently preoccupied weighing the pros and cons of potential escape routes.

“Hey, Shiny Pokemon version of Sonic the Hedgehog,” Stephanie snaps her fingers and hopskips the focus back on the speedster in question. She waves her hand at the rest of the sound and fury occupying the table with them, as if to express just how much it all signifies nothing. “Just get to the point already and leave out anything else that these vile miscreants could possibly hijack and turn into tangents. You’ll never make it through a conversation in this house otherwise. Everyone here is expertly trained and practiced in the art of derailing the most obstinate and tunnel-visioned man in history from reaching his point whenever that point is deemed destined to make our day end poorly.”

“Some of us just happen to be better at that than others,” Jason says with smug confidence, twirling his butter knife lazily.

“Ironic, coming from the one trick pony,” Tim says dryly. Jason leans forward and raises his knife-wielding hand and Tim quickly raises his hands in a defensive gesture that’s clearly not meant to indicate he sees an actual threat, more just aimed at beating his brother to the punch with the rest of his punchline. “Sorry, I miscounted. I mean the one and a half trick pony.”

Steph clears her throat pointedly and looks back at Platinum Ken Doll. He just sighs in full gloom and slumps down in eerie symmetry with his twin. He definitely is the superior practitioner of the Sulk.

“Never mind,” he says melodramatically. “It wasn’t even a big deal anyway, just stuff I was trying to be like, snarky about or whatever, but the moment’s passed and it’s just kinda dumb and pointless without feeling like, natural or whatever.”

“Probably,” Stephanie agrees unsympathetically, because hey, when you’re right, you’re right. She doesn’t believe in coddling the youths, especially not the ones who are realistically only two years younger than herself at the most. “But you’ve managed to pique my interest enough that not knowing what you were going to say is randomly gonna bug me at 2 am or something obnoxious like that. Also, you started to praise my intellect and I don’t let things like that go unfinished. It sets a bad precedent. Now c’mon. Speak up. Praise me. Enunciate, so Damian can’t pretend he doesn’t hear you just because he’s trying to set the table on fire with just the searing intensity of his disdain.”

Damian responds with a gesture that he definitely didn’t learn from Dick, but on second thought, he probably did.

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “Keep on keeping on, slugger. If anyone can develop the ability to cause spontaneous combustion with nothing but willpower and spite, its Angst in the key of D Minor himself. I believe in you, kiddo!”

If she weren’t actually being full of shit about that, she might be in trouble from the glare Damian follows that with. Ashes to ashes and all that good stuff. But as rage-vision still refuses to make an appearance, the baby of the family in age and irony only retreats to the support of his high-backed chair. 

Looking more adorable than he’d hopefully ever comprehend, lest he attempt to weaponize that as an addition to his armory, he slouches down and mutters something that makes Jason’s eyebrows climb his skull like they’re trying to set a speed record for making it all the way to the top.

It’d been in one of the languages that Damian knew and that her own circle of languages learned share no overlap with, but she mentally repeats it sound for sound in her head until she locks it in. Anything that can make Jason look that impressed is worth knowing, and translating something phonetically from an unknown language is nothing Google can’t handle.

And by Google she meant Tim, but that’s what ex-boyfriends are for, right? She’s fairly certain she saw that on a T-shirt somewhere, which is basically the same thing as true.

Anyway. Back to the praises that are supposed to be being sung, and yet weirdly, she still hears no singing. Steph boomerangs her focus back down the table to Smugness in Silver, and oozes impatience and expectations out her pores at him like emotions are contagious and she’s a cooties hotspot.

Fumbling from a clear unease with this particular kind of spotlight, and also how it’d admittedly been a weird fucking night for everyone concerned, the younger teen at last manages to self-consciously eke out: “Look, I said it was dumb now. I seriously was just gonna make a joke about you being too smart to get sucked into a weird ass family with endless drama without having an escape clause, and I was just gonna be like, teach me your ways or y’know. Whatever.”

“Wait!” Stephanie stops him right there with a palm outstretched in the universal sign for hold the fucking fuck the fuck up. She leans towards him, and in a voice pitched low and even but vibrating with barely leashed intensity, she asks him the only question that could possibly matter now:

“Was that last bit actually part of the joke you were going to make? The thing you were trying to say from the get go, not just something you said right now because you got confidence diarrhea and stopped using the words good?”

“Uh, yeah?” He says warily.

Stephanie slaps both her hands on the table’s surface, loudly enough to make most everyone jump a little in their seats, and forcefully enough to rattle some dishware and make her inner monologue hiss oww and yell at her for unnecessary roughness. She ignores herself, on account of having much more important things to deal with. 

Launching herself to her feet, she leans into her palms where they press down on the table, giving herself a little bit of Loom to go with the gravity she forces onto her face. Glee is waging a valiant effort at retaking the lost ground, but she’s always insisted that she has excellent self-control, dagnabbit, and Stephanie Brown is many, many things, but she’s no liar.

Well, except for the times she is. But there are always reasons or like, extenuating circumstances for those.

Usually.

“I accept the honor and responsibility of being your Family Drama Sensei, and I shall teach you everything I know and also some stuff I make up just to fuck with you, because I’m not like Other Mentors. I demand and expect some giggles to go with the shits, or what’s even the point, y’know? First lesson: that was rhetorical! I say y’know a lot and when I actually expect an answer I’ll also be like omg hurry up, I aged 84 years waiting for you to say something already. Got it?”

The Twin That Could Have Probably Starred In Twilight blinks dazedly at her. He then turns to look at the rest of the table.

“Is she serious?”

“Deadly,” Steph intones, before one of these naysayers could nay on her say and potentially undercut her authority with her new minion. Uh, she means, like, henchkid. Sorry, sidekick. Shit. Crap - protege! That was what she has, a protege! Hah!

“For real?” He asks, doubtfully. She frowns. Is she stuttering?

“So real I make reality look fake,” she assures him gravely. He blinks some more. He does that a lot, she notes, like a Good Mentor who notices stuff about her mentee.

“Okay, see, because that wasn’t really what I was going for?” He says cautiously. 

She rolls her eyes. C’mon kid, she doesn’t bite, except for like, sexy stuff and eww no, he’s like twelve. Well sixteen probably, but that’s basically the same thing as twelve. Also they had a lot of work to do on the spine-having thing because this sorta bit right here is totally gonna make her look bad in front of all the other mentors, if it doesn’t exit stage right, like post haste. And what not.

She doesn’t say any of that that out loud though. She’s not sure they’re there yet.

“Like, I was aiming more for just....a...I don’t know, a hah-hah?” 

He leans back slightly, adding a little distance as he looks at her like she’s part of the craziness he needs help surviving instead of his sensei in all things suited to surviving the craziness. Ugh, she has so much work to do with this one. Its a good thing she’s always been pretty sure she’d make an excellent mentor, so like, qualifications. She has them. Obvy.

“La la la, I can’t hear you but also no take-backsies. You’re part of a legacy now. Or lineage. Or whatever the word is that’s not actually about dog family trees. Look, the point is by virtue of being my first ever protege and also the first protege of anyone who isn’t Dick or Babs who both don’t even count anyway because Reasons, you are now part of the grand tradition that is being a Bats and Birds person...partner...sidekick...thingie. Look, we don’t have the terminology all worked out yet. Like I said this is basically new territory except for Dick and Babs who don’t count and also Bruce, but he mostly communicates via grunts and scowls anyway, rendering most terminology moot.”

“What’s happening right now?” Her protege asks to no one in particular. Ugh. Unacceptable. She’s taking twenty points from House Twilight whenever she finishes reading those damn books and figures out just how that whole thing works.

“Okay, so the big takeaway from your first lesson here, because fuck that being cryptic noise, mentors who are always like ‘you have to figure out what you’re supposed to be learning here and then also learn it’ like, ugh, no. The worst, seriously.” 

Look, occasionally detours are probably inevitable, but the important part is that she remain strong when doggy-paddling determinedly towards her point, because good mentors can handle occasional detours and don’t treat them like Kryptonite that’s gonna kill them all when they’re literally just sparring in the Cave, like, perspective, have some, y’know? 

And also they don’t need to stop every couple hours into training so they can have temper tantrums because their kids are like, no dad, we can’t hang out today because that’s a thing that kinda happens when little kid people turn into bigger people people, like oh noes, gasp, horror. And then they have to go stomp around and make that everyone else’s problem because no matter how much they insist they’re loners, they actually really suck at being alone. Even though you’d think that mastering that particular skill would logically come first before you get around to training to say shit like “I am the Night, my dude,” with a straight face.

Its faintly occurring to her that she might actually have unresolved issues about Bruce and her brief apprentice-ship thingie with him. And also maybe its not super awesome conclusion and also the follow-up to all that bit of bother, all of which gargled a fair amount of donkey balls.

Ugh. Epiphanies are such losers. Literally who asked.

“Ahem. Anyway. Big takeaway. Teachable moment. Right. So yeah, first big thing is commitment. You start something, you see it through, got it? In this family and otherwise vaguely affiliated network of mentors and mentees, we don’t do take-backsies, okay? Its a matter of pride. Principle. Also, maybe brain damage. Like I said, this all really started with Dick, and he does get hit and shot in the head a whole lot, so admittedly, the rest of us do have some. Y’know. Questions. Now you sit there and absorb all that for a second. Like a sponge. See yourself as a sponge. Be the sponge. Good sponge.” 

Wisdom having been successfully imparted, Steph nods in satisfaction and then spins to take in the rest of the room, hands planted on her hips Wonder Woman style, because power poses are totally gonna be lesson two.

Her eyes find their way to Bruce easily enough, which makes sense seeing as how his scowl takes up half the room. Any room. Okay, at this point she's willing to jot that whole might have issues thing down as okay so maybe she definitely has unresolved issues with Bruce. So what? She also has a protege, albeit one who probably does need some more convincing to fully be on board, but the point remains that like. Whatever. Suck her entire ass.

“Well,” she declares loftily, as if she’s not just talking directly to the B-Man. Plausible deniability, yo. Just because she’s willing to admit to herself that she maybe definitely has issues to still sort through, that doesn’t mean she has to like. Go around admitting that to other people. She’s not some kind of heathen. “I trust that we’ll all remember where we were when it was undeniably revealed that I, Stephanie Brown, do in fact have Wisdom and Experiences to share with the youths of tomorrow. As that is a thing that just happened. Lo!”

“I have witnesses,” Steph declares with the dial set all the way to Peak Drama, because look, if you can’t lean into the drama in Wayne Freaking Manor, life is empty and meaningless and that’s gonna be her supervillain origin story, probably. She throws out an arm towards the rest of the table, encompassing the dual rows of expressions that could best be described as bemused - if she were being generous and also lying out her freaking ass.

Still, she stands firm in the silence that follows her ringing proclamation, allowing not the slightest hint of self-consciousness slip free of her self control, because she’d literally just made a big deal about how it was all about committing, and Stephanie Brown might be many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.

Well, other than - nope. Not doing that again. Upon reflection and careful examination of what really matters, accuracy also can be invited to suck the proverbial it.

Besides, there’s too much at stake for her to allow any weakness to betray her now. This is a momentous moment. Clash of the Stubbornness kinda stuff. She’s facing down Punky Brucester himself, and on his own turf of all places. Things like principles....and...and being right, all hang in the balance.

And yes, Stephanie is well aware that she has left even Peak Drama in the dust aeons ago, and they’re deep in uncharted waters now, with like, here there be dragons, lurking dramatically. So what if she’s being ridiculous? She maintains that he had started it, she’s like 99% she is being not at all irrational and unreasonable about that, and by God, she will have her vindication or she will have....whatever the tail end of that cliche goes like. Unless its death, because she kinda sorta already did that, and as far as she’s concerned it counted, and either way, she’s way over it and not looking for reruns.

All the while, Bruce stares her down with his face doing that resting I’m Judging You Face thing that nobody can be that oblivious to walking around with all the time, no matter what they may claim in liar-esque fashion. 

Though, for all her various unresolved issues with him or whatever, she can admit to herself that the man is a goddamn master of conveying a bitch could care less. She’d sat on gargoyles that had served more face than Mr. I Could Be Listening To You Right Now or I Could Actually Be Thinking Boring Rich Asshole Stuff Like Whats Up With the Stock Market Today, LOL You’ll Never Know.

She upgrades her ‘Think About Issues’ notification to a maybe consider talking to someone about some of this stuff level.

When Bruce’s carefully placid facade finally breaks, then, it doesn’t break so much as it freaking shatters. Further evidence of this definitely being her superpower, which means time to move on to asking like, ugh why such an obnoxiously specific superpower, tho.

“She doesn’t even live here!” Bruce thunders again. Or some synonym that still means loud and forceful but also being desperate and totes whining. The Big Guy turns to face his children imploringly. He throws an arm in Steph’s direction for accusatory emphasis. Y’know. All dramatic like.

Oh shit. Maybe she did pick up some things from him after all.

Ugh. Okay, never mind, its definitely epiphanies that are gonna be her supervillain origin story. Seriously.

Fuck those guys.

[marril96]

Tonight

Chapter 9: Safe and Sound

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Characters: Rowena, reader, Sam, Dean

Summary: It was supposed to be a happy, carefree outing. After tonight, however, nothing will ever be the same for you and Rowena.

A/N: We have reached our final chapter! Huge thanks to everyone who read, commended on, and/or liked this fic! You are all much appreciated

Editor: @rowenaisfabulous

NOW…

"Rowena?"

She barely heard her name being called. She barely heard anything, saw anything other than the wall in front of her. Adorned with paintings she'd personally chosen, it occupied her eyes. Stole her attention away. Got her lost in her thoughts as the last word of her story fell from her tongue and she found it tasted bitter as cyanide, the same taste as her memories.

Your pleas echoed in her head. Your screams and sobs rumbled like thunder amidst a raging storm. Your tears cut like blades, dug deep into her from within, tore her up bit by bit.

It was her fault — all of it. She'd agreed to go to Illuminae. Had fallen right into the trap those hunters had set up. Stood aside as they hit you, hurt you, broke you, helpless to do anything but scream and plead.

She'd promised she wouldn't let anything happen to you, and then did exactly that.

She'd saved you in the end, but it wasn't enough. The damage was already done.

She was weak. Pathetic. A poor excuse for a powerful witch.

If she really were powerful, she would have broken free sooner. She wouldn't have waited until the end, until they did their worst. She wouldn't have run her mouth at your expense.

What good was all that power if she couldn't use it when she needed it the most, when you needed it — needed her — the most?

Her mind flashed years back, when she'd cared for nothing but power, her heart stone-cold, frozen in an eternal state of lovelessness. You'd looked at her as if she were a goddess, eyes wide with wonder every time she'd cast a spell you'd never heard of before. You were starstruck; by her, by her power, by her skill that was unlike anything you'd seen before.

You'd looked up to her. Despite doubting you would ever reach her levels of power, you'd wanted to be at least half that good. Every lecture you'd absorbed like a sponge, every spell you'd tried your hardest to master. You'd even gotten a wee notebook to write down instructions, meticulous as you were. Just in case, you'd said when she'd asked. You hadn't wanted to miss a single thing.

Four years later, and you still trusted her just as much. Still looked at her in amazement as she displayed her massive power. Still looked up to her.

Only for her to fail you when you needed her the most.

"Rowena!"

This time she was shaken from her thoughts and found herself face to face with a bewildered, worried Sam.

"You okay?"

"I…" Her voice was small, trembling. She cleared her throat. No, she was not okay. Not at all. "I'm fine."

He didn't seem to buy it. "You sure?"

"Aye," she said in what she hoped was convincing enough to pass for a tone of confidence.

Her hand brushed against her cheek and came away wet. She was crying? She hadn't noticed. She didn't have it in her to hurt anymore, to feel the swelling and prickling of tears against her eyes and cheeks.

Charles, her face must have resembled a ripe tomato.

Strangely, she didn't particularly care. After tonight, she didn't have it in her to feign dignity. Besides, the Winchesters had seen her cry before. If they could be adults about it, so could she.

"That thing that happened…" Dean suddenly said, starling her. His eyes were sharp, piercing hers. Ripping into her like twin blades. Contrast to them, his voice was soft as silk. "It wasn't your fault."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't there. He hadn't made promises he couldn't keep.

"I promised Y/N I wouldn't let anything happen to her," she found it in her to speak.

"You saved her," he told her.

"Took my bloody time with it!"

"You had an iron cuff on you," Sam reminded her.

"I should've broken free sooner," she retorted.

"You couldn't," he said with utmost patience, with kindness she didn't deserve. "You know that's not how it works."

"You said it yourself — I'm the deadliest witch around. I should have made it work."

"That's not how it works, either."

Rowena huffed, frustration growing. Why were they defending her? Why couldn't they point fingers at her and tell her to her face she was at fault, that she was a failure and deserved to bear the guilt for the rest of her life?

"Don't bother. She's as stubborn as a mule," you said. "You'll never convince her."

You were standing by the door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers. Bruises marred your face, but your smile was still bright and shiny. Genuine.

Cocking your head to the side to look at her, you added, "I've tried telling her it's not her fault, but she won't listen."

Because it was her fault, Rowena thought. Because she'd let it happen.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked, shooting you a smile.

"I'm okay, I guess. I don't really know," you replied honestly, and your face fell. Then you smiled once again, as your eyes met first Sam's and then Dean's. "I wanted to say thank you to you guys. I really appreciate what you did for us."

"It wasn't a problem," Dean told you.

"We're happy to help," Sam said.

You nodded gratefully.

He cleared his throat, swallowed awkwardly. "I'm sorry about what happened."

You instantly looked away, avoiding his gaze. "Thanks."

"If-if you — either of you — ever need anything, I'm here. We're both here."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Samuel," Rowena said. "It's much appreciated."

"Yeah, we appreciate it," you said. A frown settled on your face. You breathed in, then out, hard, willing your voice not to falter. "What about the… um, bodies?"

The bodies.

Rowena had almost forgotten about them.

Human and supernatural, they littered the floor of Illuminae, bathed it in blood and gore. Lives, both innocent and guilty, forever lost. Fleshy husks left to rot in the summer heat.

"Don't worry about them. We'll take care of them," Dean spoke up. "You guys just stay here and… do whatever it is you do at home."

Rowena cocked up a suggestive eyebrow.

He shrugged in a nonchalant, falsely innocent way. "Like I said, do whatever. Sam and I'll deal with everything."

"Are you sure?" Rowena asked. "I can help."

"We'll be fine," Sam assured her.

One less thing to worry about, she supposed.

Her heart tightened as she remembered those faces, so frightened, lying lifeless all around her. The bartender's striking eyes flashed in her mind. The girl whose name she'd never asked and would never learn.

Their families would never know what happened to them. They'd wonder, no doubt. Some would make guesses, accurate ones. Others would think they'd abandoned them. Parents left childless. Children left parentless. Never to get closure, to move on in peace with the knowledge that their killers had been dealt with.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing in life was, Rowena supposed. Especially for those like you and her, of non-human nature.

"We should head out. You guys gonna be okay here?" Sam asked after a few moments of deafening silence.

"Aye," Rowena said.

"You sure?"

She nodded.

"This is a pretty safe neighborhood," you said.

It was. The worst that happened here were two neighbors down the street getting into drunken arguments over property lines and that one elderly gossip sticking her nose into things that didn't concern her. Awfully irritating, but harmless.

"Okay, then," Dean said, already on his feet and heading for the door. He looked at you, then his eyes shifted to Rowena's, locked them in a stare that was strangely soft. Friendly. Comforting. When he spoke up again, his tone matched it. "Take care."

"We will," Rowena said, a small smile spilling over her mouth, bright with gratitude. "You, as well." She tsked playfully. "You boys are always seeking danger. So careless."

"Best kind of life," he said nonchalantly.

She snorted. "Sure."

"Someone's gotta save people."

"Right. The family business." She said it with a touch of dramatic flair and rolled her eyes for good measure.

He shrugged, then looked around the house. "Not all of us can settle down."

"Maybe you should."

"Nah. Where's the fun in that?"

"Och, I find there is plenty of fun," Rowena purred, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and prompting you to chuckle. "You just need to find the right person."

"Easier said than done," Dean said.

She pursed her lips. "Big, bad hunter Dean Winchester can't find himself a date?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps all that filth you watch has given you unrealistic expectations."

"Busty Asian Beauties aren't filth!" he fired, offended.

Sure they're not, Rowena thought.

He sighed. "It's more complicated than that."

"Whatever you say, dear."

She walked the brothers to the door, you in tow. The four of you said your goodbyes, and then they were out, swallowed by the early morning light.

It was dawn already. It felt wrong, somehow. Too much tragedy had happened for the sun to shine that brightly so soon afterwards.

"How are you doing, dearest?" Rowena asked.

"Better," you said, and looked it. "Still confused, though."

She laid a hand to your shoulder gently. "Give it a bit of time."

"And you?"

"I'm fine. Tired."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Shall we lie down for a few hours?"

Truth be told, despite how tired she was, she didn't want to sleep. But she knew you wanted to. And she knew, after the night you'd had, you'd want her to be there, to hold you and keep you safe from the monsters in your mind. So she put the offer on the table.

You pretended to ponder on it for a moment. "Only if we cuddle."

"Deal," Rowena said with a grin.

She could use some cuddling, too. You'd had it worse, much worse, but she'd suffered back there, as well. There was no one to keep her away from you anymore. No one to hold her back, to mock her pleas. She could hold you as much as she wanted, as much as you allowed her. If she wished so, she never had to leave your side again.

"Could I shower first? I'm disgusting," you said, swallowing, face falling.

"Of course," she replied. She understood the need to wash the filth of that place, of what you'd gone through, perfectly. "Take your time. I'll go change the sheets, make the bed all nice and fresh for you, aye?"

You gave a limp nod and willed a smile to resurface. Awfully fake, but passable. "Sounds great."

As you started for the bathroom, Rowena spoke up, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened tonight… I won't let it happen again. I won't let you down again."

"Rowena, you didn't let me down."

She did. No amount of your trust, of your forgiveness, would convince her otherwise. She'd made false promises. She'd lied. She'd betrayed you.

Never again.

"Nobody will ever hurt you again," Rowena said. "If I have to tear the world apart, I will. But I won't let anybody lay a hand on you ever again. I promise."

This time she would keep it.

Your expression softened up. "I know, honey. I never doubted you, y'know?"

You should have.

She would have doubted herself.

"While it was happening, while he…" You cleared your throat, sucked in a breath to chase the memory away. "I knew you'd make it right. I didn't know how, but I knew you wouldn't just let them kill us."

"I almost did," she said ruefully.

"No," you said. "You saved us. You saved me. You fought until you won." A smile lit your mouth. "You're amazing, you know? So amazing. So don't be hard on yourself."

Tears prickled at Rowena's eyes at your words. She held them back, willed them not to fall, not to ruin this moment.

"Flatterer," she said light-heartedly.

You shrugged. "Just telling it like it is." Teasingly, you added, "Will it get me extra cuddles?"

She narrowed her eyes, pretended to think it through. "We'll see."

Maybe you were right. Maybe she was being too hard on herself.

Maybe she wasn't to blame after all.

Maybe.

She would give it more thought, weigh in everything that happened.

Later.

For now, she would bask in the fact that you were safe. She would hold you and love you, keep you close to her heart. Protect you from the nightmares that would plague your mind.

For just a few hours, those hunters wouldn't matter. Their actions, the horror they'd inflicted wouldn't matter.

All that would matter would be her and you, warm in each other's embrace.

Free of worries, of danger, of pain.

At peace.

Safe and sound.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

[theincompetentgenius]

Hi there! I love reading your matchups so I’m finally here to request one for me! Well, I’ll even be a bit greedy and request three (IkeSen, IkeRev and MLQC) if you don’t mind 😁

Let’s start!

I’m a 5’3 (162 cm) girl with fair skin, almond-shaped brown eyes and short warm sandy blond hair (you know, a bit like in the 1920’s). I wear glasses but I prefer to have contact lenses. I like reading since I’m a child and I’m particularly interested in History. I also like geography, politics, traveling and learning new languages. I’m sometimes (often) lazy though. I’m not really at ease with my body, even though I’ve lost pounds those last years and that I’m pretty normal now, I still find myself too fat, (yeah, the classical girl complex…). Approximately the 1950’s body type if you want to have an idea. About my personality, my MBTI type is INTJ. I’m pessimistic, introvert and really, really honest. I often hurt people without wanting it because of this straightforwardness. I’m stubborn too and I have a Manichean view about pretty much everything so my opinions are often judged as extreme. Really care about nature (the typical ecologist). People usually find me cold at first but if they get to know me better and become my friends, I’m really loyal and here to help them. Some random facts maybe? I’m vegetarian, I like spicy food, my Hogwarts house is Ravenclaw and I’m quite the tsundere type. I like winter when there is snow and I prefer night over the day (I like watching the starry sky, I could do this for hours!) and my zodiac sign is Scorpio, Leo rising (I’m born the same day as Jonah Clemence!). One last thing: I have one little brother and one little sister (they are twins and are four years younger than me) and I would give the world to them.

That was pretty long, I’m sorry, but I wanted to give you as much information as possible. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with! Thank you so much for taking my request darling, your writing is as amazing as your mood boards!💙

Haha! It’s ok if you’re a bit greedy– I mean, aren’t we all when it comes to matchups? And I thank you SO MUCH for all the info you put because it honestly made my life 10x easier when trying to match you with the different suitors. In fact, some I was able to pick immediately because of all the info you gave.

But anywho, let’s get on with the matchup!

MLQC

I’d pair you with………. Victor!

So I started with MLQC because I immediately knew who I was pairing you with. Obviously, I had to glance over your description again to figure out who else you’d work with, but it was really hard since your description literally screams “Victor” to me. Not that you’re as uptight as he is, but the two of you have a lot in common, but enough differences to allow for an amazing and fun relationship!

There are two ways this could play out: either you guys will butt heads or get along very well on a professional level. I’m betting on the latter scenario simply because you are intelligent, resourceful, and determined: qualities that Victor admires in others. He will notice you because of your work ethic and commend you for your admirable efforts. Additionally, he knows that he can count on you because you are the most loyal employee he has. However, you two might get into squabbles as both of you can be very stubborn, which will need lots of time and patience to smooth over. Nevertheless, Victor will see you as a valuable asset to his team.

In those moments of laziness, Victor would be the perfect motivator. His harsher words would serve as a wake-up and a prompt reminder of why you should be working towards your goals instead of letting all your work pile up (before it becomes unmanageable).

Victor admires your ability to be honest around him. Although the man wants to be perfect, he isn’t– and not many people tell him that. However, you’ve reached a level of familiarity with him where you can voice your honest opinions about him (without fearing for your job). He’s not used to hearing the cold truth because most people sugar-coat it instead (because they want to keep their jobs or be in good standing with the CEO).

But the two of you would be the biggest power couple ever. Whenever someone says something stupid, you both use sarcasm and sass to wipe them out. You start with a sarcastic comment while Victor follows it up with a classic sassy remark. The two of you ultimately receive a reputation for being the most savage people in the office, so everyone tries their best to please you.

Also, Victor would have no problem making spicy food! Although he doesn’t have lots of time to cook, when something special (such as an anniversary) arises, he’ll always make a creative spicy dish. Imagine eating top-notch, gourmet spicy food FOR FREE. You’re the real winner here smh

Another Possibility: Kiro

Ikemen Sengoku

I’d pair you with…… Shingen Takeda!

At first, I thought about Sasuke because the two of you seem to compliment each other pretty well.  I mean, he’s more relaxed while you’re more uptight. He has no problem with your honesty and very much enjoys it. In fact, I kept switching between Sasuke and Shingen, but I ultimately settled for Shingen (for reasons I’ll explain below).

Your description literally radiates “cold boss bitch” energy, which we stan. However, this can easily cause clashes with some of the warlords with bigger personalities (Nobunaga, Kenshin, Ieyasu, etc), which you would not be willing to compromise. But fear not, because Shingen does not fall into this category of unnecessary bravado. His issues lie elsewhere……

Shingen’s initial “flirty hunk” attitude can be a real turn off for you. At first, it can be charming (almost endearing), but the shtick gets old REAL fast. You become irritated by his constant flirting and at one point, let him know exactly what you think. The moment is quite satisfying because you finally tell this idiot to shut up and the stunned look on his face is totally worth it.

He’ll definitely leave you alone for a while. However, Shingen will have to keep tabs on you since you’re Azuchi’s chatelaine– the easiest link to Nobunaga. However, you’re just as smart and play his game with him. As he observes you, you observe him back to figure what he wants. But at one point, it gets on your nerves. You can’t walk around without feeling as if you’re being watched. You confront him yourself, beginning Round 2 of blasting Shingen. This time, you threaten to expose him by telling everything you’ve learned to Nobunaga.

The more extreme confrontation leaves Shingen speechless. Clearly, you’re a lot smarter than he expected as you saw through him very quickly. He’ll have no other choice but to take you to the Kasugayama Palace, where you become his captive. However, his wonderful treatment towards you leaves you rather confused.

During this time, Shingen will heavily appreciate your honesty. He’s always putting up this facade around others that it is refreshing to see your honesty for a change. Although he doesn’t realize it, his facade begins to fall as he grows more comfortable around you. It doesn’t take him long before he realizes that you’re nothing like Nobunaga (despite your strong personality).

In fact, Shingen loves your strong personality. Although he is dedicated to his goals, the warlord is also known to be flexible. He has no problem accommodating your needs and your extreme opinions don’t bother him at all. If anything, he finds it fascinating that someone can be so different from him that he’ll want to learn more.

In the end, you learn to love him for his loyalty to his people. Whether or not you agree with Nobunaga’s actions about Kai, you admire Shingen’s dedication towards his people. It reminds you of your love for your siblings, which helps you make sense of his actions and thoughts. The man who was once an irritable playboy has become your lifelong partner.

Other Possibility: Sasuke Sarutobi

Ikemen Revolution

I’d pair you with…………………….. Zero!

Aren’t you lucky, you got paired with an absolute gem! Especially with his route out, Zero’s been the talk of the tumblr community these days (and with good reason). However, I originally had a strong urge to match you with Lancelot. The two of you would be the ultimate power couple that would help each other see through different perspectives and develop as individuals. However, you would probably clash more with Lancelot, which is why I ended up going with Zero.

Zero is one of the first people to be friendly towards you when you end up at the Red Army. Although he’s shy and not the most talkative person out there, you end up spending time with him (since everyone else in nearly insufferable). He truly appreciates the fact that you’re not some weirdo and have normal human behaviors (despite your quirks). It might be a little awkward at first, but the two of you warm up to each other fairly quickly.

Just like the other suitors I chose for you, one of the biggest things that draw Zero towards you is your loyalty. Zero himself is very big on loyalty, so its one of the key things that he looks for within a person. As he watches you defend your thoughts with a strong conviction, Zero admires you more and more

This man absolutely LIVES for the moments that you put Edgar in his place. It’s quite tempting to throw a jab at the Jack of Hearts and while Zero worries when you try it, his heart also swells with pride. Only his girl can stand up to Edgar, which only increases his admiration for you (especially when Edgar and Zero duel and you tell Zero to kick Edgar’s ass).

The thing about Zero is that you could talk about anything and he’ll have the sweetest smile on his face. The fact that he gets to spend so much time with you is the biggest blessing and gift that he could have ever asked for. He’s not even sure what he did to deserve someone like you, but for once, luck seems to be on his side. Even if he doesn’t understand what’s being said, he’ll try his best to comprehend the material because he loves you.

Another Possibility: Lancelot Kingsley

[tenyatrash]

Day 2: A House on Fire

This is my entry for Day 2 of the BNHA Noir Week 2019. Tumblr hates my ao3 links so let’s try this instead. @bnha-noir-week Heist, Fatale, Detective

In which Fuyumi and Touya take back control of the narrative. This one didn't exactly meet the prompt as much as I would like, but it's as close as I could get and I like it too much to orphan it, so here's some noir-lite. Come for the twins pulling off a heist, stay for the fatale/detective pair up. 

Ships: BG Fuyumi Todoroki/Ryuko Tatsuma

Characters: Fuyumi, Touya, and Enji Todoroki + Ryuko Tatsuma

Rating: Teen (Some lang, references to past abuse)

Word Count: 2925

It was a hot one, a scorcher of a day that’s left a memory of fire radiating off the pavement even now, hours after the sun disappeared. Slithering heat and muggy night air swirl into a heavy fog that tries to paint the city white and pure, but it fails. Nothing can hide these sins.

This world vibrates with a sickness that skitters just below the surface, coating everything in bitter bile, destroying everyone, one way or another. Some are destroyed by simple violence, quick knives in the dark. They’re the lucky ones, if anyone can be called lucky here. Everyone else? They sit and stew as the corruption eats away at them like rust.

There’s a pair of prowlers on the town tonight, eyes and hearts hardened to cut out a spreading cancer. It’s a night of reckoning for a family name that shoulda been put down long ago.

Pine needles crunch underfoot, sap oozing into the dirt path that marks the road to so many memories, all of them as dark as the oppressive and moonless night. Fuyumi pushes back her bangs and picks her way across the garden that she was never allowed to enjoy, to the house of the Father she was never allowed to escape. She’d smile in bitter triumph, if she remembered how.

There’s a hand at her back now, burning too hot, fingers tapping a steady beat against her spine.

“Pick up the pace, will ya? Pops ain’t gonna be away forever, and yous the one who said no violence.”

Fuyumi looks over to her twin. He’s a scary looking one, alright. The kinda mug folks on the up-and-up cross the street to avoid, the kinda heel soft chippies would gossip ‘bout, bed, and then hide like some kinda dirty secret. Meanwhile, the same skirts are always falling over themselves after the sonofabitch that did it. Just more proof that this world is rotten.

They’ve all got scars of Enji’s ambition, his are just on the outside, is all. Enji got smarter after that, or maybe Touya was just the bravest of them. Either way, dear ol’ Dad learned to keep his abuse strictly need-to-know after that. Learned to hurt, to control, to destroy, all without leaving a mark. Not that anyone would bother to investigate anyway.

Not when every two-bit political wannabe and too-blind copper saw him as some kinda hero.

Fuyumi slides the door open. Just like Pops to not check after his own home security. To assume no one would challenge him, least o’ all here in his pretty little estate. It’s the same arrogance that bred them, after all. Lord, they’re going to enjoy watching the place light up, all pretty blue flames and falling ash.

Touya is eager to start, fingers already caressing awards and photos, skin shivering as they smoke and char. It’s all a lie and God does it feel good to let it burn. A happy family, a heroic life-- filthy deceit that mocks them with every pose and word of commendation. He’s a hero, huh? That what you think, Mr. Mayor, Sir? Then why don’t you try living with him.

Try being a child under that roof.

The two twins slide through the house like shadows, feet still remembering all the steps, remembering which boards creak and which doors groan. They had to learn early, how to hide. How to be silent and unseen. All that training, all that pain, and for what?

To make them big goddamn heroes?

Nah. Turns out, he’d been training them for this heist their whole lives. He mighta been able to catch ‘em, to stop ‘em, to contain ‘em...if he’d cared enough to notice, that is. As it is though, he’s just going to have to say goodbye to all this shiny scratch and all the dreams he had for this name.

Touya’s got his predisposition for fire, and Fuyumi’s got matches, accelerant, and a dream.

First stop is the study. It’s all mahogany slabs and stiff stools, designed so everyone but the kingpin himself can experience stress and smallness and pain. What kinda way is that to do business, much less raise kids? What kinda notes do you give your interior designer when building a room like that? ‘See pal, I wanna room that screams gangster, but you know, classy and legit and all. Wanna keep everyone on their toes.”

Sheesh. They could make a fortune on the book rights alone, if this was any kinda just world. As it is though, Fuyumi knows they’d get buried by law hounds and dirty money the second they so much as pitched the idea. Reputation and respect are the only currency Enji trades in, and if you threaten that, he comes down on you like the fires of hell.

Just ask Touya. Or Ma.

They fiddle with the safe, bad memories making ‘em antsy to get this job done and dusted. Neither knows the code. Not like Enji would trust ‘em with it. After all, they were barely worthy of taking his name, much less accessing his secrets. Lady Luck loves making a fool outta a fella though, and it’s not long before the too-weak twins have their hands on secrets Pops would have done anything to hide.

Fool set the combination as the date his poor “masterpiece” Shouto started manifesting his gifts to the world. It was the third set of numbers they tried. Once this place was ash and his legacy was crushed, Fuyumi hoped she’d have the chance to lean in, real close, and let him know just how his empire came crumbling down.

Let him know that it all came down to his own damn failing. His played-out narcissism and twisted family pride.

They sort through documents and trinkets. It’s all here. Sheathes of paper on the special training they all had to endure, notes from doctors that expressed concern, before blood money overwhelmed their morals, even a dowry arrangement that looks damn sure like a bill of sale.

Touya is more than a little amazed. It’s like Christmas, but happy for once. “What kind of no-good scoundrel does shit like this, then keeps records?”

Fuyumi frowns down at the papers in her hands. She should be pleased. It’s what they’ve been after this whole time, right? But all these names...she wasn’t prepared for that. She might be playing at being a hood tonight, but she’s lived her life more or less on the right side of the law, more or less with faith in people.

And now there’s this. A whole damned mountain of names, of people who knew something sick and twisted was brewing in this house, and who did absolutely nothing to stop it. Hell, even Ma’s parents were in on it, selling her off like a broodmare. Something twists in her gut and all the sudden, she thinks she understands why Touya comes home sometimes, smelling like gunpowder and copper blood.

He sees red, but she feels ice. Ice creeping up her veins and into her heart, that small and abused thing that beats with love, that never seems to learn better. Never protects itself. They all knew. They all knew and they did nothing. Long as the image stayed shiny like the coins that passed hands, they were happy to send them all to the slaughter.

At some point, Touya starts rubbing circles across her palms, gently prying away the documents from her death grip. He helps bring her back to reality, to the job they’ve got to do. She’s not a helpless little girl anymore, and he’s not a throwaway kid. Damn but it’s chilly in here.

There’s no way to heal a festering wound like this one, but at least they can get even. Can show the whole world exactly what they’ve been complicit in. And Fuyumi’s not just interested in taking down Enji. No, she wants them all. Every single patsy and punk who let themselves be bought.

It all clicks in place. That’s why he kept the evidence. Insurance. Pops was never going to go down alone. No, if he got caught, he’d take the whole damn place with him. Fuyumi has no problem making that last request come true.

She wants them to burn too.

They move on, mirror images splitting in two to check the rest of the house. It’s just as impersonal as they remember, with more shadows than furniture and more blood than memories. When he squints into the cloaking night, Touya can swear he can still see the scorch marks from his last training session out in the yard.

Fuyumi touches his arm. They start the fire in two places. Touya begins in the dojo, letting steam and tears lift off his body like all those unanswered prayers, body convulsing as he watches the sparring mats and training dummies that engulfed his childhood be engulfed by flames. Fuyumi begins in Enji’s bedroom, getting drunk on the smell of gasoline as she douses the bed and lets the barren room be swallowed up.

She does it for Mother, who laid on that bed until her body and mind were broken by a man she never loved. She does it for Touya, who destroyed his body and fractured his mind trying to meet standards that he could never reach. She does it for Natsuo, who was called worthless from the start. She does it for Shouto, the masterpiece who never asked for any of this, who spent so long in a gilded cage that he forgot how to feel. And most of all, she does it for herself.

For the girl who did the best she could, who was never enough. Who wasted years trying to tiptoe around a dragon, who blamed herself every time the world descended into flames. For the woman she is, and the woman she could have been.

She spends an eternity looking into the licking flames before Touya, who has more experience in these kinds of things, pulls her out of the room and out of the shuttered home. They leave the lot, no glance spared back until they reach a high hill a few blocks away, at a distance Touya declares safe.

They don’t sit. They stand and they stare and they watch the harsh beauty of orange and blue flames dancing across the collapsing roof and black smoke rising above the murky white fog that still blanketed the lower-lying parts of the city.

They don’t feel the release they had hoped for, but they feel a type of validation, and that’s enough. At least for tonight, their once-home is just as ugly as hellish outside as inside. A four-alarm fire that can’t be ignored. No one gets to turn away. Not tonight.

---

It’s morning, when Ryuko finally makes it home from the clubhouse, just long enough to grab a shower and a bite to eat. Her shift had been held over last night. Whole damn city was losing its mind over that fire especially when some loose-lipped recruit let it slip that the whole thing was cut-and-dry arson.

Ryuko shakes her head and steps into the shower, rivulets of water washing her skin clean but doing nothing to unlock the dark swirls of smoke that clung to her hair and pores. She shudders at the memory of Old Man Todoroki himself, all claws and fire and vitriol as he pushed through the wreckage of his ancestral home. Man damn near started a whole new inferno when he opened the scorched safe and found it empty.

Detective Tatsuma had been sent over, boot-licking superiors and ashen-faced patrol boys offering her as a sacrifice to his anger.

“Come on, you’re shackled to his baby girl. Makes sense you’d be the one to interview him-”

Ryuko had resisted the urge to fill them in on just how much Enji and Fuyumi would hate that characterization, but had trooped forward anyway, too tired to fight for rationality. It’s a losing battle anyway, and it ends up not mattering, at all.

Enji claims the safe was always empty. Nothing is missing. He’s lying like a cheap suit. It doesn’t matter. His word is law, after all.

Ryuko closes her notebook, nods her head, and feigns deference as the hero stomps off, no doubt eager to take out his rage on whatever poor chump is planning on breaking the law today. Once her towering Father-in-Law leaves, she peeks into the safe herself.

It’s bare, that true, but not totally empty. Sitting in the middle of safe like some kinda proposal is a single metal staple. Looks surgical. Ryuko takes note of it before slamming the door shut.

If Enji doesn’t care about who robbed and ravaged him, why should she? Sure, she’ll go through the motions, maybe even catch the doers. But she’s not going to kill herself. Not on a case like this, a one without a real victim.

The shower ends. The house still reeks like smoke and something squirms against the back of her mind as she steps into their bedroom and leans down to press a kiss into Fuyumi’s tousled hair.

Lord love her, but she looks like death warmed over. Ryuko feels a stab of regret. That was Fuyumi’s home, and Ryuko hadn’t been there to deal with whatever emotions hearing about it burn must have elicited. Fuyumi’s never been that forthcoming about her family, and Ryuko has never pressed. Didn’t want to seem like a fame groupie. But surely, there’d been memories there, tokens that Fuyumi might have wanted to take with her. And now some nameless, faceless thug had ripped that away from her.

She’ll make it up to her. She’ll find the arsonist, maybe even find answers. It’s the least she can do.

---

Out in the boonies, Touya’s got one last bit of trash to take out, one last crusade before he can maybe put all this filth behind him. He knew Endeavour would take the bait. Had to, with all he had to lose. He wouldn’t drag Fuyumi into this darkness. Sure, she was mad. And she has just as much right as he. But he’s already lost, his soul already in tatters. He doesn’t mind adding another mark to his debts.

He hears Pops before he sees him, skin simmering and crackling like a bull under a sweltering sun. His ears got trained a long time ago, to recognize that sound and flee from it, but he’s not a kid anymore. Whatever innocence he had was burned to nothing on the floor of that house, under the heel of his no-good progenitor. He stands tall yet disrespectful, scarred hands jammed into soot-stained jeans, a smirk chasing away the tiredness and fear of his eyes.

“Yo, Endeavor. Long time no see.”

There’s a roar. Charming.

The man who was once Touya laughs darkly as hands close around his throat. Well, this isn’t exactly how he saw this going, but he’s nothing if not adaptable.

“You sure that’s your move, Sir?”

Enji realizes there’s no loot bag. No scraps or scrips. He releases the boy who was once his son.

“What’s your game, boy?”

Dabi smiles all lazy and languid. What is his game? Ha, it’s hard to even remember. Oh, right. He’s at a crossroads now.

He could kill the man. Fuyumi would forgive him, and maybe he’d finally be free. His mind flickers forward, already seeing the State Funeral and hearing the cloying speeches of sycophants and snakes. His jaw tenses, metal scraping and clinking with every roll of his neck. Nah, he don’t wanna see that, not at all. A sight like that, no telling what it would do to a man. Nasty things, probably.

He feels his sanity start to slip, just a bit, like a pickpocket's just rifled through his head. He needs to get clear of this, and as good as it would feel to smother those flames once and for all, he can’t let him die a hero.

There’s some things that are just beyond bearing.

That leaves him with his second option. A more….poetic type thing. An execution of public sentiment, if not of the man himself. He ruffles a hand through sooty hair and smiles and Enji glowers at him.

“My game? Gee, I guess...I just wanna rob the house. Prove it can’t always win.”

“Talk sense, or don’t talk at all.”

Touya flicks a spent cigarette into a grimy barrel, still slick with the oil that powers this city, that keeps all these poor bastards rolling to and fro, as if anything really matters. As if they’re good people. As if they’re in control. He hops up on to a railing and starts to teeter before giving a false salute and dropping down to the street below.

“You’ll see.”

Enji stares at the spot for a long time, not sure if he’s more concerned or calmed by the lack of body. He doesn’t trust Touya, how could he? But a body is a hard thing to explain. It’s one thing to have a son who ran away, maybe to Europe, maybe to love. It’s another thing entirely for the corpse of a known hardened triggerman to fall at your steps. To look so much like you.

Enji’s still staring when the newspaper inquiries start to come.

They want to know about the fire, and the safe, and the strange articles and evidence that are hitting papers and precincts all over the city.

He grinds the phone into dust.

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

Crave (Bucky Barnes)

Song for this series; Guns and Roses by Bohnes

Summary; The Asset.

Makes it sound like there was only one, doesn't it? One assassin, one soldier, one life stolen and taken over to be used as a tool for evil minds. There was never only one. Hydra's bloodstained hands, people called them. And once one's hands have been bathed in blood so many times, it's near impossible to look at the skin and not see red. Yet, when Hydra has been pushed out into the open by the Avengers there's the slightest flicker of hope for the asset left behind. You see, I never had a Steve Rogers. No one is looking for me. The only person I've ever had is the one I was trapped with, the one that's now free. The one who, if he finds me, I will surely destroy.

A/N; Hiya, been a while since I’ve posted anything original but I’m excited about this! O/C and Bucky Barnes. O/C’s aren’t things I do often, but I’m hopeful with this. With all this craziness with Tumblr, people have been freaking out, but I’ll be staying until this site shuts down. But, just in case, my Wattpad account is @kensy_lane There are longer stories on there and it is up to date. Hope you enjoy this new series! Please comment and reblog! It’s the only way I know you all like something.

Warnings; Blood, torture, mind control, dead bodies, it’s a rough chapter guys.

Words; 2,218

Crave Masterlist~~~Complete Masterlist

Chapter One

Old Friends and Memories

Dark. Humid. Wet.

Sweat drips off the ends of my hair to the floor and droplets stream down my back, neck, and arms. I do nothing to impede the droplets progress. It’s not in my nature to care about appearance. Metal and concrete are cold and hard on my body, but both are a relief. My limbs ache from an earlier mission, but I remain seated on the floor where I was placed. Mission complete, targets neutralized, I’d usually be put away by now.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry to keep you waiting.” I instantly stand at the sound of his voice and straighten into attention. My eyes don’t dare look up into his.

“This is a bad idea.” A man behind him whispers with an American accent and I don’t hesitate in meeting his eyes. Green eyes, brown hair, white skin, thin lips. His clothes tell me all I need to know about his standing here, as well as the heavy sigh given to him by the man in charge. When my eyes meet his he visibly flinches.

“Pity you think so, Dane.” The boss speaks with his own American accent and I drop my eyes to his boots as he steps in front of the young rookie. Usually, I’m working with Russians, so this is a change. This means something is happening. “Even more pitiful is that you think your opinion matters whatsoever here. Open the cage.” There’s a surprising amount of hesitation before the metal bars shift and open to reveal the small group of men. I remain stone-still until ordered otherwise.

“Sorry, sir.” The subordinate apologizes and I nearly smirk.

“Apologies don’t belong here, Dane. We don’t make mistakes.” He corrects him and steps inside the cage with me. “Shut the door.” The metal screams as they slide it closed. I watch his slick black boots as he walks in a circle around me, white hands with red knuckles hanging loose at his sides in confidence, black cattle prod strapped fondly to his right hip. “Head up.” Instantly I snap my head up and the group outside shuffles unsteadily. He keeps walking around me and I still avoid his eyes. I don’t have to see his face to call it to the forefront of my memory. Wrinkled. White. Aging blue eyes. Reddish blonde hair. Lips perpetually pulled down in a frown although I’ve seen him smile before. Usually with the cattle prod in his hand.

“See, she’s perfect.” He coos and stops in front of me facing his men. “Kneel.” Immediately, I kneel. “Open your mouth.” My jaw drops. He turns and nods satisfactorily at me. “Good girl.” He commends and I see the men outside smiling and elbowing each other. Suddenly I’m struck by a fist and I collapse to the side. My cheek thrums with pain, but I remain still on the filthy, sweat-covered floor. “We’ve reached perfection here. We’ve had great success with our two assets. One here, in America, meant to pave the way for the greatness of Hydra. One in Russia, keeping our assets there safe and furthering the cause we’ve fought hard to protect all these years. Now, it’s time we take another step.” He waves a hand and the door opens. He steps out and the group of fearful men scatter as someone else walks down the hall. Heavy boots hit the floor speaking of a weighted step. The expressions of the men outside speak of fear, apprehension, and…anticipation. “Stand.” The man in charge commands and I obey, not bothering to wipe the dirt off my cheek. My eyes wait and watch for whoever is coming just like the rest. When he rounds the corner, everyone but me takes a breath. Tall, broad, and dark is the man that emerges from the shadows as if he is one himself. Dark, greasy hair falls to strong shoulders and hands barely swing at his side. Dressed in black that’s a stark contrast to the white skin of his face but matches the scruff decorating his cheeks, he’s formidable. I recognize the clothing. It’s the same that I have on. It doesn’t take long for me to come to a conclusion.

This is the asset from Russia.

He takes two steps into the cage at a wave of the man’s hand, then turns back to the man in charge once he’s next to me. My eyes remain on my superior’s chest. “Arms.” He commands and we both raise our right arms in unison; wrists up. He steps forward with a gleaming silver syringe in his hands and takes my arm first. Ripples of fear and disgust roll throughout my body at his touch, but after the small prick and the injection of a sickly orange liquid, it’s done. He puts my arm down and trades his syringe for another. He injects the man to my side and once again hands the syringe off as he steps back. One of those rare smiles appears on his face and I feel unease swirl in my gut along with…something else.

“Welcome to the future.” He whispers as my stomach starts roiling. While he walks out and the cage shuts again, I fall to my knees with my arms around my stomach. “They’ll stay in here since the chemicals won’t work in cryo. You.” My eyes look up into his with defiance as pain rocks my body. Amusement dances across his face. “Make sure neither of you get out.” All I can do is gasp and dry heave since nothing’s in my stomach. Only now does the man next to me fall to his knees, but he’s still quiet. The man walks away among whispered congratulations and shakes hands with another down the hall.

“Well done, Pierce. Your work here will affect millions.” They exchange pleasantries as I finally fall to the floor and curl in on myself. My eyes meet the vivid blue of my cellmate and his eyebrows furrow at me. Something in them…calls to me. My hand shoots out and grabs his fingers, smudging dirt and sweat across them. Surprisingly, he lets me. Heat sears our skin when we touch and both our eyes widen, but we don’t part. He’s the thing I cling to as pain steals what sanity remains in me.

When it’s over, we’re not the same.

*Five Years Later*

                                                 Alexander Pierce

                                       August 18, 1936 - April 4, 2014

Hm. That’s it. Wish they’d put traitor on it too, but I guess I can’t have everything. Isn’t even worth the price of the headstone anyways. I take great satisfaction shoving my shovel into the dirt of his grave and shoving it to the side. It takes me a little less than an hour to hit the hard shell of his coffin. Dark, smooth, and still glossy, it gives me a little pleasure to chip the top with my shovel. Tossing my shovel to the side, I stoop down and take a deep breath before opening the top half. The smell of embalming and decay hits me instantly and I make sure to breathe it in deeply. I will savor every facet of this moment. He’s still relatively fresh, so I can easily make out his pale, wrinkled face, downturned lips, but not those eyes. I have no desire to see those eyes again. Relief washes over me so ferociously I sway slightly in the hole I’ve made. My hand shoots out and grasps a handful of grass to steady me while my eyes burn into his face. The face that has tormented my every step for all my life. After I’ve regained my breath, I bend down and rest my knees on the rest of his coffin so I can hover over him.

“Seems I’ve beaten you, old man. I outlived you.” I smirk and tuck back my wild red hair so it doesn’t touch him. Grimacing, I note my hands are shaking. Looking back at the corpse, I spit in his face and slam the coffin shut again, climbing out of the hole victoriously. After rolling my shoulders, I begin the process of reburying the scum. So, it’s true. He’s dead. A weight lifts off my shoulders at the revelation.

“What the hell are you doing?” My arm lifts and chucks the shovel metallic end first at the voice. His gleaming left arm snaps up and catches it easily. Sitting at a stone bench, he looks like some version of the grim reaper come to snatch me into the afterlife. Well. Many have tried and failed.

“You know why I’m here.” I sigh and straighten up, wishing I hadn’t thrown my shovel. It’ll be dented now. He stands and my breath hitches at the mere movement, my heart speeding up ridiculously. The sight of him is a salve to my heart and eyes after years of avoidance. My soul sighs it’s relief to be near him again and begs me to get closer. He walks over and tosses the shovel back to me.

“You had to see him dead yourself.” He says with understanding shining in those familiar blue eyes. Moonlight makes them seem slightly silver, also making his arm seem polished. Or maybe he’s just taken to polishing it these days.

“The real question is why you’re here.” I comment before continuing burying my monster, ignoring my body’s ache. He crosses his arms and sighs, leaving a puff of mist in his breaths wake.

“I’m here because you’re here. Wanted to see you.” He reveals and I can’t help but chuckle.

“We both know you could find me any time you wanted, James.” I shoot back and his lips curve up a little when I say his name.

“Missed you sayin my name.” He teases and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t start that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we both know it’ll lead to something we don’t want.”

“We both know that do we?” He questions and elicits another heavy sigh from me.

“I asked you to knock it off. You’re just avoiding my question anyways.” I point an accusatory finger at him and proceed in my mission.

His arms uncross and instead bury his hands in his jean pockets. “Thought maybe you’d be a little more open to me now.” James eyes me carefully so he can read every slight move I make. It’s irritating. I pause and lean against the shovel as my eyes run up and down his familiar shape.

“You seem good.” I comment civilly for once. “Are you?” His expression lightens when he gifts me a small, genuine smile.

“I’m better. Better than you, I’d say. Why don’t you come back with me, Rosie?” My eyes narrow at the use of the nickname, but my heart soars that he remembers it. I shake my head and finish the job as Bucky waits for his answer.

After wiping the sweat from my brow, I start heading back to the parking lot with Bucky at my side. “Don’t call me that, first of all. Second, it’s a bad idea. Third, I like being on my own.” He scoffs.

“You can’t say every idea I have is bad just because I came up with it. I’m not the worst strategist in the world.” He jokes as I watch him. It’s good to see him like this. The emotion in his eyes belies years of emptiness and the small smile on his face could almost make me forget that he was by my side during those years of abuse. “So, Rosie? Come back with me.” He emphasizes that damn nickname before reaching out and taking my free hand just before we get to the asphalt. Warmth spreads through me as the tiniest contact and his eyes shut a moment in relief. The shovel falls from my other hand from the shock of his touch but I can’t resist letting my fingers cling to him like sailors to a life preserver. I jerk my hand away as soon as I realize what I’m doing. My eyes consider his for a moment before walking over to my motorcycle and grabbing a pen and receipt from the bag on the back. I hold the paper steady as I write down my address, then shove it into his hand, careful not to touch his skin.

“Here. Next time you won’t have to surprise me in a graveyard.” I tease softly before mounting my bike and kicking back the kickstand. Bucky moves in front of me with the piece of paper held tightly in callused fingers.

“How do I know this isn’t fake?” He asks and I shake my head at him.

“You’ll know if you go to it and I’m not there. Now, I will run you over if you don’t move.” A smirk curves his lips up as he steps out of the way and I start her up.

Chapter Two Here!

[kaibashadow]

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Story: “A Good Deception”

Recently, Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective, has been having trouble solving a difficult case that he came across. There is so much evidence he found already to strongly suspect and narrow down the culprit of this particular case to be one of his classmates, but he can’t figure out who that might be. After staring at the pictures of his fellow classmates on the wall and pondering about everyone’s statements on where that person (or robot) was during the time of the incident for quite a long time, there is only one person who he knew he could trust. And that’s only because that person was his alibi throughout the entire day.

Kokichi Ouma.

Shuichi knows that he can’t solve this case by himself and that he needed another person’s help to see if they can formulate any new ideas or find some new facts that he had previously missed or never even thought of. The Ultimate Detective is indeed quite aware of how smart and cunning Kokichi really is, however, he isn’t sure if his companion would either help or just hinder the case.

Despite this, Shuichi is desperate to gain some new perspective by now and knows that time is of the essence. The longer the case stays open, the more time goes by as possible theories and evidence grow colder with each passing moment.

After carefully contemplating about the issue at hand and planning on how to obtain Kokichi’s help, he immediately spares no second into setting foot to find the talented trickster.

- - -

Shuichi eventually finds Kokichi up to his usual antics. He stops the shorter male from doing what he was currently pursuing and turns his back away from him. The detective knows that Kokichi is peering at him, curious to see what is on his mind. Shuichi tugs on his hat as he sets his plan into motion. With as much confidence he can muster, Shuichi carefully eyes his classmate and speaks to him at once, “Show me how to lie.”

Kokichi momentarily becomes surprised to hear those words come out of Shuichi’s mouth, but shortly after, he then bends down as his teasing smile quickly returns to his face once again. Kokichi is generally intrigued at the detective’s request as he often wants to spend more time with said detective whenever he can. With this interesting proposition, Kokichi decides to cancel his latest scheme at that very moment and go with Shuichi.

- - -

Once they enter the detective’s room and he has Kokichi’s undivided attention, Shuichi makes it very clear that this practice was only to help him with his detective work and only for this case in particular. He suspects that at least one or a few of their classmates might be lying about when and where they were at the time when the incident occurred. Shuichi talks and goes over the case with Kokichi, leaving no detail out. Shuichi even describes everyone’s facial expressions and body movements when he questioned them regarding to the case about their own statements, noting a few odd behaviors that some of their classmates did.

Kokichi listens intently to the facts about the case and notices Shuichi’s keen eye for pointing those things out. He can see that the detective has grown a lot since he first started and proceeds to commend him on his efforts so far. He walks over to Shuichi and places his hand on the detective’s chin. “You’re getting better all the time,” he praises him in a soft-spoken manner, caressing the area of the skin underneath the other’s bottom lip.

Shuichi gazes into the shorter male’s eyes, almost wanting to spend his time just being in that exact moment with him.

Quickly shaking away his confusing thoughts, he remembers that time is of the essence, especially with a case like this. He couldn’t afford to waste any more minutes and needed to solve this as soon as he possible. He internally sighs at the thought before he goes back to wearing his usual serious expression. He asks, “Can you help me with this, Kokichi?”

Kokichi lets go of Shuichi, understanding his question. He grins at the detective. “Well, to understand the mind of a liar, you would have to become a liar yourself,” he easily explains as if it were that simple to do.

Shuichi gapes his mouth slightly open almost in disgust at how nonchalantly Kokichi said that statement. He did previously ask the supreme leader to show him how to lie, but the thought of actually becoming a true liar himself leaves the detective in shock. Shuichi notices that Kokichi never once showed any signs of hesitation or had any moral thoughts cross his own mind prior to speaking those words aloud.

Despite this, Shuichi knows that Kokichi is right. There are many liars out there in the world besides the person right in front of him. He shouldn’t be surprised that their classmates are also capable of telling him such lies as well. Even he knows that he lies from time to time himself, but not as excessively as Kokichi.

But, to do what Kokichi stated, that would mean Shuichi would have to go against the very principle of what makes him a detective; because of this, said detective narrows his eyes with skepticism, but he tells himself that it’s for the good of the case. He proceeds to ask Kokichi, “And how do you propose we do that?”

Kokichi eagerly grabs Shuichi’s hand. “C’mon! I’ll show you!” he exclaims, dragging the detective along with him.

- - -

When they reach the destination in Kokichi’s room, Kokichi lets go of the detective and walks into his closet. He brings out two different folded outfits and happily tosses the white one over to Shuichi. “There! Go ahead and try it on for yourself,” Kokichi tells him. “I’ll put this one on as well,” he says while holding the black outfit. “Oh, make sure you put everything on,” he says, enunciating one of those words in a slight enticing manner while he sinisterly grins, having some kind of idea in mind.

Shuichi decides not to question it and heads into the bathroom to try on the outfit. Once it is in place, he looks at himself in the mirror and sees that the style, the color, and the fabric of the material is similar to the uniform that the supreme leader normally wears. He also notices a dark purple wig and purple eye contacts that accompanied the outfit as well. He puts it on, not knowing what to expect. After he blinks a few times and gets used to the feeling of wearing contacts, he looks at himself in the mirror once again, finding that the hair and eye color looks exactly like Kokichi’s.

Shuichi walks out of the bathroom and finds a smiling Kokichi wearing a similar outfit to his own dark uniform. He also sees that Kokichi is wearing a wig and eye contacts whose colors also match the detective’s as well. He raises an eyebrow towards him and questions, “What exactly are we doing?”

“We’re cosplaying, duh!” he gladly answers in a matter-of-factly tone. Kokichi pokes his own cheek and continues to speak, “I’m the Ultimate Detective!” Then, he points towards Shuichi. “And you’re the Ultimate Supreme Leader!” he happily shouts with a giddy expression on his face. He links his arm around Shuichi’s and makes them both look at their reflections on the huge mirror in his room. He chuckles softly with his signature laugh. “Nishishi. With this, we would be messing with everyone’s minds and turning all of the world’s logic wayyy upside-down on how they all supposedly view us!” He leans closer towards Shuichi and snickers. “Neeheehee. Now you can lie all the time while I’ll be the one figuring out the cases and making all the deductions on what you’re lying about.”

Shuichi can easily see that the lighthearted trickster is clearly amused with the idea. The detective has to admit that even he is a bit impressed with this setup and wonders where, when, why, and how Kokichi ever found the time to do this, but he tables the thought for another time and respectfully declines the offer. “Even when we switch outfits, it’s still not easy being you.” He smiles genuinely towards the smaller male. “I need someone who’s good at spotting out people’s lies like you to help me figure out what happened and who might be lying about this case.” Shuichi removes his arm from Kokichi’s and walks back to the bathroom to change back to his own uniform.

Kokichi quickly changes back to his uniform as well in his room and patiently waits for Shuichi. Once he sees him walk out of the bathroom, Kokichi decides to challenge him from across the room. “And how do you know that a talented liar such as myself isn’t going to lie to you as well?” He puts his right hand on his hip and places his left forefinger on his chin. “After all, being able to detect other people’s lies and calling them out is an art that’s hard to teach.”

Shuichi slightly clutches at the air, knowing fully well that Kokichi is up to his usual antics once again. However, he isn’t planning to back down now. He answers Kokichi’s question in a sure tone, “Because I know that you’re curious to know who the culprit of this case might end up being too. You can’t figure out who did it, can you?”

Kokichi rests his hands behind his head and beams widely. “Did I get caught?” He quietly laughs. “Well, you got me! I knew I shouldn’t have ever underestimated your abilities as the Ultimate Detective!” Kokichi happily compliments Shuichi. He raises his hands up midway and forfeits. “Okay, okay. I surrender.” He places his arms by his side, strides on over to Shuichi, and smiles at his taller companion. “I’ll help you out.” He leans his face towards Shuichi’s and offers in a low tone, “Let’s go over the case one more time, shall we?”

- - -

Shuichi and Kokichi spend the next few hours going over every aspect of the case. They both take turns asking each other questions of what might have happened and they both keep shooting down those theories with a lot of fact-checking. However, there is something bothering the expert liar about the entire case.

Kokichi has a neutral expression across his face. Shuichi could tell that during these rare times, Kokichi is either being serious or telling the truth about certain situations. Kokichi meets Shuichi’s eyes and inquires what is on his mind, “Are you sure that that is everyone’s statements in those exact words?” He tilts his head towards the small black notebook on the desk.

Shuichi nods and hands him his small notebook that he carries around during investigations. He watches Kokichi as he flips through the pages and reads every single statement.

Kokichi glances back up and tosses the notebook back to him. “Well, if that’s the case, then most of these people are lying to you,” he answers with certainty.

Shuichi raises his eyebrows at the new revelation. He initially suspected that at least a few people might not be telling the truth when he heard their answers, but he didn’t think that a lot of their classmates would lie to him as the trickster made it out to be. He feels the need to ask Kokichi, “How are you so sure?”

Kokichi explains to him, “Because I heard from the other day that a whole lot of them were going to the mall together as a group, so if all of them are claiming that they don’t have an alibi, then they’re wrong. Unless they all just happened to cancel their plans on that day and never saw anyone as they said in these statements, then they probably lied to you.”

Shuichi places his fingers on the brim of his black cap, trying to think that if Kokichi is telling the truth right now, then why would they all say that they don’t have a single alibi? Were they all involved with this situation in some way? He contemplates on the thought a bit. Hmmm…This case became even more complicated than I initially thought it would be, Shuichi ponders to himself.

The detective looks back at Kokichi. “Could you tell me who you saw then when they had that conversation?”

Kokichi shakes his head. “No, I only heard a lot of different voices at the time, but I couldn’t be sure who was in there since they were all talking so quietly. I didn’t even bother going inside the room to see what they were all discussing about or to see who was in the room.” He lets a sly grin appear before saying his next statement, “But I did hear one person’s voice that I definitely recognized no matter how far I was away from him.”

Shuichi carefully notes the last word in that sentence and cautiously decides to ask whom Kokichi was referring to. “Who was that?”

Kokichi’s grin never loosens up. Instead, it becomes even wider as if he is enjoying prolonging his response to add dramatic effect to the answer of that question.

“Kaito Momota.”

As soon as those words left Kokichi’s lips, Shuichi becomes instantly shocked. His eyes pop wide open, and he considered that the supreme leader was probably lying right now. The detective was about to counter back with words of his own saying that it couldn’t be him when suddenly, he remembers in his own mind and in Kaito’s statement in those exact words, “I-I was alone. I was very much indeed quite alone at that time. All I did was stay in my room for the duration of the entire time... So I saw no one… Because I was alone… Where no one could see me…”

Shuichi believed Kaito at the time because they really were close friends, but now, he isn’t so sure. During that statement, Kaito was slightly fidgeting and being quite talkative. But, he didn’t answer Shuichi in his usual positive, upbeat tone. It sounded more like he was hiding something the more time the detective thought about the conversation. Kaito did keep insisting that he was alone the entire time, but knowing the taller male, it’s quite rare to see him all by himself at all. Shuichi failed to mention Kaito’s behavior to Kokichi when he was describing everyone else’s behaviors prior to this point because he thought it was not relevant to the case. But now, Shuichi has to suspect his best friend for giving a false testimony, even if he didn’t want to believe that someone like Kaito would ever lie to him.

Shuichi has a stern look across his features. Now, he is going to have to question his closest friend once again as well as every single one of his classmates and figure out who is probably lying to the detective. He glances at Kokichi and says to him in a calm, but powerful tone, “You’re coming with me. We’re going to ask everyone again about the whereabouts of where each of them were during the time of the incident.”

Kokichi smirks at the Ultimate Detective’s determination and places his hand near his face as if he was about to salute him. But, instead of congratulating him, the smaller male warns Shuichi, “Be careful of who you might be planning to accuse. You never know what kind of clever word might set off an unsuspecting herd.”

The detective already knows what the Ultimate Supreme Leader is saying. He has already committed the risks into his own heart: the risk of defamation of his own character, the risk of losing his own life, and even, the risk of losing friends and allies. Even though he knows all of this, this isn’t going to stop him from being what he is truly meant to be: someone who won’t rest until he uncovers the whole truth.

“Let’s go,” Shuichi commands Kokichi while walking out of the room.

- - -

Shuichi and Kokichi try walking around in their school, trying to locate where any of their classmates might be. This was very strange for the Ultimate Detective to note. Usually, the hallways, the dining room, the classrooms, or some of the other rooms in the entire school would be bustling with people chatting or doing some kind of activity. However, all the sounds were quiet… way to too eerily quiet for both boys to definitely notice.

After a few more minutes of searching and not finding anyone, Kokichi suddenly laughs maniacally while bending down and holding his stomach, making Shuichi turn and face him. He is kind of a bit worried to ask but also curious to know what is on his mind.

The supreme leader soon regains his composure and stands back up. Kokichi closes his eyes and happily asks Shuichi, “Are you sure you want to solve this case? I mean, nobody died or whatever!” He chuckles to himself at the thought before continuing, “I don’t really see why it’s that important to solve the mystery of this random case that you opened. Like, all you saw was this strange file on your desk one day, and nothing about the facts made any sense to you.”

Shuichi catches sight of Kokichi’s tone and words. He covers his mouth and closely scrutinizes the supreme leader. New thoughts appear on his mind as he continues to ponder and gaze at Kokichi’s current actions. How did he know about that? Was it possible that he was just tricked all this time? Did he fall into one of Kokichi’s traps? What this all Kokichi’s doing?

Kokichi rests his hands behind his head. He beams towards the taller male. “You’re thinking way too hard about this, Shuichi,” the supreme leader points out. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his tone. “Just take a breather and just step back into line. You can figure this out.” He winks at him. Kokichi takes a few paces towards the taller male. “C’mon, I’ll show you where they really are,” he reveals and beckons with his arm to have him follow.

Kokichi walks past the confused detective, leaving Shuichi alone for a few moments while he collects his own thoughts. Why does he know where everyone is right now? He continues to think more carefully about these new facts before he asks himself this, “Was this whole case never real in the first place?”

Shuichi tries to figure a few things out at that moment, but he still isn’t completely sure about what just happened. The detective tells himself that he won’t know the truth until he investigates further and asks Kokichi what is going on. With that thought in mind, he turns around and quickly picks up his pace to follow the Ultimate Supreme Leader.

- - -

Kokichi leads him to a set of doors and gestures with his hand for Shuichi to go in first. The detective was about to ask him what was going on when the leader puts his forefinger vertically across his lips, nonverbally telling Shuichi to not say anything. Kokichi cocks his head over to the door and gently pats him on the back as if he is saying that he would be right behind the taller male the entire time.

Shuichi gives up trying to talk with the person who tends to lie a lot and stares at the handles of the doors. He hesitantly waits a few moments and wonders if anyone is really in there. He doesn’t hear a single sound except for his and Kokichi’s breathing. He wants to know where everyone is, but he also wants to know why did Kokichi bring him over here to this place.

Thinking that Kokichi won’t ever tell him what’s on the other side until he actually opens the doors and steps inside, Shuichi takes a deep breath and places his hands on the two doorknobs. He turns both knobs simultaneously and pushes the doors.

At first, he was greeted by darkness, but then someone switches the light in the room and reveals all of his fellow classmates in party hats. They all yell and cheer out, “Happy Birthday, Shuichi!”

Shuichi looks super surprised about all of this. He had somehow forgotten that today was his birthday, and he feels his face redden at his own embarrassment, but then it quickly turns into a wide smile. “You all did this for me?”

The room greets with elated students just beaming at their classmate. All of his classmates, his friends, are there to celebrate his birthday today. And they all managed to surprise someone like the Ultimate Detective on this day. Shuichi blushes at the thought and produces a cute chuckle from his mouth. He walks over to each of them and thanks them for the surprise party.

- - -

The more time passes and the longer the conversations with his classmates were, Shuichi eventually pieces out exactly what had happened and how everyone in the room was able to hide and pull off this party altogether without letting the birthday boy know about their plans.

Shuichi walks on over to Kokichi who just happens to be holding a Panta in his hand while standing by himself near a wall away from everyone else.

Kokichi places his Panta on a nearby table as soon as Shuichi reaches him. The leader smirks at the detective, being able to read Shuichi’s genuine smile and gambogeish grey eyes as he carefully watches him. “So, you already figured it all out, huh Mister Detective,” Kokichi playfully teases.

The detective nods as he begins to summarize the whole plan. “It all started some time ago, probably like last week or so. Everyone here knew that they all wanted to throw this huge surprise party for me, but they weren’t sure how to plan it or make sure that I wouldn’t become suspicious enough to know what they were doing. That’s when you came up with this clever idea on how to surprise me.”

Kokichi smiles brightly at the detective and slightly tilts his head to the side. “Oh, and what is this ‘clever idea’ that you’re talking about?”

Shuichi continues to talk to Kokichi, finding himself smiling even more when he explains exactly how did they all pull this stunt off without a hitch. “Kaito told me that you volunteered to hang out with me all the time these past few days, claiming that you were very good at keeping a detective like me preoccupied and distracted for all this time while everyone else was setting up for this party. At the time, I just thought you wanted to hang out with me more often than usual and I didn’t even think more about your true intentions.”

Kokichi raises his arms behind his head and grins. “Well, it’s not a lie. I really did want to hang out with you more!” He smirks at the detective and says with a low tone, “And I always get what I want.”

The detective slightly blushes at the thought and continues to converse more with the supreme leader at that moment before Kokichi could even notice. “You even created this elaborate unsolvable case that involved everyone’s cooperation about their testimonies, even Kaito’s.”

Kokichi snickers childishly and openly states, “Well, of course I had to write down that idiot Kaito’s line out for him. I even made him practice in front of me a bunch of times and had to tell him what to do in order to not screw this up!” He beams a look at the tall gel-spiked purple haired male across the room before returning his eyes back towards Shuichi.

Shuichi feels content in his heart after hearing about them teaming up with each other for something like this, but it would be better not to bring it up to either of them in a casual conversation. He gazes at the supreme leader in front of him and continues on with his explanation. “You snuck the case file on my desk one day without my knowledge, knowing that I would be looking at it for a while and wondering where it came from. You somehow knew that I would be interested in picking up a case like this, and you made sure that I would be spending a whole lot of time looking for any clues and asking for everyone’s alibis during the said incident. You also knew that I would be asking for your help in particular simply because you have a smart mind and you were with me the entire time, which in turn, verifies your alibi.”

Kokichi chuckles at the detective’s deductions. “Nishishi, well that last part was exactly right, but I get bonus points from you thinking about me in that way!”

Shuichi happily smiles at Kokichi. “And while you were keeping me distracted these last couple of days and on this day in particular, everyone else was setting up for this party. They all made the preparations here and when they all told me that they were all mostly alone during the time I asked for their whereabouts, they were lying to me about that. They all went out together as a group to go shopping for supplies and gifts at that exact time. And you made sure that while they were gone, you were with me the entire time to distract me and make sure that I didn’t get suspicious about any of them.”

Kokichi places his hands behind his head and has a carefree laugh. “Neeheehee! Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t influence any of them to lie to the Ultimate Detective about anything.”

Shuichi knows very well that that was definitely a lie, but it was all for a good cause. “Everyone trusted you today to play your role into diverting me away from this place so that they can finish their final preparations and surprise me.” Shuichi’s content smile flashes across his face while he thinks about how helpful, meticulous, and how thoughtful the trickster in front of him was when planning all of this. “I’m really glad that you came up with this, Kokichi. Thank you.” He holds out his hand towards the boy to show him his gratitude for his participation with this surprise event, finally being able to see the supreme leader eye-to-eye.

Kokichi takes Shuichi’s hand and shakes it, both hands feeling warm at the touch. There was no way Kokichi could try to hide that. As a final diversion to steer away his own feelings from the detective, he grins at him and happily exclaims, “Happy Birthday, Saihara-chan!”

Shuichi’s smile falters at the sound of the suffix at the end, knowing fully well that Kokichi is still being Kokichi no matter what day it is.

- KᴀɪʙᴀSʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ♥

Fan Art Sources:

1.     [0:00] 井ノ上 [pixiv.net] - (User might have deleted artwork)

2.     [0:01] 壱紀 [pixiv.net] 

3.     [0:02] うなぎ [pixiv.net] 

4.     [0:03] still [pixiv.net] 

5.     [0:03] ???

6.     [0:05] 巣鴨 [pixiv.net] 

7.     [0:06 – 0:08] Official Sprites from Danganronpa Wikia page 

8.     [0:09] ゆづる [pixiv.net] 

9.     [0:10] Chiwi [pixiv.net] 

10.   [0:11] なでか [pixiv.net] 

11.   [0:12 – 0:17] みきもと@ティア125は01a [pixiv.net] 

Edited: July/August 2018 Uploaded: September 7, 2018 Shuichi Saihara & Kokichi Ouma - A Good Deception