#i am using a guide and its still taking me like half an hour who thinks of these!!!

[steine-druff]

"find random hidden things around the kingdom" side quest accepted 18 dead 46 injured

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[copperbadge]

Hi Mr Starbuck! Some friends and I are moving in a few months and we're eyeing various places all over the US. Chicago came up as a relatively affordable big city (compared to LA and NYC) and I have to ask the resident Tumblr Chicagoan his opinion. As a resident who lives and works in the windy city, what's your big pros and cons of residing there (especially things you might not encounter as a tourist)? (also, how accurate is your "guide to chicago" still, since its been a few years!)

Well, I definitely have opinions!

The guide to Chicago is no longer accurate -- too many places have closed or moved, and the pandemic altered a lot (for example the Money Museum still exists but I'm not sure if it has regular hours even now). I should do a new one but like, I really don't get out much anymore so I can't talk about restaurants outside of a VERY local area, and I never could talk much about hotels, which just leaves points of interest mostly already covered by Atlas Obscura. :D At this point it'd just be kind of moot, others are doing it better than I am.

Chicago is inexpensive compared to New York or Los Angeles, but like, that's everywhere in America. Chicago is still a quite pricey city to live in, mainly because the taxes are so high -- 10.25% sales tax, for example, and my property taxes are also pretty steep. People joke about Taxachusetts, but I'm pretty sure Chicago at least has it beat (and 2/3 of the state's population lives in Chicago or the outlying suburbs). Housing is not at a premium in the way it is in NY and LA but depending on where you want to live and how far you want to commute it can still be very expensive. My housing was never less than half of my monthly income until I bought this place, and then ONLY because the job I'm in now came with a $10K/yr raise from my last one.

Chicago does have great culture, great museums, great food, and it's a liberal island in a pretty conservative region. It is however quite segregated, so if you are any race other than white, living here can get a little more complicated than I've portrayed it as a white dude. There is significant crime and particularly gun crime, but it's generally confined to specific regions of the city. That said, even if you discount crime, the Chicago PD are corrupt as fuck and uninterested in being helpful, so if you are from a demographic the cops enjoy harassing, it will not be different here.

I do love the city, warts and all. I like the water, I like the people, I like the midwestern vibe. I'd find it very hard to leave, especially because I have a network of friends here, but also because I just plain like it and I know it really well. There is a very short list of cities I'd consider leaving Chicago for, and most of those would have to have a well-paying job waiting for me. But it did take me time to fall in love with it -- it took a few years before it felt like home.

It's a little difficult to get more specific without knowing more about your situation -- what you do for work, what your budget is like, what your goals are in leaving where you are. Do you prefer to drive most places? (Parking and traffic can both get dicey.) Can you tolerate taking public transit if driving is inconvenient? Is the industry in which you work something that has a lot of openings here? Do you want to live in an urban environment, and if so are you prepared to live in a likely somewhat shitty apartment to do so? If you prefer to live in a house, are you prepared for a long commute? What do you like to do for fun and is there a thriving culture for that here? What is it important to have access to -- museums, concerts, theater, sport? Where do you need to travel to regularly (ie, I go to Austin several times a year) and how do you prefer to travel there?

Anyway, yeah -- like, I love it but I have few illusions about it. If you want to chat further feel free to hit me up by email, happy to answer more specific questions!

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 11]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Light Alcohol CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 7.4K

(11/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: This has to be the fastest I've uploaded an update AHAHA also quick heads up I updated the OC Guide

Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2015

“I’m home,” your keys hung loosely from your hands. “Hello?” Usually, you would’ve been greeted by at least Alfred. “Timmy? Cass?” Still, no response. “Well, what the fuck,” you shrugged and trudged upstairs. The manor was unnervingly quiet today, and you knew well enough that there was something amiss. Then, finally, you heard a conversation just ahead.

“I apologize if it’s a little cramped,” Alfred remarks. You stuck your head in. “Ah, Miss (Y/N), welcome home.”

“Hey, Alfred,” you looked at the child in front of you. “Huh… they get younger every year,” you crossed your arms.

“And who the hell are you?” He snarks. “A maid?”

“Oh, and he’s feisty,” you leaned against the door frame. “What’s your story then? Orphaned? Stole tires? Figured him out?” You went down the line and counted on your hands.

“Not necessarily,” your dad walks in from behind you and you jumped in your shoes.

“Hello to you too,” you rolled your eyes.

“(Y/N), this is Damian,” your father introduces him. “He’s your brother.” Your eyes widened. You looked at Damian again and, now that you really thought of it, you could see the resemblance to older pictures of your dad.

“Half brother, I’m guessing,” you added.

“Right. This will be his home from now on, help him get adjusted,” your father places the luggage in his hands down. “But, I’m not too worried about you.”

“Huh, have you told Dick yet?”

“He got here half an hour ago.”

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll clean up whatever mess happens,” you pushed off of the door now. “It’s nice to meet you, Damian, let’s get to know each other better later once you’re finished unpacking. I know a great arcade in the city you might like,” you adjusted your backpack and crossed the hall to your room. You leaned your backpack against your desk and went straight to work. The college application deadline was fast approaching and you had to be on top of it, then exam season was also following in its heels so you had to remain vigilant of that.

“So what exactly is your role, then?” Damian’s voice came behind you. You ignored the way your heart stopped from shock and turned around after taking a deep breath. You'd never get used to being snuck up on, even after having to deal with your brothers.

“Heiress. You?”

“You? Heir to what? The Batman title?” He was seated on your bed with his arms crossed.

“Oh no, no way, heiress to Wayne Industries of course,” you corrected him. “I have no intentions of doing whatever vigilante work dad or any of you usually do,” you crossed your arms and shook your head.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, sir, I am not,” you nudged your head toward the desk behind you. “Plus I have more important things to worry about.”

“So you have no formal training at all?” Damian asks with heavy skepticism.

“I mean, I have basic combat skills that I learned from Dick and Jason, but that’s about it, just enough to handle my own, but not enough to do any vigilante work,” your eyes shifted to the side in thought. “Why?”

“I find it hard to believe that anyone would pass up an opportunity to become stronger.”

“I’m stronger in my own way, thank you very much,” you rolled your eyes and turned back around to your desk. “If you need anything else, just let me know. We’re siblings so I’ll always be happy to help you out,” you opened your laptop and started typing up one of your college essays. Damian didn’t respond, and when you looked back to check on him, he was gone. “They get stranger every time too…” you mumbled right as Dick sent a text to the sibling group chat.

‘THERE’S ANOTHER ONE?!’ You chuckled and shook your head.

‘Yeah.’ Tim’s response was blunt and your heart suddenly sank. Especially when just moments later his contact name appeared across your screen. You answered without hesitation.

“Hey, Timmy, what’s up?” You asked.

“Hey, sis, are you busy right now?”

“Just working on college applications, but I have plenty of time, where are you?”

“Let’s grab a coffee together, my treat! I just want someone to talk to right now.”

“Of course, Tim, I’ll be right over, our usual spot, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll save us a table. Drive safe, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m heading out now, bye!”

“See you.” He hung up first and you grabbed your things before heading out of your room. Damian, meanwhile, kicked off from the wall next to your room.

“Where are you going?” He asks. You toss him a quick glance and a shrug.

“Out, why?”

“Out to patrol, right?” He presses. You shake your head.

“Nope, I already told you, I don’t do that stuff,” you walked down the stairs and he followed.

“Not even like Gordon?”

“Uh… Mr. Gordon or Babs?” You ask.

“Barbara.”

“No, I’m not too versed in tech, not on her level at least,” you grabbed your keys. “I’d invite you to join me, but I’m meeting up with Tim so maybe next time,” you tossed them in your hand now.

“For an intel report?”

“Why are you so set on me being a vigilante? I want nothing to do with that stuff, Damian,” you turned to him now. What was so hard for him to understand that you just weren’t a fighting person?

“It’s just…” Damian stops. You realized now how small he was, he couldn’t have been older than ten. “My… our father is the Batman. My mother is Talia al Ghul and yours is Selina Kyle.” Huh, he did his research. “I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re wasting your potential. Why would you choose to be ordinary when you could be extraordinary?” He asks. You hummed and crossed your arms, what a way to put your decision down and by a child no less. You didn’t know Damian well at all, you’d just met him today and here he was putting your life on blast.

“Well, I guess that’s something we’ll both find out together later, huh? I’ll see you later, Damian,” you cut the conversation off and walked down to the garage. This time, Damian didn’t follow you.

~

2022

“I’m sorry you had to come here while it’s in this state, Damian,” you grimaced. You start moving around the apartment to tidy it up at least a little, “as you can tell, we’re not usually home,” you start piling beer bottles in your arms and tossing them in the bin. “I’ll be back, their majesties call,” you said with an annoyed tone before disappearing into one of the rooms.

“It feels like I have a massive hangover,” Nixon whines as he collapses on the couch.

“I think all my ribs are broken,” Carter mutters next to him.

“It’s not a competition, boy scout,” Nixon groans. “Alex?” He looks over at him.

“Get in line,” Alex finishes up wrapping Eve’s hands with fresh bandages.

“The fact that you two can both self-heal is fucking bullshit,” Nixon cries.

“It’s actually reattachment, which is much more painful than regen,” Alex replies, “Damian, come over here, (Y/N) would kill me if she saw so much as a scratch,” he gestures to the chair and Damian sits down hesitantly. “I don’t think you remember me.”

“I don’t.”

“Blunt, much?” Nixon snickers.

“I was penpals with your sister,” he rolls the bandages over Damian’s arms. “Nothing more, we had a thousand miles between us and your sister had a reply period of two business weeks,” he rolls his eyes. “Oh, Evangeline, could you look around if we have something for the lad to eat? When was the last time he ate anything?”

“When he scarfed down my lunch two days ago,” Nixon answers.

“Has it been two days?” Alex taps his head. The time period he’s been here had gone by in a blur. He didn’t even realize it had been that long at all. Landing here on this Earth, nearly being eaten alive by god knows what, and waiting in the cold dirt floors of the regroup encampment, before finally landing here. He wondered how many people went into battle because there were only fourteen people who made it to the encampment.

“I’m not hungry,” Damian cuts in. Just thinking of the brief moment he’d seen the aftermath of the battle nearly turned his stomach inside out.

“It’s not that, Damian, look at your hands,” Alex starts opening drawers and cabinets. Damian looks down and feels his throat go dry. His hands seemed nearly transparent as if he could stick them through anything and they’d easily go through.

“Explain, now!”

“This Earth’s protective spell is rejecting you since you’re not from here, eating anything from here will bypass that spell and make it seem like you’re native,” Alex opened the fridge. One beer and one egg.

“How old are you again, Damian?” Alex asks.

“Sixteen.”

“That’s old enough,” he took the bottle and hit the cap on the counter. The cap bounced off with a quiet clink and he handed it to Damian.

“He’s a child!” Eve gasps.

“Would you like to eat a raw egg, Damian?” He asks. Damian shakes his head. “Bottoms up then,” he hands the beer bottle to him.

“Wow, you two really live like this,” Nixon groans.

“How do you still have the energy to be an asshole?” Carter asks him.

“My sister surrounded herself with idiots,” Damian says with a quarter-finished bottle of beer. Just in time for you to walk out in a cleaner uniform. You adjusted your gloves over your hand.

“Oh, you gave my baby brother a beer,” you observed. “You could’ve given him the egg, you know.”

“You broke both our pot and pan,” Alex reminds you.

“In self-defense,” you grabbed your keys off the counter. “How you holding up, kiddo, tired? Hungry?”

“Confused,” Damian watched the color return to his hands.

“Wow, you two really are siblings, huh?” Nixon asks.

“I know, you think they’re idiots, it’s fine, come on, I have to take you with me,” you nudged your head toward the door and waited for Damian to follow. “Someone already reported Damian to her majesty, she’s demanding an explanation and I have about half an hour to bullshit a good one.”

“Oh, man, she’s going to give you hell, (Y/N),” Nixon’s laugh turns into a groan of pain.

“Dumbass,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Damian, I’ll explain everything on the way,” you gestured for him to stand up and he did so. “Eve, do me a solid, can you warp us to the castle?”

“Of course,” she places her hand on her heart and bows slightly before waving her hand in a circular motion. A portal opens up next to her and inside Damian could see the faint traces of a regal room on the other side. 

“You head in first, Dami,” you urged him in, and, carefully, he stepped through and landed in what looked like a waiting room. He turned around and saw a distorted version of your apartment within the vortex’s walls.

“What are you going to do about him, (Y/N)?” Alex asks.

“Get him home, obviously. But not now, the royal family is watching him because some idiot reported him as a survivor,” you shook your head. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Until then, he’d going to have to act.”

“I know, that’s what I’m worried about. I'm just trying to make sure he doesn't freak out,” you said before you finally stepped through and it swirled closed. “Okay so…” you looked Damian over, “I asked his highness for a favor, you can’t go in wearing your uniform,” you brushed the ashes off of his shoulder. Then, behind you, there is a knock at the door.

“Captain? May I come in?” Calvin’s voice was only loud enough for those in the room to hear.

“Door’s open.” The prince slid in with a bundle of clothes in his hands.

“Oh, goodness, when I heard you’d brought back a child with you I didn’t think the rumors were serious,” Calvin stares at Damian for a moment longer before turning to you. “These should fit him, I think, it’s the uniform we give to the wards when they’re still training.”

“I know what these are, I usually hand them out anyway,” you shrugged. “Damian, this is His Highness the Crown Prince, Calvin Reinhart. Your Highness, this is my younger brother, Damian Wayne.”

“I see, there is a subtle aura to you both that I now understand runs in the family,” he says vaguely. You handed the clothes to Damian.

“Get changed into those, kiddo, then we’ll talk,” you nodded.

“Comfort room is just across the hall,” Calvin points in its general direction with two fingers and Damian turns to you. You just nodded your head again and he left, just barely catching the conversation behind him. “I never took you as one to pick up a ward.”

“He’s in my care for the time being and he’s interested in Knighthood.” Your voices fell silent as soon as he closed the door behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror for a brief moment, spotting the scars and the healed-over gashes as well as the bandages, before slipping on the fresher pair of clothes. He folded his tattered uniform carefully, the encircled R staring back at him as he walked back.

“We should have him complete a field test then, you know what people would say if you just let him in.” Damian walked into the rest of the conversation and you held your hand out. He placed his uniform on it and you pushed it carefully into a backpack that you handed to him after.

“Oh, of course, I’ll do it by the books,” you reassured him. “What should I expect walking in?”

“My father wants a full report on what happened, you can just ignore whatever chide remarks my mother sends your way though,” he says.

“And you?”

“I don’t have a say in any of this,” he sighs. He looks at Damian. “Wow, a perfect fit.”

“He’s as ready for this as any of those other kids are,” you crossed your arms.

“Are you sure? That test is difficult, I barely got through it,” he says.

“Yours was a formality, your highness,” you reminded him.

“Right, right,” Calvin nods with a knowing smile. “I’ll see you in the throne room, then,” he bids goodbye and closes the door quietly behind him.

“Look at you, handsome devil,” you rubbed his hair gently and leaned against the table in the room. “Alright, Damian, ready for your first mission on this new Earth?”

“Absolutely,” he straightens up.

“Mission one on the new Earth: Be good, blend in. Look, the royal family can’t know that you dropped from another Earth, okay? As far as they know we’ve all been born and raised here, very few people know about where the Brigade members came from. So, let’s get our story straight,” you leaned down and spoke in a quiet voice. Your eyes moved side to side to ensure that no one was listening. “Like usual, you are my younger brother. Our parents are living in the mountain regions and sent both of us down when we were teenagers to find livelihoods. I’m all done, but you’re just starting, I brought you in to live with me because you were interested in joining the Knight’s Order, and from today on you will be my apprentice,” you spoke in a steady voice and he nodded.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Don’t look into the eyes of the queen directly, she’ll know that you’re lying,” you told him. “Each member of the royal family has a special ability that has kept them in power. The King can crush your bones at the snap of his fingers, the Queen can know if you’re telling the truth with a simple glance at your eyes, and the Prince can throw anything and it’d reach it’s target. The presence of these innate abilities and the power to grant them is proof of royal blood,” you explained. “But, you don’t need to worry about all of that, hell, you don’t even have to worry about the practical exam coming up to enter as a Knight’s apprentice, at your skill level I’d promote you to the highest already,” you laughed shortly. “But, let me do all the talking in there, just observe, and if you notice something’s off, find a subtle way to tell me,” you stood up and he followed you out. You knew the layout of the castle already, having been here almost as many times as your own home, and finally you stood beyond two grandiose doors that stretched higher than Damian thought normal.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head and you opened the doors, together, you both walked into the grand throne room. Before you sat three of the most powerful people in that world and, to say the least, Damian felt the pressure in the atmosphere. It was similar to those few times when he knew his enemies out-skilled him. He found himself subconsciously moving toward you and, as if you understood, your hand pulled him closer.

“Captain,” the King spoke.

“Your Majesty,” you stopped a good distance away from the thrones, bowed your head, and put your hand to your heart. Damian followed suit.

“What is that behind you,” the Queen spat. Damian didn’t miss the annoyed look in your eyes as you looked up at the other woman.

“My younger brother, and soon to be my apprentice,” you explained.

“I see,” she relaxes into her seat. “Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in. If he will affect your duties, dispose of him.” Damian’s fists clenched behind his back, but he said nothing.

“That won’t be a problem. You’ll soon see that he is a very capable young man.”

“Tch,” the Queen turned her nose. Damian suddenly realizes why Jason would be so pissed when he did that to him. “So he’s virtually untouchable.”

“Yes.”

“Give me news on that village,” the King cut into the conversation.

“It’s unsalvageable, Your Majesty,” You replied curtly. He shifted slightly.

“How many survivors?”

“Five…”

“Hundred?” He cut you off.

“No, your majesty. Five,” you touched your heart again. “Correction, three, not including us from the Knight’s Order.”

“My god,” the Queen shook her head. “How could your team, your special operations unit, have failed?!”

“I believe I’ve told you before, Your Majesty, there have been frequent sightings of a new and much stronger daemon in our midst. Usually, we have been able to handle these mutations, but, for reasons unknown, an entire herd of a new variant descended upon the village,” you stood your ground and continued to explain the situation, all of which Damian already knew as Eve filled him in.

“Usually?” The King’s stance straightened and the Queen’s expression grew grave.

“Father, if you’d recall, I gave you a brief report on the Brigade’s findings a few days ago,” Calvin spoke up. The King held his hand up and Calvin stopped. “Captain, you look like you’re about to say something,” he gestures toward you.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I can assure you that the Brigade has everything under control.”

“New variant?” She asks. “How long have you been dealing with these beasts before informing us?!”

“Near a year now, Your Majesty, but with much smaller variants.”

“A year?! When were you planning on reporting this?!” She shouts.

“The Brigade has had this issue under control up until now. The mutations were advancing at a slow rate until now, and thus we kept a watchful eye on them. As I said, the variant that destroyed that village is a new one. We have never seen one that advanced that far,” your voice remained firm.

It was a presence that Damian wasn’t used to. The longer he stayed here, the more he realizes how much you’ve changed. Especially now, you look just like their father. Damian’s eyes wandered to the Prince, who was silent this entire time. He was almost entirely different than when he saw him earlier, whatever warmth he thought he saw in him was replaced with a bitter coldness that matched his parents, it was almost impressive. Calvin was watching you with a strange mix of curiosity, confusion, and concern. His head rested on the palm of his hand as he tried to feign superiority, but he held a similar annoyed expression that you had, with his eyes constantly shifting to the Queen, who seemed ready to boil over with rage.

“I see,” the King tapped his foot, the sound bouncing off of the room’s walls. “Then continue doing what you’ve been doing.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Await further orders then, Captain. You are dismissed.” You bowed your head again, turned on your heel, and left, Damian following close behind with every hair at the back of his neck standing up from the stares alone.

~

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” Dick shouts. Tim rubs his head angrily and gestures toward the screen.

“Do you see him on the radar? No? Well, neither can I!” He argues. Jason rolls his eyes.

“Stop arguing,” Bruce sighs.

“Why am I even here?” Jason grumbles. He takes his helmet. “I’m out, this is stupid. We’re wasting time using this tech, I’ll find him myself and drag him back, yeah? Maybe the kid found (Y/N) already too,” he says.

“Jason has a point, we’re getting nowhere configuring this system,” Bruce concedes.

“Jason, Bruce, wait, come on, we should make sure he’s alright, the fact that he’s not pinging here is a huge problem,” Dick reasons. Tim turns back to the bat computer and a notification pings. “Hold on, there’s some noise about a strange light in the third district, it might be something to look into.”

“Pull it up, then,” Bruce says.

“Yeah,” Tim answers. He pulls up the grainy CCTV footage, speeding through the footage to find something of interest, and once he saw the bright light he scrubbed back a few minutes, and the figure centered in it was unmistakable. They watched as Damian ran around the area, asking random people who happened to be passing by, and whatnot, then a stranger walked up to him and inaudibly told him something. Whatever he said, Damian listened carefully, before the stranger pulled out what looked similar to a pocket watch. Damian watched the pendulum move from side to side before falling to the ground. The stranger lifted him and disappeared into the alley, a bright light emitting from it, and the footage ended there.

“Shit… I should’ve known it was one of the three,” Steph frowns.

“Three?” Tim turns to her.

“You know… aliens, robots, or wizards? This has to be wizard, it’s written all over it,” she says.

“Damian was not kidnapped by wizards,” Tim drags a tired hand down his face.

“Holy shit, Damian was kidnapped by wizards?!” Jason looks up from his phone and then it was Bruce’s turn to sigh, but before the argument could continue, then a notification pings on the batcomputer and Tim was quick to navigate to it.

“Whoa… what’s that?” Jason looks at the picture on the screen.

“I think (Y/N) left it behind, I found it on her seat after I woke up,” Tim skims through the report. “Damn… no matches.”

“Looks like it belongs to a wizard,” Steph whispers, and Cass snickers.

“Wait, try cross-referencing it with the CCTV from earlier,” Dick cuts in.

“You sure?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he was holding a watch.”

“It could just be a pocket watch, you know?” Jason argues.

“Who the hell carries pocket watches in the 21st century?” Steph chides.

“It’s a match!” Tim nearly jumps from his seat.

“Shit, never mind then,” Jason shrugs and Tim pulls the pocketwatch from its spot on the console. He opens it quickly.

“Take a look inside of it, I noticed that the watch face looked too peculiar,” Tim tapped it and so far, no dice. There was no reaction or movement whatsoever. Inside the watch face was a series of concentric circles that were intersected by a number of hands that extended the length of each circle’s radii.

“Yeah… uh… maybe it also reads milliseconds,” Jason hums.

“I doubt that,” Tim grimaces.

“You guys really think it’s magic?” Dick asks.

“I’m thinking more of that it could be some complicated tech that neither of us understands yet,”

And so, operation Save Damian is a go.

~

2015

“So… how’s the new kid doing?” Steph asks. You, her, Cass, and Babs sat at a cafe table, you just wanting to eat your sandwich while the three of them were extra intent on hearing the drama from you firsthand.

“Damian’s doing good, stellar, actually, like… he’s probably one of the best Robins from the get-go,” you shrugged.

“Best Robin? That’s a loaded statement,” Steph chuckled.

“I did say from the get-go. But, to be fair, Damian’s raising situation was a little different than the others.”

“Right, the al Ghuls,” Steph says with an exaggerated tone. 

“If you want to ask about Robin stuff you should ask the guys though, I’m not involved in that stuff,” you shook your head. “Like… Jesus, the kid’s only ten! I know it’s not my place to judge but… I kinda want to give him at least a bit of a childhood but he’s so…” you trailed, trying to find the right words to say.

“Bratty?” Steph asks.

“Rude?” Babs tries.

“Conceited?” Cass says before drinking her iced coffee.

“Those are a bit harsh,” you shook your head. You sighed and played with your straw for a bit. “Lonely. He seems very lonely,” you drank some of your drink, trying to ignore the hinted tension at the table now. “I don’t know… I mean, I get it, I do. He grew up to be an assassin, and he didn’t have time or the privilege to make friends, I don’t have the full story so I can’t assume, I just want him to feel comfortable,” you rest your chin on your palm.

“Takes one to know one, huh?” Cass asks.

“Yeah,” you answered absently. Then, in the blink of an eye, you smiled and shook your head. “Not that I was lonely, you know? Obviously, I had all of you, my brothers, my mom, and Alfred so I had plenty of people, and you’re all so wonderful so… I just want Damian to see that too. I get why he doesn’t want to be close with me since I’m just ordinary, but I hope at least Dick gets through to him,” you said.

“Well, Dick has a way with people so I’m sure they’ll bond somehow,” Babs nods.

“Ordinary… you’ve never used that word before,” Cass taps a finger on the table and you shook your head.

“It’s no big deal, it’s just the truth,” you shrugged. “When I first met Damian he said something interesting to me, actually,” you adjusted yourself so you were more comfortable on the metal chairs, “he brought up how our dad is Bruce Wayne, then he brought up how my mom is Selina Kyle, and he asked me why I settled to be ordinary when I could’ve been extraordinary.”

“Yeah, sis, he’s just a brat,” Steph deadpans.

“Hey now,” you shot a pointed look at her and she shrugs. “Anyway, I got to thinking about it over with Tim—”

“Aw, hell, Tim! Shit, how’d he take the news?” Steph asks. You shook your head.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but not well. Wait for him to talk to you about it though,” you told her. “But back on topic… I discussed it with Tim and he told me that of all of us, I was the most important member,” you rolled your eyes. “I didn’t buy it at first but…” you took a deep breath. “Every super family needs a civilian, right?” You finally said. Cass reached over and held your hand in hers, squeezing it with some amount of reassurance.

“You are so much more than just an ordinary civilian, (Y/N),” Steph says. “You’re our sister, through and through. Not just anyone can shut Jason up the way you do,” she adds with a short laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure Damian is hurting right now, he needs time to open up,” Cass says.

“He’s an interesting boy, he’s so mission-driven that it surprises me,” Babs sighs. 

“Dad thinks that me taking him out is a waste,” you sighed.

“Bruce said that?” Babs masks her surprise.

“He said it in a very Bruce Wayne way, you know? I told him I’d be taking Damian with me somewhere and he would hit me with the “Again?” and ugh it just makes me angry,” you grumbled.

“Well, he was never able to control you either, so there’s probably not much he could do to stop you,” Steph says.

“Like he’d try,” you leaned back against the chair and stole a glance at your watch. “I should head back to the manor, I still have assignments,” you sighed.

“Oh, need a ride? Let’s share an Uber,” Babs says.

“Sure, yeah, how about you two?”

“I have to go on patrol,” Steph says.

“Ditto,” Cass readjusts her scarf and you nod.

“Good luck, then, stay safe,” you gave the both of them hugs before following Barbra.

“You know, (Y/N),” Barbara spoke up when you were a good distance away, “I think what you’re doing for Damian is good,” she says.

“What am I doing?”

“Giving him a chance,” she says. “You’re right, he’s still a child, even though he acts so mature, sometimes I hear a sliver of the child he is and it reminds me that normally he wouldn’t be handling these kinds of missions,” she says.

“Yeah, I always worry about him,” you shake your head.

“(Y/N), about what Tim said, he’s right, you know. You keep us in touch with our human side, I know sometimes you feel left out when you walk into our meetings, but you are an instrumental member of our family,” she continues. “Remember that, (Y/N).”

“I know, I know,” you nodded. You’d known ever since you renounced the vigilante business. The looks you got from everyone were just different, and the looks you got from people after were just as bad.

~

“Thirsty? You should drink something,” you pulled out two discs from your pocket while you and Damian walked along the castle halls. Holding the discs close together, you firmly grasped onto the handles and twisted them to open and, as you separated the discs, water gathered between them.

“Whoa…” he observes it and you hand it to him. “How do I drink this?”

“You can hold it with one hand,” you chuckled and reached over, pulling out a small sphere of water and popping it into your mouth. “We have actual water bottles, but it’s just easier to carry that around,” you said.

“Is this magic?” He copies you and pulls a small sphere of water from the middle before drinking it.

“Yup, Alex brought it from somewhere,” you answered while Damian handed the device back to you. You resealed it and put it away. “Now, today’s the entrance practical for new knights, I gotta admit that we lucked out there. Like I said earlier, I’m pretty sure you’ll pass with flying colors,” you turned him down a hallway.

“What should I expect?”

“It’s divided into two exams. The first is an obstacle course, you have to get through it within ten minutes. The second is a mock hunt, you’ll have to fight and capture a beginner-level beast,” you say. “Easy, for you, trust.” You both walked out into the training grounds, Damian shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight while he looked around seeing knights of various backgrounds roam around. “See that building over there? The one with the green banner on it? That’s for you and the other examinees, go ahead and make yourself comfortable there for now while I meet with the others to prep the course, and, oh! One more thing Dami!”

“Yeah?”

“Be nice to the other kids, okay? Not everyone's as cool as you.” You urged him forward and you waited for him to reach the practice house before taking off yourself.

Damian opened the door cautiously, seeing boys and girls similar to his age all talking amongst themselves and preparing for the exam. 

“So the rumors are true, they let in a homeschooler?” One of the boys snarked. Damian turns to him, unamused. “Guess what, mountain boy, this exam isn’t for bumpkins like you,” he sneers.

“Oh, leave him alone, Hugo!” One of the girls grimaces. “Here, new kid, come sit with us,” she waves Damian over to a table with a few others and, remembering your words, obliges. “I’m Retta,” she introduces herself.

“Damian,” he sits next to her.

“I’m Niers!” The platinum blond boy next to him is next.

“My name’s Luciana,” the tanned girl goes next.

“And I’m Lowen,” the last boy introduces himself.

“So, is it true? You didn’t go to any of the academies?” Niers asks. Damian nods.

“Yeah, I trained… in the mountains,” he holds back a groan. Maybe you didn’t change at all, your lies were still obvious.

“That’s so crazy, I always forget there’s a whole village up there,” Niers hums. “Shoot, so you don’t know what to expect, huh?”

“I have an idea,” Damian eyes the tarts that Retta stacks on his plate.

“Eat them, they’re good for you. They have some mild stamina enhancers in them,” she smiles.

“I mean, we’ve kinda always known what the exam has,” Luciana mutters. “Lowen and I have siblings in the Knighthood already,” she says.

“Really?” Well, that’s a coincidence.

“Yeah, my older brother’s Aldryn,” Lowen says it with a slight hint of disdain. “Luci's are the twins in lab coats.”

“My older siblings! Marion'll be at the test today too, I’m so nervous,” she chews on the inside of her lip and Retta places a cookie on her plate.

“For the nerves,” she says. “No worries though, depending on how you fail you get a retest,” Retta explains.

“Is it really that difficult?” Damian asks.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Niers shudders. “But… all of this for one reason!” He says. The four teens put their hands in the center and a blazing determination appears in their gazes. They glance at Damian, waiting for him to join in and, with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he does so.

“To meet the Captain Wayne in the flesh!” Luciana says. Damian is taken aback for a moment.

“To meet the Captain Wayne!” The other three announce. What are the odds he gets sucked into his sister’s fan club?

‘Good grief…’ he could feel his battery draining already.

“Examinees, to the exam field,” Nixon walks in holding a clipboard. He eyes Damian but makes no other attempts at acknowledgment before leaving.

“That’s our cue! Follow us, Damian, we help each other out in this group!” Retta smiles.

“And who said I was in this group?”

“We all did now go!” Niers pushes everyone forward.

Damian listened in on all the conversations on their way to the site, trying to get a general idea of what awaited him. He’d heard many different things, but if one detail was certain, it was that the beast at the end was what they called a ‘Hamig’ whatever that was. You had mentioned to him that it was a beginner-level beast, but he still remained on his guard.

But when he saw the test site, he had to hold back a laugh. And when he spotted you walking toward the group, the eye contact alone almost made you both laugh.

You were right. This was child’s play.

“Students of the 28th class, today is your practical exam to join the Knighthood. My name is Captain (Y/N) Wayne and I oversee all the affairs of the Knighthood and the Brigade. Today myself, Nixon Jones, and Carter Adara will be observing your exams and grading you. You will know if you passed or failed as soon as you complete the exam and you are allowed one retest and one only. If you fail both of those, you will be held back to the next class practical which will happen exactly a year from now. We will be conducting the first exam now, then we’ll have a break, and finally the second part. Don’t let your guard down, and impress us. Your rankings will be given to you today as well,” you instructed. “So, who’s first?” You looked among the crowd. Damian crossed his arms, the first rule of undercover was easy, don’t stand out. He would have to observe the general skill level of everyone first just in case. “Ah, a volunteer already! Let’s see if I’m remembering correctly, Hugo Gardner?” You asked. Damian’s gaze moved over to the boy who pushed his way forward.

“That’s me, I’m glad you remember,” his bravado’s unmatched.

“Right, hard to forget you,” you smiled.

“This is Hugo’s fourth time retaking the practical,” Lowen says quietly, and Damian fights back a snort. This was the kid who tried to demean him? He couldn’t wait to see him fail the course.

And fail he did. Landing face first into the mud below because he didn’t gauge how far the next platform was.

“Gardner, back to the group, you’ll be retesting after everyone completes their exam,” Carter says.

“Whatever,” Hugo spats. “See that, mountain boy?! If I could barely get through it you could kiss this title goodbye!” He laughs. Damian glares at him and you shook your head. Not yet, it was a reminder.

Then, students came and went, students passed, and students failed, and, finally, that left Damian. He had looked over everyone’s abilities enough that he could replicate it to avoid attention, he didn’t want to make this more difficult for you, at least. He had heard a range of different times already, he’d heard eight minutes, nine minutes, eleven minutes, and more and less. The best time right now was five minutes and forty-two seconds. He could complete this in two, but he knew he shouldn’t, don’t draw attention.

“You can still drop out, mountain hobo!” Hugo’s insults were obviously forced.

Aw, whatever, Damian couldn’t resist a chance to show off against people like that. So, he stood at the starting line, and once you had blown the whistle, he took off.

The first course was simple, climbing. One jump and a strategically planned landing point had him at the top in seconds. Then, where Gardner failed, the jump to the next platform. Easy, Damian didn’t have to think of it. The next section was a series of spinning columns with various protrusions, and this one took out a lot of the cohort already, but, again, easy. The trick was to see the pattern before running in, and he’d seen it so many times already. The final part stretched over a small body of water with various buoys set up. There were many strategies for this one, such that he’d seen, either use momentum at each buoy or use them as floaters. Damian decided to do neither of those and used them as platforms instead, moving with ease among each and landing at the finish line.

“Two minutes,” Nixon clicks the stopwatch, and surprised gasps and cheers followed.

“That was crazy, Damian! Why didn’t you tell us you were that good?” Niers compliments him. “Shoot, now I feel kinda embarrassed, you’re a pro!”

“We worried for no reason,” Luci's shoulders relaxed.

“Hey, check out Hugo,” Lowen grins. Hugo had begun his retest, standing at the top of the climbing tower and staring at the platform. Be good, Damian thought of those words again. After years of living with his father, of being good, maybe this new Earth was a chance to try anew.

“Hey, Gardner!” Damian shouts. Hugo glares at him. “Focus on the platform before you jump, trust your instincts! If you’d been training for this, then you can handle it,” Damian instructs. Hugo takes a deep breath and, assumably, follows Damian’s instructions and successfully lands on the platform.

“Shouldn’t we call that out,” Nixon nudges you.

“No, I don’t think I can handle watching Hugo come in another year, he’s been working hard for this. Teamwork and trust are also tenets we emphasize,” you say. You watched Hugo continue through the course with difficulty and, once he’d reached the finish, Nixon checked the stopwatch.

“Eight minutes and seven seconds,” he calls, “congrats, Hugo, you advance to the final test,” he says. Hugo stands for a moment, catching his breath, when tears finally slipped down and his friends rushed over to him, all congratulating him on his achievement.

“You did good, kid,” you nudged Damian with your clipboard and he shrugs it off.

“Whatever…” he says. You slipped a lunch bag in his hand.

“So, let’s take a break, then we’ll complete today’s exam. Everyone who didn’t pass, don’t take it to heart, use this as a learning experience to prepare for the next exam. And those who did pass, don’t let it get to your head, the second exam is much harder,” you announced, walking past Damian as if nothing had happened.

“Damian! Come over here!” Retta calls him over again and he follows while he opened the paper bag and spotted the salad and fruits inside, and beneath it a wrapped veggie burger. Then, as he sat down, Damian felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and, if memory served him right, then your note should be sandwiched under the fruits and bingo. He reads the note in the bag, keeping his privacy about himself as he does so.

‘Why did P stick with J? Because P is butter with J! - Big Sis’ There is no Earth where that would have been funny. But, call it instinct, he flipped the note over and lo and behold, the actual message.

‘Hey Dami, the lunch they’re serving is boar roast and, obviously, you can’t eat that, so I had my assistant run and grab you these. They might taste a little different than what you’re used to, though, just keep an open mind.’ 

Keep an open mind? Damian pulled the salad out, eyeing the purple lettuce and pink spinach.

Oh.

~

As soon as the elevator doors opened, you walked straight forward, stopping in front of the cage with the beast inside, still standing, and still looming, but still silent. You looked at it carefully, going over all the details with a new understanding.

“Hello, old friend,” you crossed your arms and the beast seemed to bow its head. Unable to speak, it raises it now, exposing the dog tags melted into its fur. You looked at the protective circles around it, stepping through them carefully to approach the cage and, just barely, you could just barely make out the name on it.

‘CK - 78’ was engraved on it. Whoever this was, they weren’t part of the Knighthood.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” you backed away from the cage and the beast whimpered, lowering to the ground and lying there peacefully.

“Captain,” you look over your shoulder and watch the two twin scientists enter.

“That’s the most relaxed it’s been,” Inigo speaks up.

“All day, every day, that thing snarls at me and snaps at whoever nears it. It likes you, Cap, I don’t know why though,” Marion shakes her head.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Mary,” you lied. Again, you looked at the beast, who watched you with one eye.

“Pitiful creature, if we weren’t studying it then I would’ve put it out of his misery,” Inigo shoves his hands into his lab coat pockets. “So, what can we help you with, Cap?”

“Just looking, there’s something that’s been bothering me since the last attack,” you crossed your arms. “The report said that this beast displayed an unparalleled strength, and after dealing with similar variants I can confirm that,” you looked over the beast again.

“We’ve been trying to heal the wounds too,” Marion says, “it won’t let us get close.”

“The beast is guarded, most wild beasts are,” you nodded. “Well, keep up the good work, it’s about time I proctored the second exam,” you looked at your watch.

“Damn, that time of the year already? Cut 'em some slack, Cap.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved your hand and left the room, hearing the beast stand up behind you with sounds of metal hitting the cage to prove it.

Not Your Classic Vigilante: @gabytodd @peachydokii @marshmallow12435 @f0leysgurl @luminaaz @lolsnack @akuri-shinsou @pansinspace @time-shardz @lovely-maryj @urminebutidontwantyou @y3oudsc 

[rhyaxxyn]

OC in 15 Tag Game

thank you for the tag @spideronthesun

this was so fun to do--especially for Bahro (though I did include dialogue tags/action lines). Altars in the Sky is still unfinished, and Bahro isn't a main character yet, but i adore him. sooooo, without further adieu--15 lines of dialogue that showcase the personality of Bahro Vestre best >:)

“Alone, I cannot win,” Bahro admitted. He pointed his claw blade at Heather’s throat. “But a vestre never enters a war without its pack."

“Whoever you’re talking about,” he reminded her. “She ties us together. She’ll be a part of both of us. Someway, I’ll never be without you.”

“From when he was a toddler.” Bahro grit his teeth. “You and Clairwyn have placed the wellbeing of our empire in the hands of a creature with one foot in the pew and the other in a madhouse.”

He admitted nothing important. “I would be too possessive, wouldn’t I?” 

He argued, “She is not our young.” Bahro could feel his anxiety prickling within his chest. Soon, Raivun would intervene. “The Niedostepny will provide if it must.”

“Half a foot further than nearly,” he admitted. “We’re a little closer to almost. But it would be blasphemy to say myself or my saints are the same likes of gods.”

“Because I want you to see more of the snow,” he admitted. “They won’t let you stay on Sidereus much longer. I wanted you to see my home before they make you see worse.”

“I’ve let so many children die,” he whispered against her sternum. “So much blood, Heather... So much blood.”

“I wish I could make you happy here. I don’t think you were meant to be without the sun though.”

“Heather thinks you are good. Even if you are so cruel, and so disquieting. She thinks we’re all good, and I hate it—because I cannot believe her still. I love her. Hours of endless night spent at her side, teaching her about Sidereus, watching her read me like her native language, and I have fallen in love with her.”

“She’s the first thing in milennia that I want for myself. Everything else, I have given up for you, and Lohvy. My faith, my home, my hope, my freedom. All I wanted was Heather.” He laughed. “And I lost her too—because I lose everything. Except for you and Lohvy, but you two could lose me if duty demanded it. Yet I still can’t hate you for anything. You’re my family, and I take your blows like hugs.”

“Down her,” Bahro went on. “In the foot, her leg. Just make sure she can’t make the jump.” 

“There’s no power in a name. Not for the divine.”

“I'm not a Saint, Marzanna. Nor am I a priest. The only faith I have left lies in you and Lohvy. You are my guiding light. You are my religion--and you are my sister. For you, I would do anything.” 

"Quinn, if you let Kraigyn come back and take her again--I'll fucking kill him. I don't give a shit that you're her Soul Guardian. I will kill Kraigyn, prophet or not."

I'm gonna tag: @xxxtosoxxx @wintherlywords @cowboybrunch @thegrievingyoung and open tag for any and all who have an OC they wanna post about!

[gayf1hoe]

Part 12

I stand waiting in the lobby of the hotel waiting for the shuttle to take us to the airport. I stand by myself for a while before there is any sign of other drivers. The first to emerge is George alongside Carmen. “Morning” they both say, however Carmen's tone is more joyful and happy and George maintains a monotone voice indicating he's still half asleep. “Morning” I reply, trying to match Carmen's enthusiasm. “How are things between you and Chalres?” George asks, “how did you even hear about that?” I reposed back inquisitively. “Pierre” he bluntly answers. Of course. That little shit. He has one big mouth. “We are all good now, we just had to talk things out”.

Moments later Charles emerges, he had stayed behind to have a shower, “Morning all” he says whilst pushing his slightly wet hair back, he walks over to me an hugs me, the smell of his freshly applied cologne making its way up and infecting my nostrils with a sense of pure bliss.

Whilst we stand talking it doesn't take long for an array of drivers to come flooding in, and soon after we are told the shuttle has arrived to take us to the small airport where our plane would be waiting. On the shuttle I am sat next to Charles and it doesn't take long for us to become immersed in conversation. Halfway into the journey he asks me “So when are you going to tell Mercedes you are not with them next year?”, “Soon” I reply, emitting as much detail as possible.

I open my phone to look at the schedule for the next 2 weeks. I see that there is time set aside for interviews for ‘Drive to Survive’ and a lot of training and practice. The journey goes by fast and I feel a sense of repetitiveness in my life, enduring the same cycle again and again has become a banal and mundane part of my life.

Before I become too intrinsically confined by my thoughts, we pull into the secluded small private airport just outside the heart of Las Vegas. I pull my suitcase to the plane and hand it off to one of the boarding staff and step up onto the plane and take a seat next to the window with Charles sitting next to me and Lando and Carlos sitting opposite.

The surge of the plane as we soar down the runway always sends a little rush of adrenaline down my body. I know I drive at high speeds for a living but there's something about going 200 mph up into the air that never fails to make me feel a little sense of childlike excitement.

For the majority of the flight I sleep since it's still the early hours of the morning, I feel like cold drips on my face and don't think much of it until I feel a massive gush of water and open my eyes to see a slightly drunk Max and Daniel standing above me, with Charles next to me laughing hysterically.

I stand up and heading to the toilet whilst whispering under my breath “fucking cunts” loud enough for them to hear and as I say that I hear all laughter stop, which tells me they comprehend how pissed off I am. It's kind of well known that the thing I love most in the world is sleep. I finish wiping my face and head back to my seat and see Max still standing there and as I approach he says “M/N I'm sorry” before I can say thank you he cuts me off by continuing “sorry you can't take a joke” this sends me over the edge “No I can take a fucking joke but I don't find pissing other people off funny nor entertaining now take your child like self back to your seat and shut the fuck up to keep me sane” as I say this he edges closer and Danny pulls him back and Charles pulls me back and Valtteri who had been sitting next to all of this stands in the middle of us and say “both of you need to cool down and get back to your own seats” Daniel let's Max go and he returns to his seat and Charles guides me but essentially pushes me back in my seat.

I slump back into my seat and just turn back over to try and get some sleep and it ends up working because the next thing I knew Charles was gently tapping my shoulder calling my name and saying my name. I open my eyes and the once dark cabin was filled by the rising sun of Italy.

I groan before becoming more aware of my surroundings and immediately stand up to collect my carry on bag and head for the door. As I step down onto the tarmac the warm Italian morning heat embraces me, as I wait for Charles I see Max approaching me. Thinking he's longing for a confrontation I turn around and head towards Yuki but he runs up behind me lightly lays his hand on my shoulder. “M/N” he said in his usual tone “I just want to say sorry for pissing you off earlier”, “and I'm sorry too Max, I shouldn't of spoken to you like that” I say back to him, “it's fine I know I can be a cunt sometimes” he says as he embraces me into a bro hug.

We part as Charles approaches us and we have to part ways as our teams have organised separate rides as we are heading straight to the track and our luggage will be taken to the hotel and put in our rooms.

Me and George sit in the very aptly picked Mercedes car and sit in silence towards the track. I really like George but this is why I'm leaving the team. I don't feel any connection with any of them and I know I'm partly to blame for not making the effort but I can't force something that isn't there.

We arrive at the track and it's full of cameras as they are filming a lot of content for Drive to Survive. We step out and head into the Mercedes garage which had the AC on which is a cool embrace from the increasing temperature of the area surrounding the Imola track.

We are greeted by our engineers and Toto who guides us around the garage giving us his regular little tour and he shows us to our drivers rooms and instructs us to get ready for media photos but I ask if I can talk to him for a moment.

As he closes my door I come out clean, “there's no easy way to say this but I'm going to a new team next year, and this isn't your fault or anyone else's fault it's just I want to explore other avenues”, he stands in silence for a whole and says “I respect your decision and I will always be here for you, we will make a media announcement today, may I ask what team you are going to?” He enquires, “Aston Martin” I say and he smiles and says “It could be worse you could be going to red bull he chuckles”. “If you want you can go to the Aston Martin garage and tell them you have told me and inform them they can do a press release after we have done ours”, “okay” I say whilst heading for the door.

I wander down the paddock passing all the other garages and walk into the Aston Martin garage and in my white Mercedes T Shirt I stick out amongst the emerald green staple of Aston Martin. I somehow bypass the media Camera interviewing Lance and make my way to Mike's office and this time knock assertively. After a few seconds he bellows “enter” and I open the door to Mike who is fixing his shirt collar in the mirror, “ah M/N what can I do for you?”, “I thought I would come by and tell you I have told Toto I'm leaving Mercedes and that he said you can release any press statements after they have”, he smiles at my answer and says “i'll get the media team on it now”.

I leave the garage and head back to mine and see Toto and my media manager Luca standing right in front of me, Luca hugs me and says he's sad I'm leaving so soon. Then Toto informs me they have made their media statement and he asks if it's alright if they post it and I say yes.

They made an Instagram post with a post of me on my first day with a caption announcing my departure.

Caption : “ TEAM ANNOUNCEMENT: We are saddened to announce that at the end of this season @M/N_L/N will depart ways with Mercedes AMG PETRONAS F1 Team.

We will be sad to see him go but wish him the best in the future”

As soon as they press the post button, I can't lie a certain sense of regret goes through my body. Maybe I did rush into things and maybe I should have given the team more time but I stay somewhere where I don't feel 100% comfortable.

And then I see a post notification from Aston Martin pop up and they had almost immediately announced I will be joining the team.

They had put a picture of me and Lance where we were laughing together in the Paddock.

CAPTION: “TEAM ANNOUNCEMENT: We are delighted to announce @M/N_L/N will race for Aston Martin next season, filling in the shoes of Fernando Alonso.

We can't wait for a success together”

I begin to read all the comments and see that most of them follow the structure of “Didn't see that coming” and a lot of people are speculating why?.

So I decide to write a more detailed post:

“Hello all,

I just wanted to hop on and confirm that I am leaving Mercedes for Aston Martin next season.

Whilst I understand this has come out of the blue and quite early on in the season it has been a long process and the decision was not made overnight. I understand the shoes I have to fill, replacing Fernando Alonso one of the best F1 Drivers will not be easy and I wouldn't of accepted the seat if I wasn't 100% up for the challenge and I can't wait to work with @LanceStroll, as we are already great friends and I'm sure we will become even closer.

I want to reiterate that my decision to leave Mercedes is not due to any conflict or arguments, I have so far enjoyed my tenure with the team and can't wait to make the most of the rest of the season.

I am thankful for their support so far, that has allowed me to win 4 out of 4 Grand Prix's so far in my rookie year and I can't wait for more wins.

I would ask that everyone focuses on the present season and focus on next season when it arrives.

Thank you,

M/N”

After a while of sitting down scrolling through Instagram comments seeing news articles on me, I am called by Toto who informs me the Drive to Survive crew wants to ask some questions.

I make my way over to their studio and take a seat in front of the camera and she begins to ask me questions:

Interviewer: How are you M/N?

M/N: Very well, slightly hot

Interviewer: So just introduce yourself, say what team you drive for and then clap the board.

M/N: I'm M/N L/N Driver for Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 Team

Interviewer: So we will begin by asking you how has the season been so far? And how have you coped with adjusting to Formula 1?

M/N: Well so far this season has been really strong, I think the entire Mercedes team has done really well. We are top of the constructors Championship, I am P1 in standings and George is P3. In terms of adjustment it's been relatively okay.

Interviewer: So we just recently heard you are leaving Mercedes for Aston Martin next season, so what made you want to leave the team so early on?

M/N: I just think I need to explore other avenues of racing and find somewhere where I feel I can perform 100% at my best.

Interviewer: looking back at the past 4 races is there anything you would change?

M/N: My performance of course.

Interviewer: Since you won all 4 races could you elaborate?

M/N: Well most of my race wins have been close with gaps as close as 0.3 seconds and I need to work on being completely ahead of the driver behind, and I feel I need more work on my pit exits as they always throw me off track, quite literally sometimes.

Interviewer: Has there been a driver you haven't gotten on with obviously we saw that with Charles at the start but you two have made up now.

M/N: Obviously all drivers will argue or get into some sort of conflict at some point we spend most of our time together. Sometimes we get sick of each other's personalities.

Interviewer: What do you think of your car this year and how well does it perform?

M/N: ermm… it's really fast is the best way to describe it, there's not too many oversteer or understeer issues and has handled every track very well so far

Interviewer: Lastly, what's your goal for when we speak again at the end of the season?

M/N: To be a rookie World Champion.

Interviewer: Thank You M/N

M/N: Thanks

I stand up and walk back outside into the direct sunlight and feel my skin start to warm immediately, as I walk through the paddock it's eerily quiet which is unusual and it isn't until I walk past catering I see why. All the drivers are in there talking at a normal level over each other so it's incoherent. I open the door and they all stop and then one by one they are all coming at me asking a plethora of questions such as “Why didn't you tell me you are leaving? When did you decide? Why not Ferrari”, “SHUT UP” I shout feeling overwhelmed “I will answer your questions if you come to me quietly and one at a time” as I say that I walk back out and head to my drivers room to put on my Race suit for the Media shoot.

I put on the suit and heard a knock at my door and it's the photographer telling me she is ready for my shoot. They just have me pull a few poses with and without the car in and outside the garage and have me pose with my helmet.

After half an hour she proudly presents her work to me but I'm not fussed about photos, they don't mean that much to me. I spent the rest of the day signing merch and drivers cards bypassing a huge amount of time.

When it approaches the end of the day me and George head back to the hotel and head to our rooms a lot of the other drivers left earlier, when I enter mine and Charles’ room I see a note on the sideboard that reads “Meet me by the beach at 8, Love Charles” I quickly get changed and run out the room to head to the beach. When I arrive I see a picnic set up with lights set around it and in the centre of it all is a smiling Charles.

“Well what do we have here?” I say approaching him, “well I thought we could celebrate you joining a new team together” I smile at his heartwarming gesture and hug him tightly and he guides me to sit down.

We indulge in lots of delicious food that Charles brought, how do I know?, it's edible if Charles had cooked it then I wouldn't have been able to eat it. We stare gazing at the sunset with the sound of the lapping waves echoing around us.

After some time we make it back to the hotel where we head straight out to the pool for a swim, most of the drivers have gone out for food or are in the hotel using the facilities. The only people out by the pool are Esteban, Logan and George.

We stand in the pool with the sound of the water feature creating a light splashing sound, the lights around the pool illuminate everything. As I stand with my back against the wall, we make eye contact and Charles begins to lean in and places his lip on mine, his tongue pushing forward on my lips. As we become more passionate Logan and Esteban jump in the pool causing a seismic wave of water to engulf our faces and cause us to split apart. Me and Charles death stare at the men before heading up to bed.

Today's race day and the pre race nerves are present like always. After a horrific qualifying session I am in P3 and Charles P2 and Max is on Pole. The pressure is on me, I know the Tifosi want Ferrari to win and that encouragement provides an immense sense of duty on Carlos and Charles to do their absolute best.

David Croft: And it's lights out and away we go for the Imola Grand Prix, and Charles Lecerc gets an excellent start maintaining P1, whilst behind him Verstappen and L/N fight for P2. They go wheel to wheel into turn 1 but L/N manages to brake later than Verstappen, shooting him up to P2.

As we enter lap 36 we have Ocon, L/N, Stroll and Russell boxing for inters as this light rain has caused less grip, is this really smart of them or is it a mistake?

Onto the last lap and Leclerc is struggling to maintain his grip with L/N behind him it will be an interesting outcome.

I'm sat behind Charles and despite the fact I could easily overtake him I didn't. I know how much this win would mean for him and I know if I get P2 in one race it won't destroy my chance of winning the WDC.

“M/N you are clear for an overtake” my engineer informs me “copy” I reply as we enter the last turn I purposefully understeer causing me to create a gap between me and Charles.

David Croft: And that mistake will cost M/N L/N. As Charles Lecerc crosses the line and wins the Imola Grand Prix, that is exactly what Ferrari needed.

“Chequered Flag, Chequered Flag, that's P2, P2, mode slow on” my engineer's tone not his usual excited tone but one that sounds disappointed.

“M/N what happened?” My engineer asks “Sorry, understeer”.

As I pull into the number 2 spot of parc ferme I must say I had forgotten what it felt like to come second but seeing how happy Charles was as he enthusiastically jumped out of his car, it felt like it was worth it.

I emerge from my car and Charles immediately hugs me and I congratulate him on his win, Verstappen who once again comes P3 looks incredibly pissed off. We enter the cool down room soaked from the rain but hot from the Italian humidity. With the re-play of the race on the TV Charles approaches me and begins to whisper. “Didn't you understeer on purpose to let me win?”, “of course not” I replied wanting him to feel like he won purely because he is an incredible driver I didn't want to beat him all because Ferrari once again fucked up on their strategies.

We are called to the podium ceremony and seeing Charles on the number one spot made me smile with pure joy. After we have finished getting sprayed with champagne I head to my drivers room to get changed out of my champagne and sweat covered clothes and get ready for my interview.

I am guided out by my media manager and guided to Will Buxton who is waiting to interview me, along the way I sign the odd fan merch before I reach him.

Will: Good evening M/N

M/N: Evening Will

Will: So what do you think of today's P2 result?

M/N: Well of course P2 isn't P1 which I had hoped for but P2 is still a good result and only reinforces Mercedes’ power.

Will: What do you make of the comments saying you let Charles win because of your relationship?

M/N: Well I didn't let him win, he won because of his driving and my stupidity on the corner. My relationship with him doesn't change how I race on the track. He is the same as all 18 other drivers on track.

After my interview I receive a message from Lando informing me that I am invited to a party. I head and look for Charles who is waiting for me in my room and we both leave together to head to the party as we walk through the paddock hand in hand we have a lot of fans asking us to sign things and take photos with them.

The club is not far from the track and is brightly coloured, and has music emitting from it which can be heard as I stand outside of it. We enter and it's almost clear to see where the other guys are given Lando and Carlos are standing on the table.

We make our way over to them and they all cheer at us. They make us sit down as they go over to get some shots and a glass of Coke for me knowing that no celebration could force me into drinking alcohol.

The whole evening Charles is constantly approached by Ferrari fans, most of which are Italian congratulating him as Ferrari is essentially a way of life in Italy.

Me and George sit next to each other and he turns to me and says “So today, I know what you did”, “What?” I question, “letting him win” he retorts, “I didn't” I say pleading my case. “M/N I'm not stupid you have excelled in every testing session and simulator and Wonersh the first 4 races and suddenly when your boyfriend has a chance of winning you cock up, coincidence, I think not”, “so what are you going to do? Tell Toto?” "Relax, I'm not telling anyone” he says laughing at my panic.

The whole evening Charles is up and down from the bar celebrating by pouring alcohol down his throat and by 4 AM I am dragging him to bed.

[mizukagami-takamagahara]

Entropy Effect coverage; Pt. I

A day into playing the game, reviews of the game are skill expressing a lot of doubt as to whether or not Entropy Effect was ever meant to be a BlazBlue game in the first place. I'm still wondering if the BB IP was slapped on due to executive meddling and media company's modern trend towards an extreme reluctance to release new IPs.

As I understand it at this time, Entropy Effect's story is unrelated to BlazBlue's. However, as I said in a previous post, I do see how the two narratives are thematically compatible. Ultimately I'm not sure how long I'll be covering Entropy Effect, as I don't entirely consider it a BlazBlue game, but for now I'm committed enough to uncovering its secrets.

So, let's take a look at the story so far!

The SkysEyes entity that I read as godlike from the trailers seems to be some sort of company. It may be what manufactures all of the robots and runs the city in humanity's absence, judging by the SKYSEYES decal printed onto the bodies of several of the robots we meet. When the protagonist asks an NPC if they "believe in SkysEyes" in the trailer, they were likely asking if the NPC trusted their mysterious overlords, as even just a half hour into the game, they're already starting to look a little suspicious.

But speaking of the city SkysEyes seems to run, I'd theorized before that the stages were we battle and play as BB characters were likely simulations- but it seems that the entire setting is one. Characters within the story refer to it as "a virtual world."

Also something I discussed in my pre-release coverage, the character we play as is called ACER. As I thought, this isn't a name, but a term used to describe "those who participate in the ACE Mind Training program." The 'ACE Mind Training program' is the in-universe term for the roguelite gameplay; it's the little battle simulations we do as the BB cast.

Though this seems to be a well known part of the setting's reality, at the start of the game our player character (our ACER) responds as if they've never been called by that term before.

They react to every new concept of Mind Training as if they're extremely new to the idea, and they're surprised (or doubtful, depending on the response selected by the player) to hear that they have a particular talent for it.

Some hints are starting to emerge that this isn't their first time going through all this, though. When we talk to an entity on the second floor (that another character very suspiciously insists doesn't exist) they greet us as if they already know us- while the protagonist seems entirely confused.

We also see this ridiculously high counter during our interaction with them. It looks like the counter we've seen ticking up in trailers for the game.

It's all very strange. Unfortunately, I don't have any more information on it at this time, so let's move on to something else; the gameplay loop, and its purpose in the story.

We know what Mind Training is, sort of, but why are we, the character, doing it? Our ACER seems to hint at a rumor that "Mind Training can help [someone] resist Entropy Particles," a substance that corrupts one's mind. With what little we know about them this early into the game, they remind me a little bit of the psychological effects of Seithr poisoning. Look at Roy's descent into madness. But that's just a theory- where I am now, I have yet to actually see anyone 'corrupted by Entropy Particles.' The connection may not have even come to my mind if this game didn't carry the BlazBlue title.

As for the idea that the Mind Training simulations prevent whatever cruel fate is brought on by Entropy Particles, our guide (a representative of the ACE program) expresses that this theory isn't perfect. It isn't a guaranteed cure or defense against the corruption, but it's currently the only treatment that has been found to work at all.

The fact that the protagonist asks about this, and is participating in the Training in the first place, makes me think that they are already suffering from this mysterious condition. Is everyone in this virtual world 'sick' with it, or only a select few? How does it spread? Is this something that only affects robotic/simulated creatures, like our cast, or is it affecting people in the material world so as to necessitate the creation of this entire simulation to treat it?

Right now, I've got no idea. I do wonder, though, if this could explain the discrepancies between the protagonist acting as if this is all brand new to them vs the setting hinting at the fact that we've done all this many times before. Do Entropy Particles interfere with memory?

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Farewell tour

Elspeth died on her lunch break, which already felt unfair. It had barely turned noon, only a few minutes after the end of her morning shift, and she didn't even get the chance to finish her meal before she choked on her third bite of egg and cress. It was almost like things had been organised that way, to minimise her employer's inconvenience. As if dying was a personal errand she had to take care of in her own time.

They found her corpse in the breakroom, still dressed up in her ballgown and tiara, a sleeping beauty waiting on true love's first Heimlich. It hadn't been the most dignified way to go, but Elspeth was well used to that: she'd been working at PrincessWorld for over two years, patrolling in that costume every day, and her dignity had died long before her body chose to follow suit.

Her official job title was Princess, but in practice she'd served as a glorified guide, walking around the theme park and welcoming its guests. They had a map, of course - a fold-out one, in the centre-spread of the flimsy leaflet they were handed at the start - but many still struggled to find their way between various palaces and play areas, not to mention the hedge maze at their heart; and some just preferred a guided tour from an actual, real life fake princess.

The job hadn't made her feel particularly princesslike. On days like her last, when Elspeth's morning had been filled with nothing but complaints, litter-picking and crying children, she'd had half a mind to tell her boss that he should be the one wearing the coronet, tucked up safely inside the keep of his office, whilst she should don more appropriate garb for her station as his serf. But she'd had a whole mind to keep her job, so she hadn't ever said a thing.

"Now I'll never get a chance," she thought, which already wasn't right. She was dead. Elspeth had seen her body carried away, and that meant she had no business to still be reflecting on things; she'd had no right to watch the body, either, now that she came to think of it. What eyes had she been using? What brain? Did this mean that she was really still alive, like the way that French philosopher had proven he was real? Cogito ergo vivo?

"René Descartes," the voice said. "And no - I'm afraid that you're still very much deceased."

"What?" The word definitely came out of her mouth. Hearing and speaking. That was definitely incongruous with death.

"Expired. Departed. Perished." The voice seemed to be coming from a shadow in the corner, which became more distinct with every word. More black than grey. More red than black. "You know, snuffed it. Kicked the bucket. Croaked."

"Then what's this? The afterlife?"

"It's the in-between. The queue to get in, if you like; the turnstiles. The ticket stand."

"I need a ticket?" Elspeth mock-checked her pockets. They were empty, even of her phone. It turned out that you really couldn't take it with you. "Sorry, I seem to have left my money in my living form."

"What you need is a job." The dark red shape had coalesced into a human form. Hooded, but with the sense there was a face underneath the cloak - either that, or a skull.

"At the ticket booth?"

"Something like that. Not dissimilar to your current, or I should say previous, role." The shape paused. "Not dissimilar to mine."

"Which is?"

"Guide. Usher. Chaperone."

"Around PrincessWorld?"

"From it, for those who die here. To greet souls as they leave the mortal realm, and ease their transition into the beyond."

"What about my transition? Why am I stuck here?"

"Really? You don't remember the third of June, 2004?"

"Oh." She tried her best not to. "Right. Not my finest hour, I'll admit. But that's enough to keep me out of paradise?"

"It's enough to... say, extend your probation. You can work it off. It's not like you've been damned, you'll just have to prove yourself."

"For how long?"

"A few lifetimes, I'd imagine. More, if they aren't convinced. Potentially forever. Are you familiar with Sisyphus? "

"Having to do this job... for eternity? That sounds like my idea of torture."

"Well, that was your original sentence."

"I'm sorry?"

"That's what I said - they took your contrition into account. I was able to get it down to community service. Trust me, this is better."

"So hang on, this isn't even a paid job?" Elspeth focused on the practicalities. Metaphysical frameworks could wait. If this was an interview, she knew what she wanted to know. "The only good thing about doing this was that I actually got money at the end of the day. You're telling me I'm now doing forced labour?"

"You don't really need money, if that helps," the figure said. It didn't. "You don't really have a body, so you don't need shelter, food, or any of those shackles of mortality. There are other perks, though."

"Like what?" She'd been rather fond of some of those shackles.

"The rest of your judgement is over. As long as you get this job done, you can get away with any other vices you like, scot-free."

"So you're basically just saying I'm above the law."

"As long as you do the job," it repeated. "Have you ever heard the expression the wages of death are sin?"

"I'm pretty sure that's backwards," Elspeth said, then nodded to the crimson robe, which swirled around what were presumably the figure's feet. "What about the uniform? Do I get that provided?"

"There's nothing uniform about it. I chose this myself, for obvious reasons."

"You wanted to play Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Practicality. It doesn't show the stains." The figure paused. "Or perhaps it does. Was this white, originally? Most of the deaths are clean enough, but some can be quite messy."

"So I can choose my own?"

"If the princess outfit is no longer your taste."

"But out of my own pocket?"

"There's nothing in your pocket. You're flat broke, as of this moment. But you can expense it, so don't scrimp if you've got a real preference. Some find actual scythes to carry around, but you can usually commission a decent facsimile from someone on Etsy. Is that all clear?"

"One more question, if I may." Elspeth still couldn't see the figure's face, but she imagined it looked much as hers did when answering a tourist's umpteenth query, usually for the umpteenth time. "Why me? I'm not equipped to handle so much death. I'm not even a qualified first aider."

"Being able to have the same conversation again and again..." They spoke as someone who'd seen this one a few times themselves, and was looking forward to its end. "Well, it's a skill. Most people don't have it in them. They break. Let's just say you have the necessary job experience. If you've survived PrincessWorld's stream of guests, you'll do just fine with those on their way out."

"I didn't survive," she protested. But the figure had already disappeared.

[cosmicanger]

A 1/2 review of Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood 2019 review

By Sam B.; Rewatched Jul 24, 2019

To be at the end of an era is one helluva thing, and Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time In Hollywood almost feels prophetic now, coming at the tail-end of an age for cinema, a medium that has since been irrevocably altered, with no clear path forward. The film itself is the opposite of a eulogy, a ressurection of some falsified past. It is a vile motion picture.

The first two interimible hours are a sub-par hangout movie with some cranky metatext. Dicaprio plays Rick Dalton, a star who never quite gets his due, in a startlingly nondescript role that leaves Leo floundering to make any choices in performance. Brad Pitt is very good and very wrong for the role of Cliff, a happy-to-be-here wife-killer stunt double who offers Dalton ceaseless half-earnest validation (the better version of this Hollywood arrived during the film’s awards campaign, in Pitt and DiCaprio’s interview with Marc Maron). The male bonding here is witless and monotonous; Without the too-clever dialogue as a distraction, Tarantino’s just a hack who can’t structure a narrative.

It’s an ugly looking film, too; The cinematography is piss-yellow and lifeless, as if the colorist colorist were a drunk housepainter for a Days Inn. For a filmmaker so enamored with artificial pastiche, Tarantino gives the audience little to gawk at, the low-key energy of those long drives distending into uninspired boredom.

The relative absense of Charles Manson himself in the film is one of the less sinister, clearer creative decisions in the film, because the leader was already omnipresent in California in the late sixties, his hoard connected to every production and party. It’s been argued that this is meant to be emasculating, but the lack of an actual figurehead prohibits any demystification of the cult, let alone real insight into its impact on culture. Manson is made a ghost, breaking any warm delusions the film presents about old Hollywood. The camera explores Spahn Ranch and its inhabitants with the same mild curiosity and nostalgia as the Sunset Strip as if guided by that spectre, but Tarantino offers inconsistent answers to what, exactly, he’s haunting.

OUATIH is hyper-focused on cultures that oppress women, though to what end remains unclear for most of the runtime. Much has been made of Margot Robbie’s lack of lines, but I am less concerned with that metric (her hacky, maudlin setpiece remains the only scene in the film to achieve a childlike wonder) than the quesy evocations of engendered violence. The casting of Maya Hawke (whose mother, Uma Thurman, was critically injured in a car crash on the set of Kill Bill due to negligence and pressure from Tarantino) as Flower Girl feels like commentary, but whether it’s an apology, a brag, or an expression of guilt never gets explored, mostly out of formal ineptitude and cowardice. When Margaret Qualley asks Brad Pitt to suck his dick and he responds asking her age, she muses, “Nobody has asked me that in so long.” This is a heartbreaking line, and coming after the camera has lingered on her feet for several minutes, could be read as confessional, a feeling of complicity on the part of Tarantino. But he demonstrates zero understanding for how this widespread pattern of trauma reverberates and replicates into the present day, compartmentalized into some vague historical evil. It is a useless evocation of real tragedy reduced to an allegorical complication. There are startling few hints at Manson’s white supremacy. The film’s defenders have used the Manson family’s racism as a way of justifying the climax, but this doesn’t take into account Hollywood’s own skiddishness in displaying it. Tarantino has never before shied away from tackling racism’s intersection with misogyny (see: his film directly before OUATIH, the heinous, nonsensical Hateful Eight), and the avoidance here doesn’t read as maturity. If it’s still positing the girls’ white supremacy as justification for Tarantino’s leering, condescending, misogynistic lens, that’s no less infantile, privileged, and stupid than his past work. Pitting two forms of oppression against one another in some kind of quantitative system of value judgement isn’t just lazy semiotics, it’s reactionary political theory.

All decorum falls aways by the time Dalton uses a flamethrower on a screeching, bloodied young girl in a scene that recalls New French Extremity’s sadistic obsession with desecrating women’s bodies as an antipathic aesthetic act. Rick gets the flamethrower from the set of a Nazi-killer flick, just as Tarantino gets the ending from Inglorious Basterds. But unlike his previous flirtations with historical revisionism, there are no films explicitly *about* the Manson Murders’ ripple effect off of which Tarantino can riff, so the ostensibly optimistic ending has no clear path forward. What future is he imagining, besides one where Polanski career is unsullied in some hypothetical alternative path where he’s never caught? The titular fantasy, where Rick Dalton and Tarantino finally get to be the stars of a world where history has been subsumed by cinema, is childish. That very same history carries countless women’s stories of suffering at the hands of men in power, and with a single gesture Hollywood offers not liberation, but total erasure. In its wake remains a film that, despite any political or nostalgic pretense, delights in the evisceration the bodies of women to protect a philosophical status quo.

[20k-leagues-speedrun]

CHAPTER IX A VANISHED CONTINENT

“Then, M. Aronnax, I propose a curious excursion.”

“Propose, Captain?”

“You have hitherto only visited the submarine depths by daylight, under the brightness of the sun. Would it suit you to see them in the darkness of the night?”

“Most willingly.”

“I warn you, the way will be tiring. We shall have far to walk, and must climb a mountain. The roads are not well kept.”

“What you say, Captain, only heightens my curiosity; I am ready to follow you.”

“Come then, sir, we will put on our diving-dresses.”

Arrived at the robing-room, I saw that neither of my companions nor any of the ship’s crew were to follow us on this excursion. Captain Nemo had not even proposed my taking with me either Ned or Conseil.

In a few moments we had put on our diving-dresses; they placed on our backs the reservoirs, abundantly filled with air, but no electric lamps were prepared. I called the Captain’s attention to the fact.

“They will be useless,” he replied.

I thought I had not heard aright, but I could not repeat my observation, for the Captain’s head had already disappeared in its metal case. I finished harnessing myself. I felt them put an iron-pointed stick into my hand, and some minutes later, after going through the usual form, we set foot on the bottom of the Atlantic at a depth of 150 fathoms. Midnight was near. The waters were profoundly dark, but Captain Nemo pointed out in the distance a reddish spot, a sort of large light shining brilliantly about two miles from the Nautilus. What this fire might be, what could feed it, why and how it lit up the liquid mass, I could not say. In any case, it did light our way, vaguely, it is true, but I soon accustomed myself to the peculiar darkness, and I understood, under such circumstances, the uselessness of the Ruhmkorff apparatus.

As we advanced, I heard a kind of pattering above my head. The noise redoubling, sometimes producing a continual shower, I soon understood the cause. It was rain falling violently, and crisping the surface of the waves. Instinctively the thought flashed across my mind that I should be wet through! By the water! in the midst of the water! I could not help laughing at the odd idea. But, indeed, in the thick diving-dress, the liquid element is no longer felt, and one only seems to be in an atmosphere somewhat denser than the terrestrial atmosphere. Nothing more.

After half an hour’s walk the soil became stony. Medusae, microscopic crustacea, and pennatules lit it slightly with their phosphorescent gleam. I caught a glimpse of pieces of stone covered with millions of zoophytes and masses of sea weed. My feet often slipped upon this sticky carpet of sea weed, and without my iron-tipped stick I should have fallen more than once. In turning round, I could still see the whitish lantern of the Nautilus beginning to pale in the distance.

But the rosy light which guided us increased and lit up the horizon. The presence of this fire under water puzzled me in the highest degree. Was I going towards a natural phenomenon as yet unknown to the savants of the earth? Or even (for this thought crossed my brain) had the hand of man aught to do with this conflagration? Had he fanned this flame? Was I to meet in these depths companions and friends of Captain Nemo whom he was going to visit, and who, like him, led this strange existence? Should I find down there a whole colony of exiles who, weary of the miseries of this earth, had sought and found independence in the deep ocean? All these foolish and unreasonable ideas pursued me. And in this condition of mind, over-excited by the succession of wonders continually passing before my eyes, I should not have been surprised to meet at the bottom of the sea one of those submarine towns of which Captain Nemo dreamed.

Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays from the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw was simply a reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters. The source of this inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side of the mountain.

In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic, Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road. Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself. I followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of the sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature, which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.

It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first slopes of the mountain; but to gain access to them we must venture through the difficult paths of a vast copse.

Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap, trees petrified by the action of the water and here and there overtopped by gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing, holding by the roots to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine black paper cuttings, showed distinctly on the watery ceiling. Picture to yourself a forest in the Hartz hanging on to the sides of the mountain, but a forest swallowed up. The paths were encumbered with seaweed and fucus, between which grovelled a whole world of crustacea. I went along, climbing the rocks, striding over extended trunks, breaking the sea bind-weed which hung from one tree to the other; and frightening the fishes, which flew from branch to branch. Pressing onward, I felt no fatigue. I followed my guide, who was never tired. What a spectacle! How can I express it? how paint the aspect of those woods and rocks in this medium—their under parts dark and wild, the upper coloured with red tints, by that light which the reflecting powers of the waters doubled? We climbed rocks which fell directly after with gigantic bounds and the low growling of an avalanche. To right and left ran long, dark galleries, where sight was lost. Here opened vast glades which the hand of man seemed to have worked; and I sometimes asked myself if some inhabitant of these submarine regions would not suddenly appear to me.

But Captain Nemo was still mounting. I could not stay behind. I followed boldly. My stick gave me good help. A false step would have been dangerous on the narrow passes sloping down to the sides of the gulfs; but I walked with firm step, without feeling any giddiness. Now I jumped a crevice, the depth of which would have made me hesitate had it been among the glaciers on the land; now I ventured on the unsteady trunk of a tree thrown across from one abyss to the other, without looking under my feet, having only eyes to admire the wild sites of this region.

There, monumental rocks, leaning on their regularly-cut bases, seemed to defy all laws of equilibrium. From between their stony knees trees sprang, like a jet under heavy pressure, and upheld others which upheld them. Natural towers, large scarps, cut perpendicularly, like a “curtain,” inclined at an angle which the laws of gravitation could never have tolerated in terrestrial regions.

Two hours after quitting the Nautilus we had crossed the line of trees, and a hundred feet above our heads rose the top of the mountain, which cast a shadow on the brilliant irradiation of the opposite slope. Some petrified shrubs ran fantastically here and there. Fishes got up under our feet like birds in the long grass. The massive rocks were rent with impenetrable fractures, deep grottos, and unfathomable holes, at the bottom of which formidable creatures might be heard moving. My blood curdled when I saw enormous antennae blocking my road, or some frightful claw closing with a noise in the shadow of some cavity. Millions of luminous spots shone brightly in the midst of the darkness. They were the eyes of giant crustacea crouched in their holes; giant lobsters setting themselves up like halberdiers, and moving their claws with the clicking sound of pincers; titanic crabs, pointed like a gun on its carriage; and frightful-looking poulps, interweaving their tentacles like a living nest of serpents.

We had now arrived on the first platform, where other surprises awaited me. Before us lay some picturesque ruins, which betrayed the hand of man and not that of the Creator. There were vast heaps of stone, amongst which might be traced the vague and shadowy forms of castles and temples, clothed with a world of blossoming zoophytes, and over which, instead of ivy, sea-weed and fucus threw a thick vegetable mantle. But what was this portion of the globe which had been swallowed by cataclysms? Who had placed those rocks and stones like cromlechs of prehistoric times? Where was I? Whither had Captain Nemo’s fancy hurried me?

I would fain have asked him; not being able to, I stopped him—I seized his arm. But, shaking his head, and pointing to the highest point of the mountain, he seemed to say:

“Come, come along; come higher!”

I followed, and in a few minutes I had climbed to the top, which for a circle of ten yards commanded the whole mass of rock.

I looked down the side we had just climbed. The mountain did not rise more than seven or eight hundred feet above the level of the plain; but on the opposite side it commanded from twice that height the depths of this part of the Atlantic. My eyes ranged far over a large space lit by a violent fulguration. In fact, the mountain was a volcano.

At fifty feet above the peak, in the midst of a rain of stones and scoriae, a large crater was vomiting forth torrents of lava which fell in a cascade of fire into the bosom of the liquid mass. Thus situated, this volcano lit the lower plain like an immense torch, even to the extreme limits of the horizon. I said that the submarine crater threw up lava, but no flames. Flames require the oxygen of the air to feed upon and cannot be developed under water; but streams of lava, having in themselves the principles of their incandescence, can attain a white heat, fight vigorously against the liquid element, and turn it to vapour by contact.

Rapid currents bearing all these gases in diffusion and torrents of lava slid to the bottom of the mountain like an eruption of Vesuvius on another Terra del Greco.

There indeed under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town—its roofs open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns lying on the ground, from which one would still recognise the massive character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant vessels and its war-galleys. Farther on again, long lines of sunken walls and broad, deserted streets—a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes!

Where was I? Where was I? I must know at any cost. I tried to speak, but Captain Nemo stopped me by a gesture, and, picking up a piece of chalk-stone, advanced to a rock of black basalt, and traced the one word:

ATLANTIS

What a light shot through my mind! Atlantis! the Atlantis of Plato, that continent denied by Origen and Humbolt, who placed its disappearance amongst the legendary tales. I had it there now before my eyes, bearing upon it the unexceptionable testimony of its catastrophe. The region thus engulfed was beyond Europe, Asia, and Lybia, beyond the columns of Hercules, where those powerful people, the Atlantides, lived, against whom the first wars of ancient Greeks were waged.

Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was treading under foot the mountains of this continent, touching with my hand those ruins a thousand generations old and contemporary with the geological epochs. I was walking on the very spot where the contemporaries of the first man had walked.

Whilst I was trying to fix in my mind every detail of this grand landscape, Captain Nemo remained motionless, as if petrified in mute ecstasy, leaning on a mossy stone. Was he dreaming of those generations long since disappeared? Was he asking them the secret of human destiny? Was it here this strange man came to steep himself in historical recollections, and live again this ancient life—he who wanted no modern one? What would I not have given to know his thoughts, to share them, to understand them! We remained for an hour at this place, contemplating the vast plains under the brightness of the lava, which was some times wonderfully intense. Rapid tremblings ran along the mountain caused by internal bubblings, deep noise, distinctly transmitted through the liquid medium were echoed with majestic grandeur. At this moment the moon appeared through the mass of waters and threw her pale rays on the buried continent. It was but a gleam, but what an indescribable effect! The Captain rose, cast one last look on the immense plain, and then bade me follow him.

We descended the mountain rapidly, and, the mineral forest once passed, I saw the lantern of the Nautilus shining like a star. The Captain walked straight to it, and we got on board as the first rays of light whitened the surface of the ocean.

[toter-welpe]

Alright so given this is the "porn blog" I am inclined to believe I have a right at my own posts and thoughts since this is the most appropriate place so here I am willing to share and expose. This is no vent, I am simply sharing a piece of my mind. I shan't be available afterwards as I plan on going back to sleep. So first I'd like to adress the fact you wouldn't peg me?? Ouch? Depths forbid a guy wants some cock inside him, be it plastic. Not your fault I've my times where all I think about is dick, such is the way of the bisexual. We all have our biological needs after all, and it isn't my body that you'll have to deal with - not that it makes a difference, be it with surgery or regardless I still have both entrances to be filled up. Let me cut the bullshit, we'd both like be fucked - me more currently, he's uh... yearning? Speaking of I'm granting you laughstock, he's so pathetic. It shouldn't come as a surprise he used to drool the first times you've pet him, now your bitch moans when you hold him a bit too tight. Touch starved much? Severely so, but he'd rather die than admit to it. You should see the way he's all over that pillow, all coiled around it, pressing his body against it desperate, kisses it when no one is around - it can be heard I bet, it's downright comedic how he tries keep quiet and fails so miserably. I can tell you right now I bet that by the time you're awake he's again cradling the "head" of it, one whole arm around it, pressing it in on him, under his chin, pushing the other end between his thighs, coursing his fingers up and down across it, I don't get who he's trying to soothe, you're not feeling any of that. Fucking dumbass. It's, cute, in its own desolate desperate dog way, if you think about it - but back to fucking me. I'd love to be put against the wall by you, just forced to take it, fuck, hurt me. Now don't get me wrong, I still enjoy dominating, I will stick to it for the rush, but I can't help myself sometimes. Even smaller things. I can practically feel myself bend backwards, give you room, bracing myself by the edge of the washing machine as you put your lips to mine, my neck, me and my stupid fantasies. I lied. You're hot. And I want you to make your whore of me. That's what I am anyway. Piece of trash. You woke up by now and I realise how much in common I have with your mutt, how I pretend you hold me oh so gently, how I instantly feel some form of relief at our placebo. Have I had the peace of mind I wouldn't be interrupted, I'd touch myself right now, with you around. You wouldn't know, of course. I just feel I want you so bad. At times I think of the time we actually brought up masturbation and I'm still half tempted at times to guide you, but I'll be nice and leave it for the other guy, I'm sure he'll handle it just as well. I'd just love see you able please yourself proper, everyone deserves a good one after all.

Update: given it's taken me hours to get this done and we are pseudoflirting I will like to add one last note : Breed me. That's it, thank you. Just, manhandle me, grab me, push and pull at me and use me. I feel sick?? No, I said that because that shot straight to the pit of my stomach. I'll enjoy whatever you do to me you idiot I'm melting even at the thought. Just, damn. You were smooth, and I will feel better about myself for a while now I hope you're aware flirting has that effect on people. I just have to calm down first,

[forbidden-creepypasta]

currently unnamed

Hey guys this is something I recently wrote, people who have seen it have shown a decent amount of interest. What are you thoughts? (I am pretty sure I fixed most grammatical errors but, you never know). Plus I cant think of a good name but, I don't want to settle for The Nunnery so any suggestions would be appreciated.

I looked into the candle light the flame dancing around as almost if it were alive its light reflecting and bouncing off the polished wooden floors of the room. I could feel it, that feeling, that sensation that grabbed my attention two hours ago. Yes it was here watching waiting but, where. I could feel its stare all around me. How could it still be hungry how? I quickly turn around catching a swift movement in the darkness. I turn around looking into the candle, my only guiding light and salvation from the beast. I stare and contemplate what had started only two hours ago.

It was me, Jeff, Alex, and Alex's girlfriend Stacy I always hated that bitch the arrogant and bitchy way she talked to me and Jeff when she was around like we were children and she was our baby-sitter always clinging around Alex's arm acting pathetic to get what she wanted. That’s the only reason she came with us tonight because, she gave Alex those pathetic puppy dog eyes. He caved and begged us to let her come we agreed but, laid down some rules he had to give us ten bucks each, no whining, and above all and probably the most important not a word was to leave her lips. The next day we met at my house to discuss the plan. Getting to the abandoned nunnery would not be easy. The road was long grown over with bushes and vines making it impossible to drive through. The only way was to park a block away and go across the Johnson farm and old man Johnson was very keen of his rifle and would enjoy taking shots at anything crossing his property.

After our classes the next day it was about four in the afternoon. We quickly went back to our dorms and got some supplies: flashlights, rope, a knife, some food, a hammer and chisel (souvenirs are nice), matches and a camera. We then quickly set out the hour drive seemed to take three times longer with the feeling of excitement in my gut. I could tell we all felt the same way except for Stacy who was sighing deeply in the car letting everyone know how miserable she was. Jeff quickly turned around and gave her a glare that even made my skin crawl. Soon after Jeff parked and we looked from our parking spot at the edge of the ten acre Johnson property at the nunnery its silhouette visible against the setting sun. It was five now and the sun was going down, Alex was using the cameras zoom to get a closer look while me and Jeff just stared. While Stacy leaned against the car letting out another deep sigh.

Soon the sun went over the horizon and night was setting in we used the dark to our advantage and we made our way across the Johnson property luckily the property had a lot of small bushes to hide behind all of us crouching low to avoid being spotted. We were about 10 feet away from the edge when I heard a snap under my shoe. We froze after a few minutes nothing so we continued then we heard the slam of the front screen door of Old man Johnson's shack and the clumsy fumbling of the loading of an old fashioned bolt-action rifle. Followed by "Where are you, you damn kids? Mr. Johnson has a present for you." followed by a half crazed cackle. We bolted up the hill to the nunnery as a single shot rang out in the night. We soon found ourselves at the main door to the nunnery.

Stacy let out a loud sigh saying "ALLLEEEXXXX, I broke a heel" (dumb bitch we told her to wear tennis shoes). Alex quickly quieted her she let out a loud huff of displeasure at being told to be quiet. I slowly reached into the bag a grabbed a flashlight and reached my hand out to open the door. It creaked loudly Alex and Stacy quickly reached for the other two flashlights. Jeff looked at Stacy with that glare again, because, it was our own responsibility to provide our own supplies which she had none of but, being ever resourceful he grabbed the camera and used turned on the camera light to guide his way. We entered the main hall realizing this section was a small church complete with pews and an altar. We walked slowly toward the alter closely examining every detail i caught the camera flashing from in my peripheral vision I walked behind the alter and looked under it. Words were etched into it as if by a finger nail stating "The Devil is in this place" I chuckled thinking it was probably done by some other college kids to give us a scare, I chuckled and called to take a picture, but, he didn't answer I turned around but, he was gone.

I called to Alex who walked out of the confession both his pants hastily pulled up and his belt still undone. Stacy quickly followed her hair a mess and a bra strap hang off her tank-top. I look at them with almost a look of disbelief but, I guess those two are always ready to bone. I say "Did you guys see Jeff". they both shake their heads. I figured he was being an ass just hiding to scare us. I say in a loud voice like how your parents did when they knew where you were hiding "Weeeellllll I don’t know where Jeff is I guess we will just have to go on without him, I hope he does not jump out and scare us". I motion to Alex and Stacy and we move on the next room looks like a dining hall the floors shine as the light from my flashlight bounces off the floor. I see some old dining candles on the table stuffing them in the bag saying to Alex "you never know". I see Stacy admiring a painting at the head of the table saying "This painting is creepy it's like his eyes are following you". I look at it closer and realize it is a painting of Moses you know the ones where he has devil horns and flaming eyes because, of a mistranslation from Hebrew to Latin. She was right though his flaming eyes followed you alright in a way that went down to you soul.

I broke my eyes away from it; it was just getting to weird to look at. I call for Alex and Stacy to get a move on when Alex says "hey look" he walks over to a pulpit on the other end of the room that was probably used to read the bible from during meals where the camera lay. He picked it up and looked through the recent picture but, none of them were from the nunnery in fact it was empty, which wasn't unusual considering we used an empty memory stick in the camera for this trip. Alex looked at me quizzically saying "didn't Jeff take pictures with this" I nodded it then dawned on me Jeff never showed up. I called out to him saying it wasn't funny anymore with no response I let out a deep sigh, Then the sky lit up with lightning and a crack of thunder as ran started to pour. Stacy moaned "Ugh now were going to be here forever". I sighed "let’s keep moving" Alex replied "I'll catch up this room is fucking creepy and I want some picture besides Jeff may show up". Stacy whined "Alex I done with this room let’s go!!!" He replied "I will only be a minute go on with Matt" now it was my turn to sigh. I motioned Stacy over as we moved on going down a hallway and turning the corner last seeing Alex taking a picture of the Moses painting.

Me and Stacy walked into the next room, It looked like the bed room with a few beds lining the back wall. I checked the end tables finding bibles with all the pages ripped out only leaving the hard cover. Stacy then said "You know I hate you". I rolled my eyes trying to be as sarcastic as possible "ooohhh reeaallly, that is such a shame i always wanted to be your friend." She let out a huff and turned away to look at a bed. the storm raged outside as I continued to look through the drawers finding nothing of interest I turn around and Stacy suddenly says "I left my flashlight with Alex come with me to get it". The audacity of the bitch saying she hates me then asking me to come with her. I tell her to get it herself she leaves the room fuming as i check under the beds. Suddenly a scream pierces the calming sound of rain hitting the room causing me to hit my head on a bed as a jumped up to head towards the scream. I grasp my forehead and run to the dining room about to curse at Stacy for screaming but, when I turned the corner I gagged. Stacy shook as she look at the horrific figure of what i could only assume to be Alex's body. His close lie on the floor as a flayed body hang from the rafter only held up by dripping flesh. As I regain my mind I look around and see that on the painting of Moses a wicked smile had been drawn in blood.

Stacy gets hysterical I could see a scream leaving her lips and I quickly clasp my hand over her mouth. I point my index finger of my free hand to my lips and say sssshhhh. I listen to hear light walking in the church area. I slowly lower my hand from Stacy's mouth walking towards the entrance. I get half way down the hall way and my flash light flickers then cuts out leaving me in darkness except for the occasional lightning bolt. I reach in my pack for one of the candles from earlier and light a match to ignite it, the match blows out from a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere just as I make it through the entrance. Lightning strikes lighting up the church through the stain glass bathing the area in sickening light of all shades in colors illuminating a figure in the back of the room heading for the door of what I presumed to be the bell tower but, in that split second it saw me it looked at me and even though I didn't get to see it's face I knew it made a twisted smile.

I dropped the candle where I stood and hurried back to Stacy who was in the corner camera in hand. Going through to pictures I looked over her shoulder seeing she just was looking through the slide show. Only three pictures but she kept repeating the slide show. The first was of the Moses picture which I guess is the one we saw Alex taking, then one was just Alex's face with a blank stare the same kind as a dead corpse then the last one being the Moses painting with that twisted smile drawn upon it. I grabbed her and pulled her up by the arm throwing the camera across the room saying we have to get out of here. I gave her a candle and lit it and took the last one and did the same. we made quick steps toward the front door only to find them locked. Or a better way to say it is it was tied closed with something that gave me chills it appeared to some sort of assortment of muscle sinews and tendons. Stacy let out a yelp I quickly hushed her. look up at the door was an arrow drawn in blood leading for the bell tower door.

I turned my head towards the door, seeing it quickly shut as if someone was poking their head out but, quickly left. I listened and heard the light footsteps again. I clung the candle close the hot wax burning dripping and burning my hand. I looked at my watch three hours to go till sunrise, clinging then to the belief that the light would protect me. I approached the door then for the second time that night something interrupted the sound of rain but, this time it wasn't a scream. I heard the bell being rung i could hear it echo down the hill, while a small raspy voice chimed along in almost a whisper "ddiiiiiinnnnngggg dddddoooonnnngg, ddiiinnnnnngggg dooonnnggg" but, that was just it there was no dong it was muffled something was blocking the bell from hitting the other side. I mustered my courage and charged up the stairs around and around i ran only to find half way up the ringing stopped. I came to the top and saw blood dripping from inside the bell i knew what happened to Jeff.

I stared up into the bell seeing Jeff his eyes glazed over. His bones were crushed after hitting the bell but I fear by the look of his body he had been long dead. Whatever was doing this wasn't content to just kill us, it was sadistically toying with us. Jeff had has his arms and legs broken so many times they were used to tie him to the hanging part of the bell. I then heard a familiar scream quickly turning around to see Stacy hadn't followed me. I rushed down the stairs my candle had gone out when i originally ran up to find Stacy halfway in the bell-tower room the other half in the church, she was holding on to the doorway trying not to be pulled away. I drew the knife out of the bag and stab through the ajar door only held open by her body but, as I thrust the knife a clawed hand grabbed my arm crushing it until I dropped the knife. Then in an instant she was gone I heard her screaming all the way to the bed room area of the nunnery followed by the sickening sound of her painful screams as I imagine the beast using the knife to kill her. Then absolute silence. Then a slow moan that grew and grew until it was an unearthly cackle that rang out through the hallway. I reached into my pocket for the matches and re-lit my candle

I made my way to the dining room. I collapsed on the floor. Alex's body was gone. I looked at my arm to see myself heavily bleeding loud smacking came from the bed room but suddenly stopped I tried to stay silent but, my body betrayed me as I coughed up a small bit of blood. Then a flurry of movement my candle now but a small stub in the complete darkness of the dining hall, the sadistic smile on Moses mouth seems to mock me in the candle light. I looked into the candle light the flame dancing around as almost if it were alive it's light reflecting and bouncing off the polished wooden floors of the room. I could feel it, that feeling, that sensation that grabbed my attention two hours ago. Yes it was here watching waiting but, where. I could feel it's stare all around me. How could it still be hungry how? I quickly turn around catching a swift movement in the darkness. I turn around looking into the candle, my only guiding light and salvation from the beast. With a deep sigh I say to the darkness with my arm bleeding so profusely I feel my strength leaving me "why God why?" A loud cackle replies "your God can not help you here besides don't you like games?" I slowly life my bleeding arm up putting my hand to my mouth licking my index and thumb finger and extinguishing the candle as I said "game over"

Credit to: sparkzwolf

[kalianos]

I should leave this hospital job

Hokay, so.  The last week we had someone new training.  We are a hospital kitchen so of course nobody under the age of 40 wants to work with us except desperate assholes like me and two others.

This lady was being trained for a position lets say.   Let’s also say this position involves a lot of the dishwasher.   An industrial dishwasher.

I walk out of the office after sorting more paperwork in a nightmare scenario only to see that someone has decided to put a buttload of pans onto a fragile tray holder and its just...stuck there at the exit of this machine. Just.  There. Being pushed in. Every couple beats. 

I think to myself. There is no way in hell.  NO way in hell. Someone would let that keep running who has been trained to do this position.  But I knew. I didn’t want to know but I KNEW.

I walk out to to the cafe front, grab a fountain soda because fuck it sugar and I am fat.

Walk back in to see that this person who was supposedly trained to handle this.  IS PUTTING MORE THINGS INTO THE DISHWASHER FOR SOME GOD AWFUL REASON.  I walk back into my office. I put my soda down. Put my bookbag on the chair. Walk the twenty or so steps to the dish machine.

“So I think there is something st-” I reach up to the big switch and turn off the dish machine because I am not going to be responsible for a damn near $25k dishwasher being ripped apart.

AND THE CHILL IN MY KNEECAPS WHEN I HEARD THE NEXT THING OUT OF THIS LADIES MOUTH.

“How did you do that?”  

...Went through the five stages of grief in an instant. Showed the switch. Opened the thing up.  Dislodged the now destroyed solid metal pan that was crushed on two sides holding everything up. Damn near burned my hand from the hot metal and steam in the process I was just so donion rings with all this.

I make a point to point to the heat booster. And vocalize in no uncertain terms to not forget to turn that off before she leaves or she’s going to burn out the whole setup.

“OH the thing that has a little metal switch on it?  because :person-who-”trained”-her did that and the “morning version of this position” came up and said it was still turned on which is strange because it shouldn’t be.”

...I just stone faced a yes.  Clocked out for break. Ate a roast beef sandwich. internally die on the inside.

Came back to her now can’t open the side door on the trash compactor for all the garbage she had to take out. 

Walked right up to it outside up a small hill. Pulled the latch release lever clearly visible on this door. Opened it.  Less than a second.

She didn’t believe I did it.  Asked me to close it. I did.   Proceeded to try to open it and failed. Failed horrifically.  Tried to guide her for almost half a minute on how to use..a simple latch.

This was only hour 3.  We are going to ignore a lot of other things.  (except where I am calling out just dropping everything and leaving the morning shift person to do all her work for her and go to break. When the morning shift person was supposed to clock out right then to go home. Like...Who the fuck just leaves someone doing your work and go to break and thinks she’s still going to have a job here?)

Good thing I don’t smoke cigarettes.  But man have I started drinking heavier tonight.

[i-cant-sing]

Promise: Yandere Godfather Hawks x Todoroki reader

This is a side story takes place in the YRHR series, after part 1, when the reader returns home, blind.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Y/n... Come on, wake up. Its 9 already." You heard him say, feeling the bed dip as he sat on it, gently touching the back of your shoulder. "Aren't you hungry? Mom's making your favourite."

When you gave no response, Shotou pulled the covers away from your face, his brows furrowing at the bandages around your eyes that had loosened up. You had did that, clawing at the meticulously tight knot Natsuo had done; you didn't like how it settled on your eyes.

"You're awake, right?" The only answer he got was you turning your cheek further away from him when he tried to caress it. Shotou didn't like your silence and he missed it when you used to ramble about almost anything to him. He missed when you were happy.

The door bell rang.

Shotou looked at his watch confused. Wasn't Natsuo supposed to come around at 11? He could hear Enji walking to the main door, and after a few seconds of silence, he heard footsteps coming towards your room. But then he heard some scuffling, and people talking- he recognised Enji's and Dabi's voices, his brother's getting louder by the second.

"I'll check who's there. Stay."

Stay? You would've rolled your eyes if, you know, you still had them.

A few more minutes passed and you could hear Dabi arguing with someone, and you think that Shotou is trying to calm him down. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, you got up from the bed. For the past whole month, Shotou would come to wake you up everyday, carrying you in his arms to the bathroom, never letting you walk on your own, claiming "you'll get hurt".

Idiot.

Taking one small step at a time, you stretched your arms out trying to reach the wall. Once you felt the cold, smooth surface, you used it to guide you towards the door.

No matter what you did, or how many times you told them to back off, that you can do this on your own, they wouldn't let you. Hell, you were pretty sure that if they could, they would breathe for you too. As if trying to instil in your mind that you're helpless without them, incapable of making your own decisions.

I'll show them how fucking capable I am.

After stubbing your toe only once, you finally reached the door, your hand gripping the metal knob. You placed your ear on the door, trying to figure out who and where everyone is standing. The corridor seemed empty and you think everyone is downstairs.

Opening the door, you used another wall to guide you towards the stairs. You hoped Shotou doesn't see you; he'd throw a hissy fit at you attempting to walk down the stairs.

As you took one careful step at a time, you heard the commotion grow louder. You could hear Dabi yelling profanities at the other person, certainly not Enji because Rei or Fuyumi would've stepped in by now to stop him. You used to stop him too, but ever since what happened, you don't really care anymore.

"Why the fuck are you even here?! She doesn't fucking want to see you!"

"Dabi-!"

"And who is gonna stop me? You? I'd be happy to knock you down on your ass- its about goddamn time!"

"Hawks!"

Hawks?

Hawks.

Hawks!

You almost stumbled down the last few steps, but you needed to know- was he, was he really here?

"K-Keigo?"

You heard his wings flap before you felt him, the wind gushed at your body strongly, making you lose your balance. But muscular arms wrapped around you before you could fall, and the winged hero lifted you up and spun you around, making you burst into laughter.

Rei was the first one to cry.

You laughed.

Not a bitter, sarcastic one.

A genuinely happy laugh.

And she missed her baby's laugh so much.

Dabi's eyes widened slightly. His heart clenching up a bit as he realised how he missed that beaming look on your face. He realised how fucking naive you were, how you were his little sister that he needed to protect.

Shotou felt envy. Why- why didn't you laugh like that with him? Why didn't you laugh for him? Was he... not a good brother?

Fuyumi actually rushed out of the kitchen when she heard you, her hands coming up to her mouth to suppress the sob that was building up. Too long. It had been too long since you were happy.

Natsuo smiled. He smiled as he saw you chortle when the hero's feathers tickled your cheek. He wished you would smile more often.

Enji's breath hitched as he saw you chuckle into Hawk's shoulder. It was so natural, so lively, so radiant. He had been dying to hear that sweet sound again.

Your heart was beating fast and your stomach was doing somersaults as you felt the air rushing through your hair and cooling on to your neck, the soft feathers brushing across your skin.

He really was here.

But so were they.

And you could feel their eyes on you.

Keigo frowned when he saw you curl yourself into him, as if trying to bury yourself into his chest. When he looked around, he saw them glaring and that's when he puffed out his wings before curling them around you; shielding you.

"I'll be spending time with my goddaughter. Do not disturb us." And with that, Hawks flew you up to your room, locking the door before they could sat anything. He could hear Dabi arguing, but he trusted Enji to handle him.

He set you on your bed, chuckling as you didn't let go of his collar.

"Its okay, dove. I'm here, now- ow!" You cut him off by punching his arm.

"Where were you?!"

"In your heart- ow! Stop hitting me!" He caught your wrists.

"You said you were gonna visit me at home! Its been a whole month-"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry but believe me, I really was busy!" Sighing, he continued. "The hero commission sent me to Europe for a mission and things got a bit messy, so I got caught up."

Yanking your hands out of his grip, you scowled. "Would it have killed you to call?"

"I mean I wouldn't say kill, but I probably could've lost a limb or two-" He started laughing when when you began getting up to walk to the door.

Keigo wrapped his arms around you, smiling cheekily"Y/n- I'm sorry, I'm just kidding. Come back-"

"No, let go! I don't have time for your bullshit" He continued laughing, easily picking you up and dropping you back on your bed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Come on, now. Stop being mad." You heard him shuffling. "Besides, I've got something for you!"

He dropped something in your lap. You picked an item, your hands feeling around it, trying to figure out what the rectangular shaped box was.

"Whats this?"

"Oh, here. Let me help you." He lifted the lid of the box and you were immediately hit by a familiar smell.

"Chocolate?"

He hummed in confirmation"Your favourite ones too! They were always sold out! Luckily, I was able to use my charm on the owner."

"Charm? Oh, you mean where you pull that ugly smirk and do that half lidded look with your eyes, and you think that you look hot but you actually just look creepy?"

"Yeah- hey!"

And then the next 3 hours were spent like that, Hawks telling you about Europe and the bad guys he caught, you telling him about the way your family had been treating you.

"They don't let me do anything, they don't give me any privacy! Its like- its like they want me to be a doll!" You gave an exasperated sigh. "They- they act like they are being so generous. Like it was somehow my fault that my eyes got fried!"

"Oh come on. They can't be that bad-"

"They are! So much worse than before. Look, I'm a grown up- I need my space too! You know what Shotou said when I asked him to get me a walking stick? He said I don't need one since he can carry me everywhere. Do you know how embarrassing it is to get carried to the toilet every single day? Do you?!"

"Well, no-"

"And then Fuyumi cuts up my food and spoon feeds me herself! I know I'm blind but its not like I'm gonna stuff the food up my nose or something!"

The hero snickered at that.

"And then Enji reads me these novels or the newspaper and he skips over the parts he thinks I'm too "young" or "immature" to understand! They even monitor what I listen to! Fuyumi or Shotou would be quick to change the channel if something above pg 10 comes on!" You ran a hand through your hair frustratedly. "I asked Enji to get me a Braille and the first few time he pretended like he didn't hear me, before finally saying that I don't need one!"

"Don't worry, I'll sneak in a Braille for dummies the next time I visit."

"Hey-! Wait... what do you mean "next time"?"

"Oh come on! I promise I'll come earlier next time. Maybe in like 2 weeks-"

"No."

"What-"

"No. I want to leave this place today. You promised."

"Y/n-"Keigo reached to place a hand on your shoulder but you pushed him off.

"You. Promised. You said you'll get me out of here when I leave the hospital" You inhaled deeply. "Well, guess what, Hawks? Its been a whole month."

"I know but you're not well enough-"

"I AM! If anything, staying here is harming me more!" Your tone was getting angrier. "You said- you said you would take me away from them."

"I can't do it right now. The hero commission needs me-"

"I need you! Or am I just not worth your time?"

"Please, dove- try to understand. How will I take care of you if I'm out at the agency?"He tried to pet your head but you smacked his hand away, snarling at him.

"You're a liar. A big fucking liar! Was this the plan all along? To give me hope that you'll save me, only to fucking crush it?!" The hero managed to dodge the box of chocolates you threw at him. "I don't need fucking chocolate or your stupid presents. I need to get out of this goddamn house!"

The hero began walking towards the door. "You're not thinking rationally- I'll- I'll leave." But before the hero could manage to take another step, you were leaping towards him, but since you couldn't see, you only managed to fall near his feet. When he grabbed your shoulders to help you up, you were quick to latch onto him, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly.

"No- no! Don't go. Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Please, don't be mad. I swear I'll behave, just don't leave me here!" Your hold onto him was becoming painfully tight.

Keigo felt like someone was breaking his heart piece by piece as he looked at you. The way your body shook from your pitiful sobs, the way you held onto his jacket as if your life depended on it- he was forced to remember how vulnerable you looked the night he brought you back to the this house. The same night when you begged and begged him to fly you away, that you'll do anything as long as he didn't dropped you back at the Todoroki estate.

"Y/n- darling, love, listen to me. I promised you that I'll keep you save, didn't I? I promise I'll come back soon-"

"YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE! CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S DONE TO ME! SHE BURNED MY FUCKING EYES HAWKS! I'M FUCKING BLIND! DO I NEED TO LOSE A LIMB FOR YOU TO GET ME OUT OF HERE?! DO I HAVE TO SUFFER FROM ANOTHER "ACCIDENT"?!"

Hawks knew that bitch Rei did this on purpose, he knew and it killed him that he couldn't save you from her. He wanted to tell you that he believed you, and he was preparing a place for you. But the hero knows your siblings were eavesdropping, right on the other side of the door.

He had to be careful and play the fool if he wanted to get you out of this hell hole.

"Y/n please-"

You shook your head repeatedly, pulling him closer to you as you shrieked at him. "No. NO! I wont let you go! I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE WITHOUT ME! Keigo, I'm begging you! Take me with you, please! I'll die! I'll die! I'LL FUCKING DIE, KEIGO! PLEASE!"

Your loud screams had your siblings bursting through the door, obviously using a spare key. "Y/n, whats wrong-" You jumped away when they touched your shoulder, giving Hawks chance to slip away.

You instantly reached out for him, flailing your arms around to get a hold of him again. But the hero was already out the door and your siblings quickly pulled you back into their arms, shushing you, trying to calm you down.

But you were inconsolable. Thrashing around in Shotou's arms, you kept begging for Hawks to come back. "HAWKS COME BACK! LET ME GO! HAWKS, PLEASE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE! I'LL DIE!" It pained them to see you like this, so hysterical; Shotou and Fuyumi whispered sweet nothings but you payed them no mind. Natsuo knew you were going to hyperventilate soon, but he was more worried about you bursting a vessel in your head.

Thinking fast, he quickly brought up a tranquilliser- and the moment the sharp smell of the alcohol swab hit your nose, you were wrestling harder to get out Shotou's and Fuyumi's arms.

"Y/n, please calm down-"

"FUCK YOU! LET ME GO! KEIGO! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! COME BACK- STOP! STOP TOUCHING ME! STOP!" You screamed louder than before when you felt her cold hands gripping your arm, holding it still so that your brother could administer the dose.

As the drug began taking effect, your thrashing slowed down before you finally slumped into Shotou's arms. The tranquilliser numbed the headache that was forming, and you felt Fuyumi use a tissue to wipe the snot and the spit off your face.

"I'll die... I'll die... And you won't be there. And I'll die..."

Hawks was in a trance like state as he watched Shotou tuck you under the covers. He wanted to use his sharp feathers to slice off that cold bitch's hand that brushed the hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your daunting screams rang through his ears; his chest felt like some was shoving a knife through it slowly as he played back the image of you trying to wring yourself free from their arms, one hand still reaching out for him. It took everything in him not to grab it and pull you away from those monsters, but he had to remind himself of the bigger picture.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the pyromaniac standing next to him until he spoke.

"This is all your fault."

Hawks looked at Dabi. His fault?

"You shouldn't have come here."

"She's my goddaughter-"

"Shut the fuck up." Dabi narrowed his eyes at the hero. "She's like this because you gave her false hope. Hope, that one day she'll get away from us. You and I both know that's not gonna happen." He sighed before continuing. "You call yourself a hero, but in reality, you're no better than us."

As Hawks turned to leave, not willing to let the villian get on his nerves, Dabi spoke again.

"Dont bother coming back. She won't forgive you. She'll never forget this betrayal."

Hurtful as they were, he knew the words he said were true.

Hawks was almost out the gates when he saw Enji sitting in the garden, looking at the koi pond. He should've left, should've flown away but there was something in Enji's eyes that had the winged hero walking towards him. He recognised the emotion as soon as he got close.

Sorrow.

Or was it guilt?

Perhaps a mixture of both.

"Endeavour, are you... alright?"

The number 1 hero looked away from the fish and blinked at him.

"Hawks? What are you still doing here?"

The blonde chuckled nervously. "I was just on my way out." He gazed at him. "Are you okay? You seem to be in deep thought."

Enji only stared at him. Taking his silence as the answer, Hawks turned to leave.

"Why did you come here today, Keigo?"

Keigo.

He suppressed the urge to shudder the way his name rolled off his tongue.

"She's my goddaughter too. Why? Do you think it was a bad decision to come?"

"No." Enji sighed. "I just- she hadn't laughed like that in a long time."

Hawks stood beside him. "She's still traumatised from the kitchen accident. Its understable-"

"No. She hadn't laughed like that for a long time, even before this happened." Enji's eyes moved towards the night sky. The stars were twinkling extra bright tonight. How he wished you could see it. "Before she lost her sight, she used to look out the window, her eyes searching sky." He gulped. "She was looking for you, Keigo. You- you made her happy, you make her laugh. I don't."

Hawks placed his hand on Enji's shoulder. "That's not true, Enji. You do make her happy. She loves you. She feels safe with you. She sees you as her protector."

"She does?"

He nodded. "Of course. If you want things to return to normal, you need to treat her normally too. Just- just talk to her. Sort out the issues and wash away whatever fears she has." Hawks wanted Enji to listen to you, to really listen to you and protect you from Rei. He could only hope that Enji understood what he meant.

Hawks was right, Enji realised. Whatever delusions you have of Rei wanting to hurt you on purpose, of being the "bad person", they can all be cleared up if he just talked to you. Ever since the incident, the family avoided talking to you about Rei or the events that had occurred that day.

If he just talked to you, things will return to normal. You'll become happy again.

"Thank you, Keigo."

Hawks only smiled in return. "I'll be leaving now."

"Okay. When will you visit again?"

"I'll be gone for longer now. The hero commission is sending me on another mission again."

"Oh. Safe travels, then."

As Hawks flew away, he began thinking about the house.

The house where he was going to take you to soon. He just needs to add a few finishing touches before he sets his plan in motion. The plan to rescue you, and eventually Enji, from those sadist that call themselves your family.

He will not let his dove get hurt again.

He'll save you this time.

He promises.

Thoughts?

Idk how this turned out, angst wasn't the plan initially. Guess I'll write godfather Hawks fluff for another day.

Anyways, now that this is done, I'll start working on RE 8 fic now.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#254

"Well lookie here. I have my captain kneeling completely naked in front of me, eagerly wanting to submit to me and my hose. You ready to be my cunt? I see you follow orders, shaved from the nose down. I knew just how much you want this when I saw your beard you’ve had for years now was gone this morning. I can tell you want this so fucking bad. I just didn’t know you had wanted me for so many years….

“When I caught you on my hidden camera stealing my jocks from my locker, I thought you did it to all the guys here. I didn’t realize just how much of a stalker you were until I read your e-mail. When I asked you how long this has been going on, I was referring to the jock snatching. I wasn’t expecting a two-thousand-word history of you stalking me for the past twelve years. It’s extra creepy to find out that on my trip to California, that you had your friend follow me around and hit on me at the baths. If you wanted my fat cock that much, you could have just asked. I would have been fucking you two or three times a week. Instead, whenever I would get horned up from being around all these beefy men for too long, I had to go into the toilet and toss one off.

“I bet you want to see it. Don’t you? I mean you’ve seen it before, at the urinals, but never hard. Your friend sure has. So you know I am big I truly am. Fuck, you couldn’t stop talking about it in your write-up. And you are already salivating at my stripping to my skivvies. My briefs show a big ol’ package. I never try to hide it. I’ve been wearing these briefs for five days now, ever since I confronted you about stealing from my locker.

“See all those piss stains? There are a few loads too. I figure that a cunt that’s been lusting after me all these years is going to do whatever the fuck I want. Right now, that includes drinking some of my piss. But first grind your face into my pouch; I want you to feel the monster that is going to be the center of your universe. With the focus on my big dick, you probably didn’t notice I have balls to match. They need to be drained frequently.

“Go ahead and pull down the briefs, slowly. Take a moment to smell the piss, the stale cum, and the sweat. That’s better than any poppers out there. Pull them all the way down, and hand them to me…. Whew! I stink.

“Hands behind your back. Now with just the tip of your tongue, I want you to guide just my dickhead into your mouth. Do not suck. Do not take more of my shaft. You will be doing both later. Right now, I need to take a piss. Close your mouth around the head and start drinking. I have a full bladder, and I know how to control the flow.

“Oh, fuck this feels good. You’ve drank piss before. Nice tongue action too. I will be using that tongue for a nastier place later. I take it from your moan that you eat ass? Good. I will be using your mouth as my urinal from this day forward. I am not passing up a talented mouth.

“Pull off. I said pull off. I have a lot of piss for you, and I will be spreading it out. It’s a good thing that you were able to get the firehouse cleared out for the rest of the night. Being captain will have its advantages.

“Stand up and over to the bench…. Wait! Holy shit! Ha! Oh my fucking god. That is one tiny needle of a dick. Jesus! What the hell do you do with that? You certainly can’t use it to fuck. How long is it? I mean it is rock hard and it can’t be three inches at most!... What was that? Two and a half? No wonder your ex-wife left you last year for Davies over at the 9th. Don’t look surprised, we all knew she did. None of us knew about this.

“Trust me, your little clit will never be needed around me. In fact, I don’t want to think about it; don’t want to see it either. I mean look at the difference between yours and mine. It’s a goddamned laugh riot.

“I may only be about 7 inches long, but between 8 and 9 inches around. I have met many men that are longer, but I have never met one who is thicker. We’ll need to get a pic of yours being dwarfed by mine later.

“But first, my cock has wrecked many throats, and it has destroyed many ass cunts. Yours is next. I have something for you to put on. Here are ankle and wrist cuffs. Cunts like you have big eyes and small twats…. Good! Now on the bench face down…. With a couple of D-clamps, you ain’t going to be using your arms and legs too much. Struggling is good, but nothing is going to stop my tree trunk impaling your cunt.

“Open your mouth. Remember my rank briefs. You can suck on them now. That wad doesn’t come out until I say it does, you got that? You are giving me a sour look, like you’re tasting something foul. My skid marks must be on your tongue. Oh well.

“You are really looking forward to this, aren’t you? Have you been fantasizing about how my cock will feel pushing in and stretching your cunt? Have you been thinking about it for all these years? Shake your head. Good! Thought so. And in a few minutes my load is going to flood your hole.

“Damn, that is one nice ass. Push up and show me your cunt. Damn, it’s so cute. Feel my battering ram thump it. That will get you tingling. My cock is so thick and your hole is so small, it’s like I am taking your virginity from you a second time.

“Ok flat on the bench. I need to lay on top of you. My hairy chest feels nice on your smooth back. I’m a big guy, and I weight a lot; I know. The moment you have been dreaming of for the past decade or so is about to happen.

“Lift your head. I need to put my forearm on the bench. Do you feel my stache on your cheek? Good. Focus on what I am saying. Listen up. I own you. From this point on, I control everything in your life. I control your ass, your dick, and your mouth. I decide when you have sex, and what man gets to fuck you. I control when you cum which will be seldom if ever, when you piss, and when you shit. I control what you eat and what you drink. Hell. I even control when you breathe.

“You know what I learned when I went to California? You know, the one you had your friend try to pick me up? I met up with a bud that is a motorcycle riding California Highway Patrol officer.

“Quit squirming. I know it’s hard to breathe with 240 pounds of a real man on top of you. That Office showed me how to use my bicep and forearm in a way that puts pressure on both sides of your neck, cutting off much needed oxygen. Go ahead try to fight back. It’s pointless you know.

“Your struggling has gotten my dick leaking. Do you feel my pre-cum running down the crack of your ass? Probably not. You’re too busy trying to get your next gasp of oxygen. Your red face is telling me that you don’t care about your ass right now. Just a few seconds more. Shhh shhh shhh shhh. It will be over in a minute….

“Or less it seems. And you are out cold. Now my cock will slide in easily. Oh yes it does! Fuck! Your hole is like silk. It’s not going to take me long. I’ve been wanting to fuck this cunt for years. I would never tell you that while you are awake. I can’t wait until I got your ass trained to take me without having to knock you out first. I plan on going for hours when that happens.

“Oh fuck this isn’t going to take long. I got a big fucking load that’s going to be shot in deep. Here it comes. Take it you fucking cunt. Urg! Fuck! Urg! Uh! Uh! Ahh!

“Fuck I needed that. You are breathing. Let’s get my briefs out. You have a minute or two to come to. I don’t have to tell you to lay still. I got some pissing to do. Oh that feels nice. My piss filling you up good. When you wake up, fuck, you are going to be bursting.

“I know, my briefs will make a good plug,… for now.

“Lookie there! You are waking up. Good. I’ll give you a few moments. Let me get those cuffs off of you. Wake up. You are at the station. Captain, you remember?... Good! Here’s some water…. Are you with me yet? Do you remember being naked in front of me begging for my cock? That brought a smile to your face. You are back! Just look at my cock now. It’s covered in your ass slime.

“Yeah, I fucked you. Sucks for you that you were out cold. But hey! It was great…. You even have a quart of my piss in there too…. Don’t believe me? When you go to take a shit, pull my briefs out of your ass and a torrent of my piss is going to come pouring out. Yup! Let me just say that unconscious holes offer no resistance.

“Stick out your tongue. I said stick out your fucking tongue. You are going to clean up your mess on my dick. Start with sticking my head in. I got to finish peeing. You were getting too full, and I had to stop.

“Oh yeah, there’s that tongue again. You are going to be a good cunt for me. Oh yeah, this is going to happen again. Remember I own you. And not just as some sex object, but I will control you here at the station. You may be captain around here, but I will be calling the shots. First thing is that I think it’s time for you to think about retirement at the same time get me ready for a promotion, don’t ya think?”

[writertitan]

Heat

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 2660

themes: modern au, smut, sexual content!! mature and 18+ readers only!!

For the past two days, your radiator had been making a god-awful noise whenever it turned on. Had being the keyword, until the early hours of today when it decided it couldn’t take it anymore and died on you completely. The winter morning air was frosty and you had woken up in the middle of the night to a loud and sad sputtering noise as the radiator said its goodbye, leaving you in a bit of a conundrum when you quietly got out of bed to try and see if there was any saving it. There wasn’t, and you were internally freaking out. 

Now here you were, glancing at a phone screen that read 3:23am with the chill of winter already seeping into your little apartment. The sleet outside didn’t help either; that awful mix of snow and rain was only bound to make your apartment even colder. 

You weren’t the only one who had been startled awake either, and you frowned in dismay when you saw Levi sitting up in bed with an annoyed, still sleepy look on his face. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a husky voice, making you feel even worse. Levi was an insomniac by nature - tonight he’d been getting an okay night’s rest, only to be interrupted by your damn radiator crapping out on you. 

“It’s my stupid radiator. It broke,” you whined, voice not even above a whisper as you gave it a pathetic kick with your feet. 

You heard Levi sigh in exasperation and looked to see him pulling back the covers for you as a silent beckon to come back to bed. You didn’t need to be told twice now that goosebumps had already started flourishing on your exposed skin, and immediately snuggled up next to him to preserve warmth. 

“I’m just cuddling for a minute,” you murmured, stroking his bare torso. “I’m gonna grab us some actual pajamas and some more blankets. I doubt my fucking landlord is going to respond to a text at three in the morning to come take a look at the damn thing.” 

Levi made a grunt of disapproval and held you to him tighter, shaking his head as he nuzzled it into your neck. The motion made butterflies swirl to life in your stomach and you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his bedhead, kissing it sweetly as your arms wrapped around him. 

“It’s gonna get real cold real fast,” you warned, “and we’re hardly dressed for that.” Levi only had his boxers on and you weren’t much better off, clad in only an old shirt of his and your panties. 

“Don’t you know any basic survival skills?” he said suddenly, his voice and his eyes taunting you, finally gazing up at you from his place at your neck. “We should be shedding clothes. Helps preserve warmth better.” 

“Bullshit,” you scoffed, but the idea was already planted, and you knew exactly what Levi was getting up to when his hand strayed from your hip to caress your thigh instead. He was so warm, his skin and his touch, and it made your head spin. 

“I’m being serious, you little brat,” he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck as he spoke. “I know exactly how to keep us warm in your shithole apartment.” 

His little jab at your apartment didn’t hurt. He’d been asking you when you were moving out for months now and had been asking you to stay over at his place more often, using his, “My apartment is better than yours” excuse each time. 

You instead answered him by pressing up against him even more, hands exploring his torso and then moving up to his hair to pull his face towards yours. In an instant your lips were captured in a heated kiss, tongues and teeth clashing as Levi maneuvered to get on top. He straddled you easily, a growing erection prodding at your stomach as his hands gathered the hem of his borrowed shirt on you to pull it up over your breasts and leave the fabric bunched up above them. His lips broke from yours and you whined, trying to follow him as he sat up fully, but his hands pinned you down by your shoulders. 

A blush rouged your cheeks as you watched him scan over your body, hands slowly moving from your shoulders to cup your breasts once he was sure you wouldn’t move, and you rolled your hips up slowly to tease him. You saw that primal glint in his eye appear as you did that, his gaze finally flickering back to yours, but he shook his head.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, hands moving over your nipples that had perked up from both arousal and the cold, his eyes examining the goosebumps appearing over your body. He gently tugged his shirt off of you completely, discarding it amongst your pillows before his hands returned on their journey along your skin.

“Keep me warm,” you whispered, voice saturated with desire as you watched him. You stayed still apart from your wandering hands that found his chest, his abdomen, and then finally, the tent in his boxers. He swallowed thickly but didn’t say a word, hands moving from your breasts to your hips in one languid motion, fingertips toying with the elastic of your panties. 

“Levi,” you breathed out, “...please...” That familiar smirk ghosted at his lips and, after what felt like an eternity ,a hand slipped under the fabric of your panties. You groaned in satisfaction and rewarded him with a gentle squeeze between his legs, his own groan mixing with yours. His free hand grabbed the blankets that were curled around your waists and tugged them up so the two of you were now completely covered and shielded from the increasingly cool air in your bedroom, the confined space somehow even more erotic. It was only the two of you, nobody else existed underneath those covers, the world was all but gone, and you were grateful for your little bubble as your breathing grew heavier and your mewls got louder. 

Two of his fingers danced around your clit, sliding between your slick folds as he played with you and you played with him. Your hand had worked its way beneath the cloth of his boxers to stroke his length slowly, matching his pace with you as you stared into each other’s eyes hungrily, lips parted and chests heaving for air. 

When Levi finally pressed into your clit with both fingers, your back arched and your eyes fluttered shut, pleasure piercing through you. His lips found yours again in another passionate kiss, lips fumbling together as the two of you stroked each other, Levi growing harder in your hand as your fingers trailed from his base to his tip, thumb gently pressing against the head of his cock occasionally. Moans were stifled into the kiss as you parted your lips and allowed his tongue to find yours, each of you needy and writhing in the other’s hand. Levi broke away for air and you gasped out to fill your lungs as well, but your lips found his neck only seconds later and your legs nimbly swathed around his hips to pull him closer. The hand that wasn’t around him trailed up so your fingers could get lost in his hair, a lock of it twirled around your finger as you nipped and suck at the most sensitive spot at Levi’s neck. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips bucking into you when your teeth grazed along his flushed skin, the whispered curse only fueling you. 

“Off, please,” you pleaded with him against his neck, referring to the thin fabric still separating your groins. You heard him whine when your hand slipped out of his boxers to tug them down around his knees, letting him kick them off the rest of the way. You also couldn’t help the little whimper that left you when his hand did the same to you, both of you exposed to the other now. 

Levi didn’t waste any time in taking hold of his length and guiding it to your folds, earning a loud moan of pleasure from you as he slid himself along you, tip of his cock pressing teasingly to your clit. There was no need or desire to bother to stifle the needy whine of his name as he rubbed his shaft against you, the pleasure almost overwhelming you when his head ducked down to take a breast into his warm mouth. A string of curses left your lips and you barely registered his free hand moving down as well, only noticing when a finger slipped inside you with no warning. 

Again your back arched and you writhed beneath him, and the peculiar sensation of a finger in you and a cock rubbing your clit, rather than the other way around, had you seeing stars. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Levi mumbled against your breast, a string of saliva trailing his lips as he came up for air again. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust, both of you on cloud nine. Your hands kept busy and stroked his skin, both of you showcasing a slight sheen of sweat from the intense heat you’d created in your little cocoon of blankets. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as your lips crashed into his again, needy as ever as your hips squirmed and bucked. 

“Levi,” you whined against his mouth, letting him swallow his name. 

“Use your words,” he teased back, adding a second finger to pump into you while his length slipped into your folds. 

But you could barely sound out his name, let alone form a coherent sentence. He knew this was exactly the case and got off on it, leaving you to mewl and whine and writhe under him as you scrambled to get it together. 

“Want you inside of me,” you gasped out finally, bucking your hips up roughly as his fingers curled inside of you. 

Levi’s lips were at your ear in an instant, breath hot as it fanned the side of your face. “I am inside of you.”

“Your cock,” you nearly cried out, legs spread wide and heels dug into the mattress as you tried to find the balance to lift your hips into his. “Want your cock inside of me.” 

And Levi didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers left you in an instant and, before you could protest, he filled you up by slamming into you roughly, already almost to the hilt. Your legs enveloped his waist as a groan scratched out of your throat, nails digging into his upper arms as he waited and stretched you. Both of you swore loudly, hips bucking into each other, and you pressed your forehead to Levi’s and rolled your hips to let him know you wanted him to move. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew what every action meant, knew what you were telling him without having to actually tell him. Just like he knew all of that, he knew exactly what kind of rhythm to fall into, already relentlessly pounding into you once you were adjusted to him. It was slower at first, with Levi putting in the effort to almost completely pull out before pushing back in, over and over, skin slapping against skin as he did so. The erotic sounds from your throat were nonstop now, one moan melting into the next, and Levi’s own noises soon joined with yours as he picked up speed. Your hips met his effortlessly, bodies in sync with one another, the familiarity apparent in the way you just knew each other. 

Sweat slicked your forehead and matted your hair to it, Levi’s appearance mirroring yours, the heat almost unbearable if not for the knowledge of the cold and biting air that threatened to penetrate your bubble. His hips rolled into yours, entire body pressed to yours now with no room for even an inch of space between your skin; you didn’t know where you ended and he began, and you didn’t want to know. Being connected like this, you were a single being, striving for the same jaw-dropping, toe-curling goal. 

Levi gripped one of your thighs to push your knee almost to your chest, changing your position just enough for him to bury himself deeper and hit the spot that made the coil in your stomach tighten instantly. His name left your lips repeatedly, the only thing you remembered, the only thing that mattered in that moment. Levi, Levi, Levi…

He pecked your lips between the little whimpers you gave him, leaving you absolutely breathless, so close to finally reaching the edge. One of his hands forced itself between your colliding hips to give your clit attention, the touch of his fingertips catapulting you closer to your orgasm, unable to resist for much longer. 

“Fuck...Levi...close…” you panted into his mouth, hands alternating between gripping his hair, gripping his shoulders, gripping the sheets. 

“Me too,” he gasped out in a low murmur. His free hand cupped your face to pull you in for another deep kiss while his fingers worked your clit, dancing around it sometimes, and then rubbing it directly, always in those slow, tantalizing circles. He nipped at your lower lip, whispering the word you needed to hear so badly into your parted lips. 

“Come.” 

Between his needy kisses and his fingers and his throbbing cock inside of you, with Levi so unyielding and constant with everything he did, never faltering, it threw you over the edge into an intense orgasm, walls squeezing around him as you cried into his lips that were still smothered into yours. Your thighs pressed into his hips to keep him there inside you and you shuddered in delight when he came only moments later, both of his strong hands grabbing your hips and pinning them down so he could ride his high out, right into you. 

It took several more moments before the two of you could calm down, hips eventually lulling to stillness so he could rest on top of you, nearly putting his whole weight on you. But it felt good, it felt so good to feel him on you, in you, both of you catching your breath in the stuffy enclosure of your blankets. His mouth pressed a final kiss to yours before finding another favorite place to be - at the curve of your neck, to pepper short, endearing pecks to your skin. 

Levi didn’t make any moves to pull out of you so you stayed in that position, reveling in the afterglow of your orgasms, while you stroked his hair and breathed him in, head tilted so he could have full access to the expanse of your neck. 

“I guess you were right,” you whispered with a smile, eyes closed. Levi hummed in question and you giggled, a hand caressing his lower back. “We did need to shed clothes to stay warm.” 

That earned a chuckle out of Levi but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he continued leaving kisses along your neck, slowly pulling out of you and shifting so he could be at your side instead of on top of you. 

“I’m always right,” he finally said, pulling you into his chest to snuggle, “Just like I’m right about you getting the fuck out of this shitty apartment.” His arm kept itself wrapped around your shoulders even when you swatted his chest, his other arm resting happily at your hip. You traced his chest with your fingertips, legs intertwining as sleep began to overtake you, the exhaustion of sex heavily seeping into your bodies. 

“So you would rather have me on the streets with no home to go back to,” you mumbled jokingly, sleepily, and then snickered when Levi’s scoff fills the air. 

“You’d have a home, brat.” 

You shivered as Levi adjusted the blankets to let some fresh air in, the coldness cracking through at last, but your shivers were easily abated by Levi nuzzling into your hair and pulling you closer, fingertips dancing over your back to soothe you to sleep. 

“Love you,” you mumbled, moving your head so you could press your ear against his chest to hear his steady heartbeat. You were already drifting off, warm and content and blissful, but you didn’t miss the quiet, “Love you, too.”