#i could (and probably should) sit down and write how each of the bats channels their method acting

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

[forevercloudnine]

batman forever riddlebat ship meme

(This one was inevitable. God, do I love this movie. @heroes-etc​ gave me questions from this ship meme.)

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

The obvious answer here is Edward because he is... clearly and pathologically insecure in his identity and requiring outside approval. You could argue he gets over this once he adopts his flamboyant supervillain identity, but as soon as he steps out of it to be Edward Nygma again he’s as self-conscious as ever. On some level his Bruce cosplay at the Nygmatech party is probably supposed to be a dig at his former idol, but it’s pretty transparent that he’s paranoid about not measuring up, especially once Bruce actually walks in.

As for what makes him feel better, two obvious high points of his self-esteem right off the bat (lol) are when Bruce is giving him positive attention in his intro scene, and directly afterwards when he’s murdering his boss for ragging on him.

Of course, neither external validation or murder is, like, a permanent solution to insecurity. Obviously. If they ever got together Bruce would probably make him go to therapy, which would be incredibly hypocritical because, as Dr. Meridian points out in this movie, that’s not exactly something Bruce is doing. Although in Bruce’s defense, if you count the novelizations as canon for this continuity, the psychiatrist Alfred hired for him as a child basically wrote him off as a lost cause that was going to inevitably self-destruct at some point in adulthood. So I can see why he’d think therapy isn’t for him. 

"Young Bruce may seem quite the stalwart, but there’s still a child beneath that veneer of calm acceptance [...] The day will come when that veneer crumbles, and the boy reacts to the memory of his ordeal. Such matters may be postponed, but not indefinitely. And the longer this one is delayed, the greater the damage will be to his psyche.”

“Still,” Alfred pressed. “How do you think this will all come out? Off the record, if you prefer.”

Another pause. “I am not terribly optimistic,” the stout man admitted. “But I assure you, I will do my best.”

Alternatively, Bruce just lets Edward borrow his clothes and calls it a day. It’s less time consuming than therapy and both the movie and novelization demonstrate how into that Edward is.

He was murmuring to himself, “We’ll probably be dining at Wayne Manor together.” He envisioned Bruce sitting across from him, and began to launch into a narrative [...] “Yes. Yes. A Party in my honor? I should have rented a tuxedo. What?” he couldn’t believe it, “One of yours, Bruce?” He gave it a moment’s thought and then shrugged. “Why not? We are the same size.”

3. Who is the most romantic?

 Uh, not Bruce! Batman Forever is the most thoughtfully romantic he gets in the entire series, and even here his only two dates ideas are “whatever Gotham social event my secretary tells me I need a date for” and “coming on to my date in my alternate identity to see if she loves me enough not to cheat on me with Batman.” Also, he vacillates between staunchly refusing to do any flirting at all and dishing out the least romantic pick-up lines possible.

You say “bad writing,” I say “totally in character for a hot rich guy who knows that this is as hard as he has to try to get into someone’s pants.” Bruce might love his partner with the intensity of a thousand dying suns, but he’s still sending Alfred to buy all their Valentine’s Day presents. His idea of a romantic evening for two is finally trusting someone enough to tell them his secret identity. If he’s done that already, or they already figured it out, then his playbook is over. That’s clearly the only romantic fantasy he’s ever allowed himself.  

(I was going to say he does this once every movie, but he actually never does this in Batman & Robin specifically because he doesn’t actually care about Julie Madison. She proposes to him and he gets her name wrong while shooting her down. Add that to the “Bruce Wayne isn’t romantic” box.)

The ridiculous amount of magazine cut-outs populating Edward’s apartment indicates that he probably has a very vibrant and extensive set of fantasies involving Bruce, which is hinted at a couple times in the novelization.

Edward would certainly know him when he saw him. He’d spent enough time anticipating the moment, after all [...] Finally he was going to be meeting Bruce Wayne face-to-face, and he had every moment of the encounter scripted [...] He’d rehearsed it to perfection in his mind for weeks upon months.

In the grand scheme of things... in the fabulous, sweeping, intertwining destinies of Bruce Wayne and Edward Nygma, such a slip would not even rate a footnote.

He becomes suddenly and painfully aware that if Bruce Wayne walked away without Edward Nygma by his side, then that would be it. It would be finished. All these weeks, months... indeed, a lifetime of planning... and it was crumbling under him just like that.

Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean his fantasies are all romantic in the traditional sense of the word. This is a man who was charmed by Harvey holding a charity circus hostage with some kind of graffitied missile warhead. Tonally, there’s not even that much of a difference between his crush collages and his riddle death threats.

What’s weirder, using a magazine cutout of someone you hate to make a pop-up card of their face, or using a magazine cutout of someone you love to replace the anatomically correct heart in the cardiovascular system diagram you keep in your apartment/arcade/makeshift laboratory? Probably the former, since it was made with the express purpose of Bruce actually seeing it. Although presumably Edward was planning on taking Bruce to his apartment at some point? And in the novelization, he actually drags Bruce into his cubicle to look at his Wayne Shrine.

He grabbed Bruce’s arms and shouted “No, don’t leave me! I need you!” [...] Bruce was thunderstruck as he was pulled partway into Edward’s office... and then he caught sight of the shrine. 

Edwards’s head bobbed eagerly. Now, finally, Bruce would understand the depth of Nygma’s devotion to his idol. He would see how important he was to Nygma.

Notably, the only thing that upsets Bruce about the fact that one of his employees has a serial killer wall dedicated to him at their work station (@heroes-etc: realistically.... IS this the first time this has happened? i doubt it.) is the fact that the shrine includes a picture of him taken directly after his parents’ death, which is obviously a huge trigger for Bruce’s PTSD.

Wayne’s gaze zeroed in on the picture of himself as a young man. 

The eyes of Wayne the elder locked with Wayne the younger, and when he slowly turned his scrutiny back to Edward Nygma, Edward could feel the temperature in the cubicle drop to subzero.

Later, once Bruce isn’t being actively reminded of the most traumatizing day of his life, he reflects that he could probably relate to Edward’s specific brand of crazy, and hopes that it’s not too late to try again (it is).

He paused momentarily at Edward Nygma’s cubicle, thinking about the intensity he’d seen in the man’s eyes the other day. Nygma’s ideas might have been a bit odd, but that sort of passion—if properly channeled—could accomplish miracles. That was something Bruce Wayne certainly knew better than anyone else. Perhaps after this fiasco was the time to take Nygma aside under less-pressured circumstances. Start again...

With any other character, I would call bull on their being this unphased by someone being obsessed enough with them to build a stalker shrine, but, like. It’s Batman. He probably has a stalker shrine to Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman in his cave somewhere. When they start dating, Edward mails the weirdest magazine cutout valentines to his office on the regular, and every time Bruce has to assure his staff that it’s not a ransom letter and it’s just “his boyfriend being romantic.”

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

I mean, by most people’s standards, any one of the things that Edward does in front of Bruce could easily be the most embarrassing thing to happen to them in their lifetime. But for the most part, Edward seems blissfully free of that kind of self-consciousness. He accidentally introduces himself to Bruce as “[extended moaning sound] Bruce Wayne” and shakes it off without even registering his mistake. Even when he feels like Bruce has rejected him and his project, his emotional state is more shocked, saddened, and angry than it is ashamed. He does apologize to Bruce, during the scene where they first meet, for holding on to his hand too long during their handshake. And by “handshake” I mean that Bruce extends his hand to be shaken, and Edward just grabs on and holds it without any motion whatsoever for the entire first half of their conversation. Which might be the only time he ever apologizes in the entire movie. So I’ll say that was his moment of embarrassment.

Bruce only really embarrasses himself in front of Alfred, but Edward does manage to trick Bruce into getting scanned by his mind reading device at the Nygmatech party. Being tricked in general would be pretty awkward for Bruce, since this movie goes out of its way to show the audience how SMART and CLEVER and KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT BRAINWAVES Bruce is at every opportunity. But being tricked into getting your mind read is about a million times more embarrassing than just running into a wall like some kind of Looney Tune. Obviously having access to Bruce’s mind allows Edward to figure out that his former boss/current obsessee is Batman, but also it’s just got to be super weird in there. Bruce is a bizarre man.  

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Whether he’s idolizing Bruce or plotting his destruction, Edward is still seeing the subject of his lifelong obsession as a larger than life exaggeration of the real man. Some of that pedestal would probably survive into the beginning of a romantic relationship, but by the time they got serious Edward would have had to recognize that Bruce has both positive and negative traits. He would also have had to grapple with the fact that the man he once assumed would make everything in his life better is a lot of work to be around, especially in this movie’s continuity where the trauma of his family’s death and his guilt over allowing enemies like Joker to die are genuinely affecting Bruce’s day-to-day functionality.

(A lot of things, Chase.)

Edward’s introduction scene demonstrates that he doesn’t see Bruce as having these kinds of problems. His Escapism Wish Fulfillment Device TM is clearly a very personal project for him, since he, you know. Is kind of already living in a Bruce-centric fantasy world.

When he’s pitching it to Bruce, however, he states that he doesn’t think someone like Bruce would ever need to escape reality (which could just be ingratiating flattery, but he barely seems aware of what he’s saying at the time because he’s too busy staring with his mouth open at Bruce putting on glasses).

(Side note: an interjection from @heroes-etc​

Anyway, moving on.)

Obviously we know he’s wrong, since Bruce escapes his reality every night by dressing up like a bat and scaring people. Normally that’s just subtext (or me being cynical and creating subtext), but Batman Forever introduced a hot psychiatrist who is constantly poking at Batman for being a power fantasy created by a traumatized mind to cope with intense feelings of helplessness in childhood. 

 The novelization makes it clear that it’s not the illusion of perfection that Edward is attracted to, however. The picture of Bruce in Crime Alley is what kickstarts Edward’s obsession, not because Bruce seemed flawless but because he seemed to be going through similar pain as Edward (whatever Edward’s pain even IS in this continuity). So I think recognizing Bruce’s issues would be less of a dealbreaker and more of a point of connection, were they to get serious.

He saw, there in Bruce Wayne’s face, an intensity that mirrored his own. An anger, a frustration at the hand that fate had dealt him. There were no tears on Bruce’s face. Instead there was a smoldering intelligence that Edward intuitively sensed was on par with his own. 

There was something in Bruce’s eyes, something in that gaze. There was Bruce, in a moment of raw emotion, his parents just having been cruelly taken from him. And there was no self-pity. Just cold, hard anger.

[...] Ed still had the newspaper with him when he was walking home from school. Not that he needed it to read; the contents were safely locked away in his skull, thanks to his photographic memory. But he wanted to clip out the articles and pictures about Bruce Wayne. He found the young man fascinating, as if he had discovered a soulmate of sorts.

For Bruce, on the other hand, getting serious presumably just means attempting to include Edward more and more in the found family he builds in the latter half of the 90’s Batman movies. Alfred approving a love interest is not quite as tantamount in this continuity as it is sometimes (Micheal Gough Alfred is pretty laid back), but Bruce is still spending all of his non-Batman, non-socialite time with his butler. So if Edward wants to hang out with Bruce, he has to either get on Alfred’s good side or prepare for a lot of “romantic quality time” where his boyfriend’s dad is glaring at him from the background.

Dick is less important to get on the good side of, since he and Bruce argue all the time in these movies (apparently one of the proposed scripts for Batman & Robin was Bruce kicking Dick out of the house and making him go to college, where Dick would cope with his dad-related anger by bullying his psychology professor Dr. Crane into becoming a supervillain. I personally feel like I deserved to see that Scarecrow origin). So if Dick doesn’t like Bruce’s new boyfriend, it’s just one more thing for them to be catty to each other about.  

Alfred’s niece Barbara Wilson on the other hand (who is adorable as a fusion of Barbara Gordon and Julia Pennyworth, do not @ me) would be absolutely vital for Edward to win over, because her opinion could easily either make or break his standing with her uncle. Also Bruce decided to adopt her within five minutes of meeting her, so he’s obviously fond.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Edward’s fantasy sequence in the novelization makes it obvious enough that he would really, really like to have dinner at Wayne Manor. Hanging out at someone���s house isn’t really a traditional first date, especially if one of you is a billionaire who could have taken you literally anywhere, but clearly none of that matters to Bruce, because that’s exactly the first date he invites Vicki Vale on in Batman (1989).

It’s pretty painfully awkward (“You want to know the truth? I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room before”) until Bruce gives up on the formality and takes her down to eat the rest of their courses with Alfred in the kitchen.

I feel like his first date with Edward could probably go the same way, with a few major differences. One, Edward would have been super enthused about eating in the fancy dining hall, and Bruce would have only suggested finishing their meal in the kitchen because Edward clearly wanted to see As Much Of The Manor As Possible. Two, when Alfred offers to stop embarrassing Bruce and leave them alone for the end of their date, Edward would have insisted he stay and break out the baby albums. You cannot convince me that Alfred is not a scrapbooker. Actually, does what Edward’s doing count as scrapbooking? Maybe they could compare notes.

[rhysismydaddy]

Can u do Nessian: “i bet my friends twenty bucks that i could get ur number if u give it to me ill split it with u”

Cassian Azara sat at the bar, watched the love of his life shoot down yet another potential date for the evening, and sighed like a little bitch, hoping no one heard how pathetic he was.

Unfortunately, his best friend heard the sound and started laughing. “Just go talk to her.”

“Rhys,” he said, trying to make him understand yet again. “I’ve watched her reject twelve guys tonight. That’s enough for a full game of basketball, bro.”

“So you’re just going to sit here and stare at her like a stalker, then?”

He shrugged, not even insulted considering it was true. “That’s the plan.”

Rhysand sighed, sipping his beer in fake defeat. “You’re probably right, anyway. She’d reject your ugly ass.”

Azriel, the third in their little trio, sighed and took the shot of vodka in front of him. Considering he was the quiet, calm one of the bunch, he was probably beyond fed up with their bullshit. 

“You know what, you talk a lot of shit for someone who just got dumped,” Cass pointed out, rubbing his nose in it just a little bit more. 

“Feyre didn’t dump me.” Rhysand smiled a coy smile. “She’s just taking a few days to realize how much she misses me.”

Cassian snorted, eyes going back to the woman at the other end of the bar, who looked so damn beautiful it should be illegal. 

Her dark blue shirt complimented her skin tone and sandy blonde hair, both stark against the bright blue of her eyes. 

“This is just sad. How about this; I’ll give you thirty bucks if you go get her number.”

Azriel took another shot.

Cassian considered the proposal. 

“Fifty.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “So scared of rejection?”

Not usually, but this woman was in a class of her own. Cassian just shrugged. 

“Fine. Fifty bucks if you get her number.”

He grinned, and turned to walk over with renewed confidence when Azriel murmured, “A hundred if you kiss her.”

Both Rhys and Cassian looked at him in shock. 

“What?” he asked, sounding cold and amused as usual. “You get boring when you don’t have some chick bossing you around all the time.”

I hang out with such assholes. 

Cassian kept that to himself and just nodded, making his way towards his future wife. The knowledge his friends were watching, as well as being a cocky bastard, made him smile as he approached her.

His confidence, as well as any sort of pickup line, flew out of his head as soon as her eyes met his. 

Shit, what was it about this woman? He’d met--and done a lot more with--a ton of beautiful women. 

But somehow, her crystal clear blue gaze seemed to paralyze him while also make his heart start thumping like crazy. Just one look, and she’d practically shot him down already. 

“Hi,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to her and channeling his usual, non-pussy self. 

“So, you finally decided to come over.” she observed, voice like honey instantly warming his entire body. “Or are you just planning on staring from a closer vantage point?”

Damn if he didn’t like a sarcastic woman. 

“Well, I’ve been staring at you, but I figured I’d give you the chance to return the favor.” 

A bit of humor graced her features, but she replied smoothly, “I’m good, thanks.”

Fuck.

He’d lasted twenty seconds. 

New strategy. 

“In all honesty, my friends were giving me a hard time for being such a little bitch and not coming to talk to you,” he confided, leaning in and smiling. “They told me they’d cough up fifty bucks if I got your number.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“And I’ll give you have of it.”

She shook her head, but a smile was on those full lips he couldn’t keep his eyes off. “Men are so ridiculous.”

“I blame beautiful, scary women.”

She smiled for real this time, and he couldn’t think of a single other time he’d been this effected by a woman. If he’d thought she’d been beautiful with a scowl on her face, it was nothing compared to that smile. 

“Fine. Give me a napkin.”

Holy hell, that worked? 

Cassian slid over a napkin, flipping Rhys and Azriel off behind his back as she wrote her number down in neat, concise penmanship. “You know, you should probably write your name down, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Makes the story more believable, of course.”

“Mmhm, of course.” She rolled her eyes, but wrote Nesta. 

“Nesta, huh? Pretty name for a pretty lady. I’m Cassian.” He extended a hand, and she shook it firmly. 

“Well, Cassian, this was fun. Tell your friends to pay up.” 

He gave her a dramatic, sloppy frown, not wanting their interaction to be over so soon. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

Nesta sighed, making his lips pull up a little. “What’s the best part?”

“They said they’ll give me fifty more if I kiss you.” He couldn’t hardly breathe as she took in that information. Her head tilted to the side, and she looked him up and down in a smooth, calculated way that made him want to run for the hills.

“Fifty bucks for a kiss? Feels like prostitution to me.” 

A laugh escaped him at that. But in the back of his mind, he noticed she hadn’t told him to fuck off. Progress.

He edged a little closer, smiling down at her. “What if I give you the whole hundred?”

“You’re really desperate for a kiss,” she said, but she’d tilted her head back to hold his gaze, lips parted softly.

You have no idea. 

Cassian smiled, reaching down to pull her stool closer. “Do we have a deal, Nesta?”

He was either bat-shit crazy, or there was a little flare in her eyes as he brought his face within an inch of hers. Nesta looked over his face, and something about it made him feel like he was completely naked. She bit her lip as she studied him, and his concentration narrowed to that spot. 

Then she shocked the hell out of him, murmuring, “Deal.”

A smile forced its way onto his face, and he mentally thanked Azriel for being bored tonight and pushing him to do this.

Bringing one hand around her waist, the other supporting the back of her head, Cassian dipped her backwards off the stool, smiling at the look of shock on her perfect face. 

Then he kissed her.

And after the initial surprise faded, she kissed him back.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, fingers digging into his muscles, and her lips were soft against his, her body perfect in his hands. He knew it was probably all a game, but it was still the best kiss he’d ever had.

Nesta’s lips opened, and he didn’t hesitate before before sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly, and he took the kiss deeper, unable to help it. 

When it was beyond clear everyone in the bar was staring at them, he pulled her back up and released her mouth.

They stared at each other, both panting. 

He started to release her, but her hands found their way into his hair, keeping him where he was. “I don’t think your friends were watching.”

“I don’t think they were,” he agreed, leaning in to kiss her again. This time she took more control, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that made him shiver. 

Cassian gently bit her bottom lip, then ran his tongue over it, and she made a soft sound that he knew would be replaying in his head for the rest of the night. 

Before he could act on the now-overwhelming urge to throw her up on the counter and kiss her where he really wanted to, he pulled back, cupping her face.

Her hair was ruffled, lips swollen and pink, and there was electricity in her eyes as they met his. “You look thoroughly kissed, Nesta.”

“I don’t know about thoroughly, but I was definitely kissed.” She was breathing heavy, leaning on him, and her arms were still around his shoulders, so he considered it a big fat win. 

“I’ll go get your money, then,” he said, making absolutely no move to leave.

“Well.” She ran a hand through her hair. “You could always just use it to take me on a real date.”

Cassian smiled, pressing another kiss to her cheek and not believing his luck. “Let’s go then.”

______________________________________________________________

Thank you for the ask!!

[muertawrites]

The Lovers of Ba Sing Se - Part 1 (Zuko x Reader) [Modern Au]

Summary: Zuko isn’t used to being around people who aren’t afraid to share their every emotion. Meeting you during his time in Ba Sing Se changes that, and changes him for the better.

Word Count: 4,000

Author’s Note: Lmao the only person I’m writing this for is myself. Sorry not sorry. I usually try really hard to keep specifics to a minimum in my self-insert works, but this time I didn’t; I wrote about myself because, honestly, this fic is my love letter to me. I relate to Zuko so much and a huge part of the reason I love him is because he reminds me of myself - this fic is about me learning to love myself again after the people I loved and trusted most betrayed me, and saying a gigantic “fuck you” everyone who ever did anything to destroy my self worth. Part 2 is when I finally live out my fantasy of curb stomping Mai - tomorrow, same bat-time, same bat-channel. 

Also, shameless plug, but I’m about 100 followers away from 1k, and I have some really fun stuff planned for when we get there so if you like this fic or any of my others, please follow! I love doing this and my goal is to devote as much effort as possible to it as I can, and I truly wouldn’t be able to do it without your support. Thank you so much for all of it. I’m so excited for the future of this blog and everyone who makes it possible ♥

~ Muerta

Of all the things Zuko thought might kill him, falling dishware was the last thing he would have ever considered a possibility.

He was sitting in the alley behind the Jasmine Dragon, making the most of his smoke break, when a ceramic cooking pot rained onto the pavement in front of him, shattering into trillions of pieces. Startled, he jumped back, dropping his cigarette as he craned his neck upwards; he spotted a head of brightly dyed hair staring down at him from the third floor balcony above.

“Oh shit,” you cried.

Within a minute, you burst through the back door of the neighboring building, panting and looking just as terrified as the young man you'd almost killed. Zuko stared at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Oh my god I'm so sorry,” you gushed. “Are you okay?? I didn't see you standing there, oh my god, oh my fucking god please tell me you're okay.”

Zuko was taken aback, unable to do anything for a moment but gaze at you in confusion, almost wonder. People in the Fire Nation were never this publicly expressive, even when barely avoiding manslaughter - he didn't quite know what to do with you, other than mutter that he was alright.

“I'm so, so sorry,” you blurted again. “You're sure you're okay? You don't have any glass on you or anything? Or need to be treated for shock?”

“No, I'm fine,” Zuko flatly replied. He nodded towards the trash bins across the alley. “You do know your building has those, though. You don't need to throw your old stuff off your balcony.”

You blushed, smiling sheepishly.

“It wasn't old,” you confessed. “It was a birthday gift from my best friend. Well… ex-best friend.”

Zuko huffed, pulling another cigarette from the pocket of his jeans and lighting it, looking down at his hands.

“Never had a breakup, huh?” he guessed.

“Oh, I've had plenty,” you told him. “They just don't get any easier.”

Zuko looked up at you, taking a long drag from his smoke. Your eyes were cast into the middle of the alley, settled on the shards of what once had been a reasonably nice piece of cookware. The shock and terror had faded from your expression, falling into one that was pained, anger and despair shadowing your features; you may as well have roundhouse kicked him in the chest, the look on your face mirroring the ache between his ribs. You hadn't revealed anything to him, but he knew instantly that your pain was the same as his.

He slid another cigarette from the box, offering it to you. You shook your head, lowering yourself onto the back stoop of the Jasmine Dragon; he found himself doing the same without thinking.

“I'm sorry about your pot,” he said, clumsily attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “It looked nice.”

You smiled faintly, pulling your knees to your chest and letting your chin rest atop them.

“I don't cook much, so it wasn't a huge loss,” you replied. “It was kind of cathartic, actually. I feel better.”

Zuko chuckled, tapping a bit of ash onto the ground between his feet.

“Good. Maybe feeling better will keep you from accidentally killing someone.”

You laughed, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Have I mentioned I'm sorry about that?” you winced.

“Hey, no sweat,” Zuko assured you. “It's not the first time. I've had people try to kill me on purpose before.”

He stood, stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette and pocketing it. He offered a hand to help you up, which you took, finding comfort in the strength of his palm as it wrapped around your forearm.

“I've gotta get back to work,” he told you. “You don't have any other gifts from your ex-best friend laying around, do you?”

You giggled, shaking your head.

“No,” you promised, “just that one. Thank you. For not threatening to press charges.”

Zuko laughed, realizing he was doing so for the first time in what had probably been years. The light feeling in his chest got even lighter when he noticed he was still holding your arm.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, the words escaping before they were even fully formed in his head.

You nodded, finally letting go of his hand.

“Yeah,” you said. “I'll see you around …?”

“Lee,” he told you. “I'm Lee.”

You smiled.

“Cool. I'll see you around, Lee.”

You saw Lee again a few days later, but not in a way you really wanted to. You were at work, standing outside the bar on the district high street with a coworker, attempting to attract some business during the weeknight lull; Lee spotted you while on his way to the nearby market, seeing you from a block or two away but doing his best to approach you as if he was bumping into you completely by accident.

Of course, this would be perfectly normal and not at all a weird way to run into a new acquaintance, if only the bar you worked in wasn’t catered towards men with a lolita fetish. You were dressed head to toe in pink and white, corseted in a risque bustier and frocked with a poofy, frilly mini skirt that was purposely too short, revealing the bum of your equally as ruffled panties; when you turned around and came face to face with the cute guy from the tea shop next door, you hoped someone would throw a cooking pot on top of you, death seeming like a much better option than attempting to explain yourself to someone who’d already had the privilege of meeting you during an emotional breakdown.

Lee blushed as pink as your costume, smiling coyly.

“We did say we’d see each other around,” he greeted you.

You grinned, relaxing a little.

“You’re not here to have a drink, are you?” you teased him. He laughed, his face turning redder as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.

“No,” he assured you, “I’m actually on my way to get some groceries. Figured I’d say hey.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “My break is in about fifteen minutes! If you don’t mind waiting I could go with you? I’ll buy you dinner to make up for almost killing you the other day.”

Lee chuckled, nodding.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that,” he agreed. “... I don’t have to wait inside though, do I?”

“I mean, my boss would like it,” you told him, “but it’s so dead in there I don’t think she’d let you leave if you did.”

“Noted,” Lee replied. “I’ll wait in the coffee shop across the street, then.”

Not long after, you tossed a hoodie and a pair of jeans over your bustier and undies, meeting him outside the cafe he was stationed at and making your way to the market. You bustled alongside each other in a fray of other people, rubbing shoulders or hips as you were jostled along with the current.

“So,” Lee blurted, attempting to break the silence between you (although it wasn’t nearly as awkward as it probably should have been), “how’d you end up working in a fetish bar?”

Your simpered, cheeks going ever so slightly rosy.

“How do you think?” you jabbed sarcastically. “I needed money and they pay really well. It’s nice knowing I’ll be able to afford rent every month. What about you? How’d you end up at the tea shop?”

“My uncle owns it,” Lee explained. “We’re the only family we have left, so… we stick together.”

You nodded, understanding and not pushing the question any further.

“It’s not so bad,” he went on. “At least I don’t have to wear pigtails to work.”

You huffed with laughter, leaning over so that your shoulder purposely, playfully shoved his.

“Honestly, my job isn’t awful,” you admitted. “My coworkers are cool, and my boss is really kind. It’s also pretty fun getting to dress up in costume every day; it's like Halloween, except I get to do it whenever I want to.”

Suddenly, you paused, gasping.

“Look!”

You grabbed hold of his arm, startling him a bit but too excited to care. You pointed towards a nearby stand, in which an elderly man was frying pieces of dough. He twisted each in an elaborate knot, every order getting a different design. They were like miniature sculptures, too ornate to even think about eating, but the smell of rich spices and molten sugar was too tempting to ignore.

“I love this stand!” you cried. “He isn't always here, but I get something every time he is. Come on, I'll get us some to split!”

With your hand still curled around his elbow, you dragged Lee through the market throng. As he watched you order, making friendly conversation with the old man, he found himself feeling perplexed; he'd never met someone so comfortable with their emotions, so willing to let every part of them be seen. He wondered how you got so fearless, or if you even had to put effort into being so candid.

He found himself thinking about Mai, how cold and empty she was. He was reminded of the chill he felt around her, the bitter sting she often left in his chest, even during tender moments. Being around you was different; even having just met you, you made him feel invigorated but at ease, the tension in his muscles loosening naturally just from the energy of your presence. It was strange, but refreshing - he found himself grinning along with you as you left the stand, finding a place to sit and enjoy your pastry.

“I got us one with curry, and one with cream filling,” you told him, ripping each serving in half to share. “This guy is an artist, I swear. You're not going to be the same person after this.”

You looked up as you took a bite of the savory half of your meal, halting when you noticed the strange look Lee was giving you.

“What?” you asked him.

He shrugged, fixing his eyes on the pastry in his hand.

“You're just different,” he answered. “Where I'm from, people aren't open like you are. You're really… yourself. It's nice.”

You smiled, unable to help but blush. Bubbles fizzed in your chest, making you feel lightheaded and giddy.

“I think it's because so many people told me not to be when I was a kid,” you mused. “They tried to make me hide the parts of myself I really liked, so I made them show even more, just to show them that they couldn't change me. That I was stronger than their cruelty.”

Zuko felt as if he'd been hit by lightning. He didn't know what it was, but something about you terrified him - it was the same thing that made him want to latch onto you and not let go. Despite having met you just days ago, he already felt as if he'd known you a lifetime - unbeknownst to him, you felt exactly the same way.

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow night?” he asked, stuttering the words.

“Yeah,” you replied, so excited you felt like shrieking so the whole market could hear. “I have the day off tomorrow. Think your uncle would let you swing that?”

“Yeah,” Lee assured you. “I think he would.”

You finished your meal together, sharing your favorite things about the neighborhood you lived in and simply enjoying each other’s company, as comfortable as if you were old friends. Instead of parting with you, Lee walked you back to the bar at the end of your break, stating that it was no trouble going back to the market to get the groceries he skipped to spend time with you.

When he left, you hugged him, and for the first time in a long time, you felt as if you'd truly made a friend.

On your date the next day, Lee took you to the local art museum - he remembered you expressing an interest in art history, and per his uncle’s suggestion, decided it would be the perfect place to take you. He loved seeing the awe on your face when met with a piece that captivated you, was drawn in by the impassioned way you spoke about cultures and myths from ages so long passed they felt as if they came from different worlds entirely. You spent the whole day together, ending the evening crashed on your couch with a pizza and a marathon of true crime documentaries.

From that day onward, you and Lee were connected at the hip. You spent every available moment you had either in the alley behind your building with him or having a cup of tea at the Jasmine Dragon, often staying long after closing with him and his uncle, Mushi, and feeling as if you'd finally found a family in your adopted city.

You learned that Lee was a skilled martial artist, asking him to teach you a little of what he knew and amazed at just how good he really was. He moved more like a dancer than a fighter, his comfort and ability with his body and a weapon captivating you. You learned that he also had an affinity for theater and had grown up completely cut off from modern music and pop culture, spending many of your nights together at local play houses and bars, introducing him to your favorite bands and shows. He learned that you were fascinated by literature and history - anything that had significant, profound meaning and beauty - and often found himself wandering museums and historic neighborhoods with you, loving nothing more than to listen to you talk about what inspired you. You also made him laugh, your sense of humor at times dark, but set into a personality that saw the world with childlike wonder, able to find immense beauty and value in things that seemed frivolous to the naked eye. You were kind, unwavering - everything his family and past lover weren't.

Zuko loved being around you because of how free you made him feel. The unbridled way you expressed your emotions encouraged him to face his own, following your lead in being unafraid of just how intensely the heart within his chest was prone to beat. You loved being with him because he made you feel safe, never judging you for anything and understanding the trauma of your past in a way nobody else had done before. You opened up to him about how the ones you loved did you the most harm, never giving themselves as fully to you as you did them, treating you as a means to take out their own pain and insecurities and convincing you that that was just the way love worked. Eventually, he confided in you the truth about his identity, confessing the horrors he fled in coming to Ba Sing Se. You never once blamed him for anything he'd done, knowing exactly what it felt like to have to read between the lines and give everything for those who gave you little in return. You fit together easily, never having to guess what the other was thinking; for once you both felt content, secure in the safety of your heart within the other’s hands.

One of your favorite places to go with Zuko was a cat cafe a few blocks over from where you worked, spending many a slow weekday off shift with fresh lattes, croissants, and cuddles from friendly, adoptable kitties. At first, Zuko was unsure, having never spent much time with cats, but after one visit he was enamored, gushing to you every single time you went how badly he wanted a cat and spouting multiple reasons why you should adopt one together. On a free Wednesday afternoon he showed up at your apartment unannounced (as he had made a habit of doing) and suggested you go together, an invitation you were more than happy to accept.

As you left the cafe, a couple walking on the other side of the street caught your eye - the man who stood nearest to you was horrifyingly familiar. You recognized him immediately, the shock of his sudden appearance shattering and hollowing out your insides.

It was your ex boyfriend, the man who broke your heart so far beyond repair, walking hand in hand with someone else.

“Zuko,” you mumbled, not even noticing that you used his real name in public, “I want to go home.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, taking you by the shoulders and gently turning you to face him, concerned with the sudden shift in your tone.

“What's wrong?” he asked softly.

All you could do was shake your head. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you to the nearby subway station and back to your apartment.

Once safe inside the confines of your home, you changed into a baggy sweater and the softest sweatpants you owned, curling up under the kotatsu in your living room with Zuko, arms wrapped tight around his waist as you drifted in the tide of blood that poured from your newly reopened wounds. He didn't have to ask what you'd seen - he could tell from the vacant, glassy look in your eyes exactly which ghost haunted you.

“I can't believe he'd be with someone else,” you whimpered. “After everything he did to me… always giving me mixed signals and never telling me exactly how he felt… how could he be able to do it with another person? What was so wrong about me that he hid all of it from me, when all I needed was to hear it?”

You sniffed as Zuko pressed a thumb to your cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen. He hugged you tightly, pressing you close as if to remind you that he was there - he was your present, and there was nothing your past could do to harm you.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” he promised. “He's taken enough from you. Don't give him any more.”

For a long while, you sat together in silence, cradled in Zuko’s arms while he rocked you slowly back and forth, the tenderness of his touch sucking the poison from your veins. After what felt like ages, he finally spoke, giving you the piece of his past he'd been too heartbroken to offer until that moment.

“My girlfriend, Mai,” he told you, “she was like him. Everything she felt, she forced herself not to. We were together for a long time, but… I never really felt like she actually cared for me. If she did, she never let me see it. I gave her everything for nothing.”

“Why did you stay with her?” you wondered, voice meek and quivering with tears.

Zuko sighed, letting his chin fall so he could bury his face in your hair.

“Because she was the first person who ever accepted what I offered her,” he explained. “I was so used to everything I did being unwanted, it was just nice to not be pushed away for once. But she didn't love me like I needed it. I wish I was strong enough to see that and walk away, like you did.”

You propped yourself upright, leveling yourself so you could look him in the eye. You rested your hands at either side of his neck, your thumbs grazing delicately over his hot skin as you hooked your legs around his hips, your body nestled in the gap between his crossed legs.

“Zuko,” you breathed, “I love you. Those aren't even the right words to tell you how I feel about you, but it's the closest I have. You're so passionate and kind, and you love so fiercely… I truly don't know how to tell you how beautiful I think you are, or how much you mean to me. You deserve so much more than how the people you loved have treated you.”

Zuko curled his arms around your back, pressing his chest to yours and burying his face in the crook of your neck, embracing you as closely as he'd ever done. Tears soaked the collar of your sweater, and in return you cried into the exposed skin revealed by his t-shirt as you tugged on the fabric, gripping him as if letting go meant losing him forever.

“I love you, too,” Zuko murmured. “You make me feel strong enough to show it.”

When Zuko left Ba Sing Se, it crushed you. You were furious, at first unable to understand why he'd throw everything away to return to the place and the people that destroyed so much of him. Most of all, you missed him like mad - you missed how easy it was being with him, how you understood each other as if you were another part of yourselves. You missed his laughter and his warmth, the side of your mattress he often slept in feeling colder than ever without him there.

You were relieved when Mushi - who you now knew to be the infamously disgraced General Iroh - returned, showing up at your door out of the blue with tea and baked goods from the shop. You hugged him tightly, crying like a child as he settled you at your table and told you about his escape from prison, as well as his conversations with Zuko the few times he'd visited him. Your heart ached, but it finally felt clear just how lost and confused he was; you were still angry, but you knew you could forgive him.

“His heart is lost,” Iroh explained, “but because of you, he knows how to listen to it.”

For the next month and a half, you took Zuko’s place at the Jasmine Dragon, spending your days off helping Iroh wherever he needed you. He became as much a part of you as his nephew did, and started to consider you as much a daughter as he did Zuko a son. Iroh’s presence soothed the burns left on your soul not only by those you loved, but by your own ferocity towards them.

Everything changed again the morning you woke to and find that Zuko had left the Fire Nation a third time, his face plastered across the news as a missing person with a bounty on his head. You knew based on everything Iroh told you what he planned to do, and immediately set to packing your bags. Travel into and out of the Fire Nation was difficult, but a few of your coworkers had connections to smugglers in the seedier parts of the district - they’d be able to get you onto a ship or a plane that could get you where you needed to go.

Before you left, you went to the Jasmine Dragon and told Iroh of your plans, asking him to keep watch over your apartment so that you could return if need be. You expected him to try and stop you - instead he pulled you into a strong, affectionate hug, telling you to be careful and call him whenever you were able.

“Go to him,” he hummed into your ear. “He needs you.”

Later that night, you met a group of other refugees at the docks, piling into the hull of a cargo ship bound for the Fire Nation’s imperial city. For the entirety of the journey, you wore one of Zuko’s necklace’s around your neck - one of the few things he’d kept from his life before his banishment and subsequent disappearance - keeping it tucked under your shirt and pressed to your chest for good luck.

[ Part 2 ]

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[megahologram]

Creature of the Night | Steve Harrington

A/N: this one’s been on hold for a LONG time, I got writes block.

Warning(s): strong language, (that’s it I think)

°•○●○•°

y/n pressed the gas pedal harder with her foot, speeding her car out of Starcort. It had been a long tiring day at work and all she was looking forward to, was going home, sitting in front of the tv and stuffing her face in popcorn. She was driving through the empty roads, blasting her music loudly, when suddenly she heard a faint static sound from a distance. As if from an empty tv channel or radio or…Dustin’s, “code red, I repeat, this is a code red.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, she pulled her car over to the side of the road, pressing on the brakes and pulling her car to park. She was looking around, staring in the front seats of the car to find where the noise was coming from. Ripping her car apart, her eyes finally landed on the big walkie talkie thing her brother’s nerd friend would use to communicate. Remembering Dustin’s specific words, “they aren’t walkie talkies okay, they are one of a kind, Realistic TRC 219 radio” to which she’d always continue to mock her brother of how nerdy he was. Picking up the item from the back corner of her car, ‘probably Dustin’s’ she thought to herself, placing it on the passenger’s seat and continuing to make her way home.

After a few seconds of driving once again, the radio went off, “I repeat, this is a god damn code red, will someone answer the freaking call.” And with that last message, y/n could recognize the voice too well, once again pulling her car to park, she picked up the radio, “Dustin…is that you?” she asked as soon as she pressed the black button on the side of the radio.

“yes it’s me, how are you talking to me?” he replied with confusion.

“I think one of your nerd friends left their walkie talkies in my car”

“how many times do I have to tell you, it’s not a walkie talkie, it’s a one of a kind Realistic T-you know what, it doesn’t even matter, can you just get Lucas, Mike or Will on the line.”

“why the hell would you think I’m with them. I just got off work and I’m on my way home”

“NO DON’T COME HOME” Dustin practically screams through the radio,

“Dustin, what did you do?”

y/n pulled her car through her driveway, running to the back shed where Dustin was standing and waiting for her. Looking at her brother up and down, “you look ridiculous” she says, chuckling.

“yeah well so do you. Can we do some work now” he says, grabbing the bat in this hands before making his way to the root cellar

Walking behind him, she grabbed the bat from his hands, “I swear to god Dustin, if this is a joke, your riding you bike to school for a month”

“it ate our mom’s cat, I am not joking y/n.”

Signing loudly, walking slowly to the closed-door Dustin locked. “keys?” asking the boy, holding out her hands to which Dustin places them. Opening the lock, she slowly and quietly took it out, letting out a deep breath before holding onto the bat tightly, opening the door quickly. Placing the bat in front of her to see nothing. Walking down the dark steps, opening the light of the cellar, looking around to see it was empty. Shaking her head, annoyed and ready to shout at her brother, she started to walk upstairs when her eyes fell on something. “um Dustin” screaming loudly, calling for him.

“what” hearing him screaming from outside.

“get your ass down here right now” she screams, this caused the boy to quickly make his way down. Looking around and seeing no sign of Dart, he huffs in annoyance.

“is this your pet” y/n asked, holding up the shredded piece of skin with the bat, the hole in the wall visible to both of them now. “shit” Dustin whispers looking at the hole.

--

“okay so what the hell is a Demogorgon?”

“were you not listening at all, I just told you. God I don’t have time for this, can you please just drive faster.” Dustin screams, annoyed at her for asking too many questions.

“okay so what do we tell mom about Mews?” she asked her brother, unable to process the fact that their beloved cat was gone.

“uh we don’t tell her anything. Just say she ran away and never came back”

“okay first of all, that’s horrible. Second of all, don’t roll your eyes at me. I literally just get off work, starving and tired and now I’m here driving you to your dumb nerd friends house cause apparently, you fought a giant creature last year called the Demogorgon and never told me”

Dustin rolls his eyes once again, “your starvation is the least of our problems right now and stop acting like you care about me”

Shocked at his words, she turns her head to face the boy. He sat on the passenger’s side looking out the window. Signing loudly, thinking back to when she moved to her father’s house. She had a huge fight with her mom that evening and the next thing she knew, she was on the bus, on her way to her fathers. y/n were there for nearly a year until her father kicked her out, forcing her to move back to her moms. Though her relationship with her mom improved and they both forgave each other for everything that happened that day, Dustin still didn’t forgive her. She knew how much he had the fear of someone he loves leaving him, he was the one who told her. After their dad left, he made her promise that she’d would never leave like their father did but then she disappeared for a year, coming back with a simple sorry. Dustin never forgave her, and she didn’t expect him to either. Just wished her relationship with her brother could go back like it used to.

“of course, I care about you Dusty” you said sadly.

“if you cared, you wouldn’t have left” he replies harshly as she pulled up at Mike’s house. He got out the car, slamming the door behind him as y/n watch the boy make his way to the front door talking to Mr. Wheeler. After a few minutes, she watched him walk back, only to stop once he started talking to Steve. They exchange a few words when Steve replies with a nod and goes back to his car. Dustin quickly makes his way in the car, closing the door beside him as he say “let’s go”

“where?”

“home”

“why hom-”

“y/n just drive the freaking car, will you?”

“alright alright” y/n says, holding up her hands in defense. Driving the car back their home, y/n noticed Steve’s car following them. “why’s Harrington following us?”

“he’s gonna help” Dustin says shortly, continuing to call his other friends with his radio.

--

“Lucas is coming, still don’t know where Mike and Will are” Dustin tells the two, who were collecting pieces of meat in a bucket.

“great” y/n and Steve both say sarcastically.

Steve and Dustin were walking together, while y/n was behind them. Walking on the train track, placing the pieces of meat on the tracks.

“whose Max?” y/n says, overhearing Steve and Dustin’s conversation.

“none of your business” Dustin says aggressively, walking quick on his feet.

y/n signs loudly, couldn’t deny begin hurt by her brother’s words.

“he’s still mad” Steve says, throwing a few pieces of meat on the ground.

y/n, Nancy and Barb were best friends, after Steve’s king phase was gone, they got along better. Before, when Steve was a dick, both y/n and Barb didn’t like him at all. Then y/n disappeared, when she got back, she came to a complete different Steve. They got along better after that, he knew everything about y/n, why she disappeared for a year and how Dustin was still angry at her.

“yeah, he never talks to me about anything anymore. I wish he’d knew how sorry I was”

“you should tell him that. Just try talking to him when the times right”

“I know. Why were you at Nancy’s today?” y/n asked curiously.

“went to say sorry, she wasn’t home I guess”

“um I think she’s with Jonathan” y/n says sadly, as Steve just nods his head in response.

--

“you guys really think this is gonna work” y/n says as everyone just looks at each other in response.

“it has to” Lucas says, looking at everyone else who nods their head.

“okay then, let’s do this” Dustin says, his grip on his hockey stick tightening.

And this was how y/n and Steve were stuck in this school bus with a bunch of kids, fighting a monster neither of them believed in…entirely.

y/n flinched as she heard something slam against side of the bus. Turning her head, she tried to peak outside the window, only to be interrupted by Steve, “it’s just wind, don’t worry…I won’t let anything happen to you” he winked.

“my hero” y/n replied, rolling her eyes.

y/n was sitting on the steps of the bus, by the front door, trying to be as cautious as she could. Though it was hard when her mind was all over the place. All she could think about was ways to get her brother to forgive her or at least talk to her again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Max speaking, “okay seesh, someone’s cranky, past your bedtime” Watching the girl walk up to the roof of the bus, her eyes landed at her brother’s annoyed expression. Dustin walked back and forth as Steve spoke, “that’s great…just show her you don’t care”

y/n furrowed her eyebrows, unsure what Steve was talking about and why he was smiling like that. Again, her thoughts were interrupted by Dustin’s voice, “I don’t”

y/n noticed Steve wink at her brother at instantly understood. “Steve” she said rather loudly, causing the boy to flinch slightly, “you better not be giving my brother girl advice”

“well, where else is he gonna get it from, you?”

“obviously, you wouldn’t understand a thing about girls, or else Nancy would’ve been here right now with you. But she isn’t, huh!”

Before anyone got a chance to say anything else, everyone heard a loud roar, frightening everyone on that bus.

Lucas and Max were on the roof of the bus, Steve and Dustin shared a window while y/n used the front door of the bus. Everyone stared out in the dark, trying to find the source of the sound. It was difficult because there was smoke everywhere, making it next to impossible to see anything.

“alright, I’m going out” Steve says, picking up his bat that he had punched with nails.

“are you insane?” y/n implies, placing her hand on Steve’s chest, stopping him from moving any further. “you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go out there.”

y/n catches the three kids smirks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she questions what was so funny.

Somehow, y/n will never understand how, but the three kids convinced her to let Steve go. “alright kid, just lure him towards the food and we’ll take it from there, alright?”

Steve chuckles sarcastically, “never call me kid again” making his way outside.

“I may be younger than you but I’m a thousand times smarter” Dustin screams as y/n finally closed the door to the bus.

Admittedly, y/n’s heart was racing, and she never understood why. Maybe it was because she was scared if anything happened to Steve. He is her friend after all.

A few minutes had passed as everyone watched Steve trying his best to lure the creature towards the meat. It was difficult to see it through the fog, but y/n still noticed the change in Steve’s body language, he was nervous. She may not be able to see his face but she knew he was nervous, maybe even scared.

Suddenly, everyone heard Lucas shout, “Steve, 3 o’clock”

As if everyone’s head turned on cue, y/n’s eyes widened as she finally caught a glimpse of the creature for the first time. Not one, in fact, Two? Three?

Both y/n and Dustin screamed on cue, “Steve”

y/n pulled the leaver to let the door open, as Dustin screamed “mission abort.”

y/n watched in horror as a creature launched itself on Steve, him knocking it in the process, quickly turned his direction, running for the bus. “guys move out of the way.” y/n exclaims as she pushed the kids out of the way, making space for Steve to run in.

Instantly closing the door behind him, Steve quickly grabs a metal board for the side, covering it over the door, pushing it closed with his legs, trying his best to stop the creature for getting in.

“They can’t get in, they can’t” Lucas shouts, everyone’s screaming getting louder every time they heard it slam against the door.

As if something clicked, y/n’s eyes widened in horror, “guys the roof” she screams, running towards the ladder.

Everyone’s breathing got louder as they heard the creature launch itself on the roof. The footsteps could be heard as it got closer to the emergency exit at the top. y/n didn’t know what she was doing, she grabbed the metal rod she found beside her, holding it up in the air, ready for it to be used.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she came face to face with the creature. It screamed on her face, some of the slime falling on her face. Her hands were trembling, and her thoughts were racing. ‘what the fuck was she thinking?’

The next few seconds were a blur at the most. One moment, she was ready to be attacked and she was but not by what or who she was expecting. Steve tackled her to the ground, causing her back to slam hard on the cold, hard floor of the bus. A few seconds into realization, they both look over to the emergency exit, seeing as it was gone.

“they’re gone” Max whispers, confusion laced in her voice.

Completely ignoring the kids conversation, y/n realized the events that had unfolded. “what the fuck is wrong you?” she screams at Steve, slapping his chest in an attempt to get his body off hers. Failing miserably at that.

“What the heck were you thinking? What did you think you were going to do, just kick that thing in the balls and think it’s going to get away from you.”

Steve’s words brought rage in her, “no but I’m going to kick you in the balls if you don’t get off me in the next 5 seconds” to which she finally pushed him off her.

“That was so irresponsible, y/n” Steve says, finally lowering his voice as he gets on his feet.

y/n scoffs, shocked at his words, “and what you did there. Just going out there with your nail bat. That wasn’t irresponsible to you.”

“that’s different” Steve replies, walking closer to the girl.

“how’s it different? Cause I’m a girl, you think I can’t-“

“I never said that” Steve cuts you off. Both adults now dangerously close to one another.

“that’s what you meant”

“Guys knock it off okay.” Dustin screams, “goddamn, sometimes I feel like I’m the only mature one around here.”

y/n laughs bitterly at his words, “you wish” she mutters, not intending for him to hear, but he did.

“at least I don’t run away from my problems. I face them” and with that, Dustin walks out of the bus. Leaving y/n to let out a breath she never knew she was holding. Her head fell in her hands as a few tears dropped from her eyes at her brother’s cold choice of words.

“hey…hey” Steve whispers, holding onto her hands, causing the girl unable to hide her state.

“he hates me. He’s never going to forgive me.” y/n stifles out, tears threatening to fall down.

Steve places both his hands on the girls cheek, wiping her tears away. “I promise, he’s angry but he does not hate you. Look at me.”

y/n eyes fall on the man standing in front of her. Maybe she didn’t realize herself but his expression instantly calmed her down. “I don’t know how, but I promise I’ll help you get your brother back okay”

y/n nods her head, pulling Steve in for a hug.

The moment was interrupted by Max fake coughing. Both adults pulled away, facing the two kids that were still awkwardly standing there.

“you need an invitation to leave” Steve says sarcastically, causing y/n to laugh quietly.

“we should leave”

“so what now” Max asks, as everyone stood outside, unable to process what the hell was going on.

“I guess we should head back” y/n says, causing Dustin to turn at her words.

“no, we can’t. Those things are still out there, we gotta do something.”

“Dustin, who knows how many more are out there. And even if we try, do you really think we can just beat those things.”

“Eleven could” Lucas whispers.

Dustin finally hit an idea, “okay, maybe we can’t beat them. What if we find professionals”

“like the law enforcement?” Max questions.

Dustin scoffs, “if I knew they were even one percent helpful, wouldn’t I have called them in the first place.”

Max rolls her eyes at his words. “okay guys calm down. Dustin’s right. We need professionals. Or at least more people than three kids and two lame adults.” Steve exclaims, this time causing y/n to roll her eyes.

“one lame adult” y/n corrects, smiling wickedly at Steve as he just sticks his tongue out.

“real mature”

“guys” Dustin screamed, “y’all can flirt later, we gotta save the world right now”

[tired-college-student-writing]

Tim’s Secret Weapon Pt.6

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav​ ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1 Part 5 Part 6 (HERE) Part 7 ____________________________________________

“I’ll go find her,” Tim offered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“I should go,” Damian argued, only for Timto waved him off as he grabbed his costume from the wardrobe. 

“You look like you just faced Sweet tooth,” He shot back as he pulled off his top. They were used to changing in front of each other by now and he was already wearing his bike shorts under his outfit, “I’m going because I can explain how better then all of you even if I can’t track her number like I would normally.” 

“He’s got you there brat,” Jason huffed, “Though taking backup isn’t exactly the worst idea, replacement.” 

“I can go,” Dick yawned, rolling to his feet as Tim finished pulling on his costume, “Better me then letting Jay get arrested for his guns.” 

“I didn’t even bring them!” 

____________________________________________

Red Robin was trying desperately to not to laugh as he jumped onto the rooftop. 

He and Dick had split up soon after leaving the hotel, remaining in contact with the others through comms. Only after a few short minutes, Tim flew back towards the direction Dick had gone after hearing his eldest brother let out a startled yelp before the unmistakable sound of the comm flying out of his ear. 

The girl with a foot on top of Dick’s back was in a black suit, dark yellow boots and gloves cutting off in sharp points at her knees and elbows, yellow strips cutting around her legs and waist, a top hanging off of a rope she had wrapped around Nightwing’s arms and torso, while translucent wings fluttered on her back. Her yellow and black hair was french braid over her right shoulder, the sharp black tip curved forward with a bee comb placed firmly at her scalp. Her eyes covered by a dark visor that reflected the light to show the compound eye design. 

Even with her number gone with the magical transformation, Tim couldn’t help but feel like she looked familiar. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” She questioned, voice slow and regal. 

“Well, I’m Red Robin,” Tim greeted, trying to ignore the laughter from Jason and Damian in his ear, “And under your foot is Nightwing who is never going to live this down.” 

“Gotham’s heroes?” She questioned, unwrapping Nightwing with a snap of her wrist allowing him to rise, “What on earth did you get all the way to Paris?” 

Tim shrugged, “We’re trying to speak to Ladybug, the League had been ignorant of the situation here until recently and we came to offer our help, miss...” 

“Abeille,” She offered before scoffing, “The league was unaware about we were dealing with, really?” 

Nightwing gave a sheepish smile, “Well the lack of international coverage and lasting damage, anything we found online seemed faked. As soon as we Red realized that it wasn’t we set out for France.” 

Abeille gave them a considering look, “Well… while I’m not happy it took you so long to come help, better late than never I guess. I saw Ladybug out and about earlier so let me give her a call.” 

She picked up her top and it split it in half, showing off a screen and keyboard. 

“How the he-” 

She cut Tim off, “Don’t question the magic, it will just give you a migraine if you think about it too long.” 

“Abeille? I didn’t know you’d be on patrol already, usually, you don’t head out until 6,” The distinct voice of  Marinette sounded through the speaker. 

“Well I saw two masked weirdos that I didn’t know hopping around the rooftops, so I checked it out,” She answered dryly, “Lo and behold that is wasn’t an Akuma or Sentimonster,”

“What? Who are they then? Please tell me this isn’t an Owl situation again,” Marinette asked hastily. 

Abeille smirked, “well no wannabe heroes being stupid,” She told the other hero as she turned the device around to point at the two Gothamites, “But we have two real heroes that would like to meet you,” 

“Hello!” Dick greeted with a cheerful wave as Marinette’s mouth fell open.

“Nightwing and Red Robin?” She questioned, “What are you doing here?” 

“They said the League finally got a clue,” Abeille relays, “Should I send them over to the normal meeting spot?” 

“Well, yeah but we should probably-” 

Tim listened to his comm before cutting her off, “Would it be alright if the other Bats with us too? Bats, Red Hood and Robin feel like we should talk as a group?” 

Dick snickered, “Yeah Rob wanted to come originally, but he met with his girlfriend in civvies and she pumped an entire tray of eclair on him so he had to clean up.” 

Ladybug visibly paled in the screen as the pieces slide into place, “Yeah, you can all come. I’ll meet them alone in 30 minutes, Abeille. You can keep patrolling. Bug Out!” 

The screen cut off as Abeille hummed, “I can give you guys the coordinates if you give me the signal you’re working on.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “It’s a secure channel, you-“ 

“Oh I know I shouldn’t be able to link up to it,” She cut him off with a wave of her hand, “But again magic, it can link up to anything as long as I have the necessary info and a miraculous communicator can’t be hacked, so no worries about your secrets being leaked. It’ll even wipe the memory of your signal from itself as soon as I detransform.” 

“Geez,” Dick whistled as Tim related the message to her, “Are there any drawbacks to having one of these?”

She snorted as their comma both dinged with the coordinates, “Yeah, two big one, they send out butterflies and feathers on a semi-regular basis to turn our family and friends against us,” 

“Mood,” Tim hummed thinking back to when he had to fight other heroes due to the villain of the week’s mind control. 

____________________________________________

The location they were given was for an office building across from the Louvre, no windows higher than it, and a rusted shut access door. Overall not a bad meeting spot, seeing as it would be very hard to spot them up there unless they were sitting on the edge of the building. 

The Bats were only partially hidden from view as they waited for Marinette to arrive, Damian pacing slightly. 

There was a near-silent ‘twip’ before they saw a polka-dotted yoyo wrap around one of the many antennas next to them and a frazzled looking Ladybug appeared in front of them. 

“Are you guys really…” She trailed off with a slightly panicked look on her face. 

“Yes, Habibti,” Damian confirmed lightly, “I am sorry for startling you earlier, but we thought it best to inform you that we knew now and offer our support.” 

“But how?” She questioned, seeming not at all concerned that her boyfriend was in fact a superhero from a superhero family as she buried her hands in her hair, “I mean I’ve always been careful around you to not let my powers slip, I used the horse miraculous to travel back to Paris is an Akuma came while I was in Gotham so I had an alibi if you ever questioned me, but that didn’t seem to matter since No one outside of Paris seemed to believe that there was anything happening anyways, heck even the tourists seemed to publicity stunt the mayor is running since there’s never any lasting damage-”

Damian stepped forward and wrapped her into a firm embrace, allowing her frantic breathing to slow as they all waited silently. 

“I’m Meta,” Tim spoke after she seemed mostly calm, voice a little weak as Dick places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “We know because I’m meta and as it turns out Miraculous users screw up my skills enough for me to take notice, I just recently put it together, Demon Spawn’s girlfriend and the hero of Paris.” 

Her eyes widen over Damian’s shoulder, “Is that why you avoided me when I first came over?”

The group chuckled as he blushed slightly, but he opened his mouth to start explaining what he could do and how they could offer help before a cry sounded to their right. 

Instinct pushing all of them towards the edge they rushed to see a ten-foot tall woman in a huge red ball gown, blood dripping from her hands as she screeched. Guards dressed in bright red squire outfits lined the Louvre’s courtyard. 

“Great,” Ladybug mumbled as she watched Chat taunt the being, Viperion and Abeille arriving as well, “I hate Valentine season, so many love based akumas.” 

“We should-”

“You should go back to your hotel,” Marinette cut off Bruce, causing all eyes to fly to her, “I have a team already who are starting to show up and introducing all five of you at once mid-battle will only serve as a distraction. I’ll come over after and we’ll talk, then we’ll discuss the next including a plan to introduce the permanent team, but for now, you need to stay out of the way until we figure out what to do.” 

Damian looks like he wants to protest, but Bruce simply nods. 

“It’s your city,” The patriarch, “We will defer to you, but could we stay within viewing distance of the battle? It would allow us to observe how you usually operate.” 

She bit her lip but nodded, “Stay hidden please, I really mean it when I say I don’t want any distractions, Kwami knows that they get mind-controlled enough without it.” 

She swan dived off the ledge with that, yoyo snapping out to catch her and launch her towards her teammates, Ryuko who had just arrived easily sidestepping to allow their leader to take point next to Chat Noir. 

The Gotham Heros settled onto the rooftop to watch as Tim's eyes scanned the heroes below and mentally added them into his system. 

Viperion was a mystery still, but even with the numbers he was so used to seeing missing he didn’t have a problem placing the others with what he observed earlier. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng- Cursive Soft Pink 15, Codenamed Ladybug

Chloe Bourgeois- Delicate Canary Yellow 14, Codenamed Abeille

???- Calligraphed Burgundy 13, Codenamed- Ryuko

Adrian Agreste- Bubble lettered Neon Green 15, Codenamed Chat Noir.

____________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum​ @rougemme​ @dur55​ @phantommeow12 @kand-roo​ @silvergold-swirl​ @officiallyathiana​ @completelypeccable​ @redhoodsdoll​ @nataladriana9​ @mariae2900​ @northernbluetongue​ @sturchling​ @thesunanditsangel​ @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo​ @bobothyross @taoiichii​ @magnitude101999​ @magicalfirebird​ @nataladriana9​ @panda3506​ @aquariusrunes​ @woodland-queer @sayarock121​ @mindfulmagics​ @magic-miraculous​ @my-name-is-michell​

[natbatuniverse]

Addiction

Words: 1442

Connor x Daughter!Reader

W/ Dad!Hank Anderson

A/N: Hi guys. Well, here it is, the first chapter of Addiction. I’ve been home a lot lately due to being sick, so I’ve had the chance to sit down and play the game over again. Actually, make that a few times. I’ve had this idea for a while and wanted to write it (finally). The idea of Hank having a daughter that meets and falls in love with our sweet boy Connor wouldn’t leave my mind. This first installment is just how Connor and you, the reader, meet. If this gets interest, I’ll write more. That’s a lie, I’m already writing the next chapter. :))

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

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

I leaned against my car, my phone rested in my hand; almost falling from my soaked hand. The bright blue light radiating from the screen lit up the falling raindrops, I clicked my father’s name before lifting it to my ear and listened to it ring and then his voicemail,

“Sorry I missed your call. I’m probably shit-faced right now, leave a message after the tone if it’s important.”

My father’s familiar, gruff voice filled my ears. I groaned and hung up, I glanced up and looked around to see if I could spot his car and to no surprise, he wasn’t there. Bystanders, androids, and officers I recognize surrounded the area. A pot-bellied man, who I've known for a while now, Ben Collins stood out the front of the victim's home. I pushed myself up and went to walk across the road to get the investigation on with, but before I could loud, hardcore music blared down the road and pulled in front of my car. I shook my head before going back to lean on my car, I could see two figures in the oh so familiar car in front of me.

“Fucking-A, whatever I say…” I heard my father’s voice mumbled as he exited his car, I crossed my arms.

“Nice of you to join me, dad.”

I could see him jump slightly at my annoyed tone, putting one foot in front of the other, I started making my way towards the small home. The officer android nodded to me as I passed through the hologram police tap, I stopped waiting for my dad to catch up.

“Joss Douglas, for Channel 16. Can you confirm that this is a homicide?”

I only glanced at the journalist, dad answering for us, “We’re not confirming anything.”

We were going to continue making our way to Ben when we were stopped again, “Androids are not permitted beyond this point.”

“It’s with me,”

My eyes trailed the male android as he got closer. He was tall; 6ft something, dark brown hair that was slicked back other than the few rouge locks that fall over his face, and his eyes were a soft chocolate brown.

“What part of ‘stay in the car’ didn’t you understand?”

Hank grumbled,

“Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant.”

I tilted my head slightly at the android. Contradicted his instructions? Who was this guy?

“You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything and you stay outta our way, got it?” “Got it.”

My father stalked off to talk with Ben, leaving me behind with the android. He glanced at me before turning his head towards me,

“You must be Detective (Y/N) Anderson,” I nodded my head.

“I’m Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife. I am to assist you and Lieutenant with your cases.”

The android, that I now know as Connor, explained to me. I again nodded my head and held my hand out, Hank may not be fond of androids, but I didn’t have anything against them. Connor accept the handshake before we made our way to Hank and Ben,

“So… you got yourself an android, huh?”

“Oh, very funny. Just tell me what happened.”

Dad grumbled once again,

“We had a call around eight from the landlord. The tenant hadn't paid his rent for a few months, so he thought he'd drop by, see what was going on... That's when he found the body…” Ben explained as we walked inside.

“Jesus, that smell!”

“Was even worse before we opened the windows... The victim's name's Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault... According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner... Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him.”

“By the state he’s in… wasn’t worth calling everybody out in the middle of the night… Could’ve waited ‘til morning.”

I whined as I blocked my nose from the scent of rotting flesh.

“ I'd say he's been there for a good three weeks. We'll know more when the coroner gets here. There's a kitchen knife over here... Probably the murder weapon…”

I stood a few feet away from the body, I may have been a detective that has worked homicide for five years, but it’s never stopped me from almost passing out to a dead body.

“What do we know about his android?”

Dad asked as he placed a comforting hand on my upper back, something he’s always done since I became his partner. “Not much. The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn't here when we arrived... I gotta get some air. Make yourself at home. I'll be outside if you need me.”

Ben left us standing in the middle of the living room, Dad moved from my side and examined the writing on the wall.

“Each letter is perfect… It’s way too neat, no human writes like this.”

“Hey Chris, was this written in the victim’s blood?”

I asked as Chris, an officer my father and I were close with, walked into the room.

“I would say so… We’re taking samples for analysis.”

I looked around the room, remembering that we had forgotten about Connor. He was crouched down next to a puddle of the victim’s blood, a finger dipped in it and was soon about to be in his mouth.

“Connor? What the hell are you doing?”

I questioned him.

“I’m analyzing the blood. I can check samples in real-time. I’m sorry, I should have warned you…”

I nodded slowly as I squinted my eyes,

“Alright, just... Don’t… put any more evidence in your mouth, you got it?” Hank warned him as he grimaces.

“Got it.”

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this shit…”

I crouched down next to the deceased body, waving away the few flies that buzzed around my face. My eyes traced over the many stab wounds on his chest and round belly, shaking my head with a sigh. A pair of feet stepped beside me,

“He was stabbed 28 times.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, it seems like the killer had it out for him.”

I stood up and wandered around the small home, taking note of the disturbed furniture and blood-stained walls. I walked down the hallway, leaving the kitchen and peered into the doorway at the end of the hallway, a small bathroom. Slightly ripped shower curtain and flickering lights, I went to pull back the shower curtain but stopped at Connor’s voice calling both myself and Hank.

“Lieutenant. Detective, I think I’ve figured out what happened.”

“Oh yeah? Shoot. We’re all ears.”

I stalked back to them,

“It all started… in the kitchen.”

We stepped into the kitchen, I crossed my arms and listened to the RK800 explain what happened to Carlo about three weeks ago.

“There’s obvious signs of a struggle… The question is, what exactly happened here…”

I stayed quiet as my father and Connor conversed,

“I think the victim attacked the android… with the bat.”

“That lines up with the evidence… Go on.”

Connor continued to go through all the evidence and explained what happened, all the small pieces finish the puzzle if placed in the right order.

“Okay, your theory’s not totally ridiculous... But it doesn’t tell us where the android went.”

I finally spoke up, Connor looked at me and nodded.

“It was damaged by the bat and lost some Thirium..”

“Lost some what?”

Hank looked at him perplexed.

“Thirium. We call it ‘Blue Blood”. It’s the fluid that power’s their biocomponents. It disappears after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye.”

Both Hank and Connor looked surprised at my knowledge of android anatomy and fluids, Hank shook his head and turned to Connor.

“But I bet you can still see it, can’t you?”

“Correct.”

Connor blinked a few before taking his attention before looking for remains of blue blood. Dad once again looked at me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“How’d… How’d you know all of that?”

I shrugged.

“That, my dearest father, is a secret,”

The screech of wood being dragged on wood filled our ears.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! What are you doin’ with that chair?”

Hank raced back to the hallway and I followed, “I’m going to check something.”

Connor dragged the chair to the end of the hallway and stood on it before lifting himself into the attic. He was up there for a few minutes, we could hear the footsteps above us and loud bangs like something had fallen.

“Connor? Everything okay up there?”

I called up to him,

“It’s here, Lieutenant!”

I looked to Dad and he called out,

“Holly shit… Chris, Ben, get your asses in here now!”

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

[i-guess-im-a-fanfic-writer-now]

TITLE OF POST (because tumblr is a nightmare): A better life (Chapter 16, Avengers x reader)

——

hey, so posting on the tungle dot hell website is now a nightmare because things have been changed in a very very extremely immeasurably stupid way,,, i will not be having a consistent posting schedule anytime soon

so here’s chapter 16, and if you think “this writer has no idea what they’re doing” at any point, that’s accurate, i don’t plot things, my brain just makes me write things spontaneously, and i like plants and started thinking about them while writing and obviously had to write that in

i hope you enjoy this fuckery, and if you like it, please say something or signal it to me in one way or another, i hope you’re all doing okay with life right now, and if you’re stuck with shitty relatives, you’re doing great, time is irrelevant but i hope you have a good,,, day??? time

chapter 16:

A few hours after falling asleep, you woke up. Though you did wake up with a feeling of dread, this time, you didn’t exactly wake up from a nightmare. Maybe it was just from anxiety. When you checked your phone though, there were half a dozen notifications on your phone. Peter had messaged a few times, and he seemed to be getting worried from not getting any response from you. One of the messages was your mother, again. You responded to her first, wanting to get it out of the way immediately. She only wanted to know what was happening, and didn’t care about how you were actually doing, and honestly, you just wanted to be able to stay at the Tower for longer, avoiding her as much as possible.

You pulled the covers tighter over yourself and replied to Peter. He didn’t answer, which made sense: it was dark in the room, and it seemed to be night at that point. He’d probably be asleep already.

After staying motionless in bed for some time, you got up, dragging one of the blankets with you and placing it over your shoulders and head like a cape. You wrapped yourself in it like a bat in its wings. Or like a dramatic vampire with their cape. Still in complete darkness, you walked over through the door and left the room.

The silence was so deep, you could hear your own breathing.

The thought of anyone’s reaction to you walking through the hall in the dead of night, a blanket dramatically draped over you, made you chuckle quietly.

When you got to the kitchen, you put the kettle on to make tea. After getting hot water and putting the sachet in, you went over to the wall-sized windows in the area with the couches.

There was something about this common room that was interesting during the night. You could see the stars through the window, and you were completely alone, drinking tea, looking through the window. There’s a feeling to being in a normally crowded place once it’s empty. This wasn’t eerie - in fact, it was somehow almost calming.

The sight of stars gave you some hope. Your past was.. something, but your future would be okay. You’d be okay. And you’d be with the Avengers, and Tony Stark had already proven that you could trust him with how he reacted when he found out. He was already doing things to try and help you, and everyone else here had been nice to you so far.

*Maybe I do have a chance,* you thought, *at happiness. Maybe I’ll have a family that doesn’t make me feel like shit. Even though we’re not actually related by blood.*

You walked over to a couch that faced the window and lowered yourself into it.

You opened your eyes to see the light of the rising sun shining onto you. You didn’t remember putting your tea mug on the floor, or falling asleep at any point. The room was still quiet, and you thought no one would be there.

When you got up, after grabbing your already nearly cold mug, you noticed Clint was up early for some reason. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air and he say on the kitchen counter, his head in his hands. You approached him. The coffee machine was still going. It was a miracle it still worked, really, with how much he used it daily.

You put your mug on the table, and touched his arm lightly to attract his attention so you’d be able to converse in sign language.

“Hey.. you know that if you have a headache, you probably shouldn’t be drinking that much coffee, right?

“Oh, Y/N, hey! What’re you doing here?” He looked even more exhausted than he did usually.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m tired. You?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”

He nodded and you briefly smiled at each other.

“So, why are you out? You been here all night?”

“I’m not sure, actually? I just woke up at some point. Came here. It’s nice at night, you know?”

“Yeah, it is.”

After a long pause, you started to turn away from him to go to your room with your mug, but you noticed him signing before looking away.

“Care to share what’s been bothering you?” After seeing your confused expression, he continued. “I mean, your reaction to me asking about your family when Tony dragged us over to have food. I haven’t forgotten that, you know. Your face does that thing when you get taken by surprise by something. Your reaction to Tony grabbing your arm. To touch in general, really. Wanda and Pietro mentioned you seeming off the other day.”

You stayed silent as a knot formed in your stomach.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“It’s okay.”

He shook his head and got off the counter.

You hesitated, watching him get closer. “My relatives can be intense. That’s it.” You started fidgeting with your fingers.

”Explain.”

You were the one to shake your head this time.

“Are you being hurt?”

There was a slight pause.

“Stop.” Your heart dropped, and the last thing you wanted was to seem rude, especially to Clint, who taught you so much since you got here, who spent so much time with you, but this was just too much.

He stopped pressing, and you grabbed your mug and left the room in a hurry, hiding in yours immediately.

*God, now he knows. I’m so stupid.*

It took you a few minutes to calm yourself down at least a bit, and then you picked a book off the shelf behind the couch in your room. You started reading, though you were having a hard time concentrating on the words on the pages because of the signed conversation you just had with Clint. What would he do now that he knew? Maybe he’d go to Tony and ask him what to do, and he’d tell him to not force it, that he knows, that he’s doing something to change your situation. Or maybe he’d go talk to Wanda and Pietro and tell them. Maybe everyone would find out. Did everyone already have suspicions about it?

*I’m sure as hell not going back out there.. guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens... I really hope he just tells mister Stark and no one else.*

You let out a sigh accompanied by a small “aaaaaa” noise, trying to release some pent up anxiety, and then immediately flung yourself onto the side of the couch in front of the tv in the room, sitting up on the armrest like a gargoyle, remote in hand. You turned the tv on, settling on a gardening channel after a few minutes of clicking and looking around.

“Maybe I should get some plants in my room”, you whispered to yourself.

A few minutes of staring emptily at the screen while thinking convinced you: you need houseplants. Well, for your room. This led to you questioning whether anyone else on the floor has plants in their room. Plants can be really helpful, because when you have a really hard time taking care of yourself, taking care of something that isn’t you can be helpful. It gives you a reason to keep going. Plants are usually easier to care for: when something’s wring, they show it, and it’s relatively easy to determine. And plants make the air better.

*Maybe everyone here should have at least one plant*, you thought.

Somehow, once you came out of your thinking, an hour passed.

You left the room, having completely forgotten the conversation you had with Clint earlier, now fully distracted by the one thing on your mind: getting a plant, or several plants. Probably several. And asking Tony if anyone had a plant. Maybe to suggest every person should have at least one.

You went to the kitchen, trying to find Tony. Thor and a pasty white man whose hair fell to his shoulders were having an intense conversation, standing beside the kitchen table. You walked closer to them, unsure yet determined to get what you wanted. Thor quiets down and puts his hand up in front of him, prompting the other man to go quiet after following Thor’s gaze, which was now upon you.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you?” He smiles.

“Hi, I’m okay, you?”

He replies positively, which lets you ask your question.

“Do you know where Mister Stark is? Also - this might sound weird - but do you have a plant in your room? Like, here. At the Tower. You know.”

He looks puzzled, but goes with it. “I think he’s down at his workshop place? In the basement, perhaps? If not, he might be in the lab, with Bruce Banner. I don’t have a plant, why do you ask?”

“Thank you! Oh, I was just, I, um, I was watching a gardening channel, and then remembered that plants better the air quality, and - you know, plant things, and stuff”, you finish off your sentence, fearing you’d be unable to continue without talking about plants for half an hour, and not wanting to bother him with it.

The dark haired man stared at you in disbelief, probably offended you hadn’t mentioned his presence. “Sorry, I noticed you, I’m just thinking about plants, and if I get distracted right now I’ll get distracted for the rest of the day and completely forget what I’m thinking, and if that happens, I’ll remember it in the dead of night and that would be a disaster for my already freestyle sleep schedule”, you addressed him.

He raised his eyebrows as an amused expression appeared on his face. “Y/N, is it? Loki. Of Asgard.” At this introduction, you mumbled something along the lines of a polite *nice to meet you*. “So, Y/N, tell me, where might you be from? Although, no, go find Stark and talk about... plants? But later, I want to get to know you. You wouldn’t mind that, would you? We’ll have a nice chat.”

Thor looked at him and then you, with a face that could only be described as the reaction of someone being presented with a bad idea.

You did a quick, awkward thumbs up, not knowing exactly how to answer to any of this, and quickly walked over to the lift, pressing the button and leaving the floor as the two men resumed their animated conversation.

You’d decided on checking in for Tony at the lab first, since it was quicker to get to there than to the workshop, which was all the way down and then some.

He wasn’t there, though Bruce Banner was. The two of you met before, but never actually had a conversation: he was in a quiet, reflective mood when you first met, on the first night you stayed in the Tower.

After a short conversation and him focusing really hard on his scientific research, he said something along the lines of “see you later”, and you took that as your time to leave, still in search of Tony.

You went down to his workshop, finally getting there after a few stops on random floors where people got onto the lift. You were super uncomfortable, not sure how to react to strangers, so you just didn’t react, keeping your gaze to the floor and staying in the corner.

There he was, staring intently at a piece of a new suit, looking to be deep in thought.

You softly knocked at the door to the actual workshop, hoping it would get his attention. When it didn’t, you pushed the door ever so slightly, trying to communicate without intruding too much. That’s when he noticed you, and he seemed as if he had just come out of a sort of trance.

“Oh hey, Y/N, listen, I’m having a problem with this suit, been standing here practically frozen for an hour pr two, not sure, time barely happens here, you mind helping me with the execution an idea?”

You agreed to help and he immediately started describing the problem to you. Though you still couldn’t take your mind off of plants, you tried to help out, and at some point while you were speaking about a way to make his idea possible, he whispered “ah-ha! precisely, thank you!!”

A few minutes later - a few minutes that passed by as you stood awkwardly and Tony asked his robots to hand him instruments and other objects - he was done with one part of the idea. He suddenly turned to you.

“So what’s up? What’s got you going all the way down here?”

“Yeah, okay, so, um, this might sound weird or stupid, but-“, you started.

“Nope. Impossible. Because I’ll most probably be curious. Weird is the best. Go ahead, with what you were gonna say, but please don’t say that something you’re thinking is stupid, right? It’s all good.”

“Okay... right, um, so, I was thinking - I was watching a gardening show, and it got me thinking - plants!”

He nodded.

“Um, I, sorry, I’m kind of, uh, I don’t know”. You take a slight pause. “Words aren’t working right because I just really like plants and sometimes it gets difficult to express what I want to say and the words just don’t go to my brain, and right now it’s because I’m... I’m not sure what emotion this is but it’s like, the opposite of frustrated, though I am frustrated with myself for my inability to communicate, and I’m sorry because now I’m rambling and I’m gonna stop for a minute or two and gather my brain.”

You take a deep breath, later noticing Tony is smiling.

“That is such a mood. Take your time. Happens to everyone. I think. Maybe. I don’t know, actually. Right, plants. What about plants? Oh! Do you want plants? In your room?”

Your face lit up. “Yeah! That. Like, the benefits plants can bring to the air quality and health in general, be it physical or mental, they’re pretty cool, and I, um, I was thinking, maybe everyone should have at least one plant in their room? I don’t know. Like, plants!! You know?”

“Hell yeah!!! We could definitely do that, might help some people, right! Do you have any suggestions? Like, plant suggestions?”

The part of you that’s practically completely obsessed with plants starts rapid-fire listing off names of plants with enthusiasm, prompting Tony to react in a “whoa whoa wait” way, which is perfectly understandable. Sometimes you can’t even keep up with how quickly your brain might be going. Other times, your thinking is painfully slow and everything is boring. It occurs to you that brains are incredibly weird.

You continue listing plants, speaking slower this time, but still with a whole lot of enthusiasm. He seems to take all you say into his brain, trying to remember it.

“Do you want to go right now?” he asks suddenly.

“Sorry?”

“Do you want to go right now? Plant haul. Let’s get these plants. In the similar fashion of saying “let’s get this bread”, you know. So do you want to go right now? To the plant stores.”

“I’d love to!!!”

“Fantastic!!! Let’s go!!!” He walks over to the door, exits, and holds it open for you, and then the two of you reach the lift.

“Nat’s a cactus with a pink flower on top”, he casually states, with a hint of humour in his voice, as the doors of the lift close. You smile.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 19

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Tuesday, 5th October 1971, 4:30 pm

Remus left the hospital wing and headed straight for Gryffindor tower. He was still a little sore from his transformation, but there was no way he was going to admit that to Madam Pomfrey. Knowing her, she would keep him in for an extra night, and he wanted to see his friends too much for that. He had information they needed to know. 

Before leaving, though, he had asked her about the mystery of his full-moon symptoms starting so much earlier than normal, and she had put it down to how much he was using his magic every day. It was nice to have an answer, but, on this occasion, he hoped she was wrong. If she was right, it meant three full days of pain every month instead of one. Although, when he really thought about it, he had to admit, if he were forced to choose between Hogwarts and less pain, he would choose Hogwarts. Even if it meant pain all day every day, he would choose Hogwarts.

He clambered through the portrait hole, dashed across the common room (as much as he could dash with his aching joints, other people would probably call it a meander), and up the stairs to the dorm.

He burst into the room with an excited, ‘Guys, I’ve figured it out!’ kicking the door closed behind him, crossing the room and dropping his bag on his bed.

‘Figured what out?’ James asked, leaping off his bed and jumping around, apparently caught up in the excitement.

‘Hello, Remus. And how are you feeling?’ Sirius asked from where he was lounging on his bed and writing in his journal.

Remus turned to face Sirius. ‘I’m all better now, thank you. Nothing to worry about.’ He turned back to James, who was still bouncing on his toes waiting for the news. ‘I’ve figured out how to make everyone burp bubbles.’

‘Yes!’ James punched the air. ‘You are the best researcher a team of magical mischief-makers could ever ask for! How do we do it?’

Remus smiled. He had been hoping the news would be sufficient distraction to keep them from asking questions about his hospital stay. It looked like it was working.

‘The belch powder uses delayed transfiguration, like on the robes the Marauder did. So all we have to do is add an extra layer and set it to be triggered two seconds after the first layer.’

‘And you know how to do that?’ Peter asked.

‘Yes, it’s really easy. I can show you.’

Sirius closed his journal and placed it gently on the bed next to him, stood up in a single, graceful movement and sauntered over to him. ‘Hmm,’ he said, looking Remus right in the eyes. ‘I think I know your secret.’

Remus’ blood went cold.

 -o-o-o-o-

 ‘Hmm, I think I know your secret.’

Remus’ face went white. Shit. That was an epically piss-poor choice of words. Sirius hurried to finish before Remus did something ridiculously stupid, like outing himself by shouting, “I’m not a werewolf.”

‘You’re the Hogwarts Marauder,’ he said, pointing at him.

‘What?’ James said.

Sirius turned to James to explain his theory. And to take the attention off of Remus, who seemed to be struggling to catch his breath. ‘He has regular access to the laundry,’ he said, ticking each point off on his fingers. ‘He has apparently used delayed transfiguration before because he knows it’s “easy.” And he somehow knows the Marauder used delayed transfiguration to do the robe trick. He is amazingly good at transfiguration, as if he’s had lots of extra practice. And I’m pretty sure he was lying when he said he’d never altered a spell before. Therefore, I conclude, he is the Marauder.’

James’ eyes went wide, and he turned to Remus. ‘Is he right? Are you the Marauder?’

Remus seemed to have regained control of his lungs and he nodded. ‘Yeah. You got me, Sirius. It was me.’

‘That is so bloody brilliant!’ James said, returning to bouncing like an over-excited squirrel. ‘We can all be The Marauders! It’s much easier to say than magical mischief-makers. Oh, I wish we’d known before the niffler hunt. We could have used it for our team name.’

‘Breathe, James,’ Sirius said, laughing.

‘That was awesome, Remus. I really liked the lion,’ Peter said.

‘Thanks, Pete. I can make you another one if you like?’

Peter grinned. ‘Yes, please!’

James suddenly stopped bouncing. ‘If we’re going to be a club, we need rules and stuff.’

Remus frowned. ‘We’re a club now?’

‘Hell yeah, we’re a club!’ Sirius said.

James ran over to his trunk and pulled out another brand new notebook with a beautiful red dragon-hide cover, before sitting at the head of his bed cross-legged and patting the mattress in front of him. ‘Come on.’

Sirius and Peter were quick to pile on, but Remus hesitated. Sirius shuffled further over to make more room for him. ‘Come on, mate. You’re safe with us.’

Remus climbed onto the bed with extreme caution, sitting himself right on the edge. He was in danger of falling off, but Sirius didn’t want to push him. The full moon was only last night. Speaking of which…

‘Oh, if this is our first club meeting, then we should have chocolate,’ he said, before climbing carefully off the bed and going to his trunk to fetch the extra-large box of chocolate frogs he’d ordered ready for today. Fancy expensive chocolates were delicious, but right now Remus needed quantity, not quality, and he figured he’d be willing to eat more if they were cheap ones.

Sirius plonked the box in the middle of James’ bed and climbed back on.

James raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Are we ready now?’ 

‘Not quite,’ Sirius said. He ripped the box open, took out four chocolate frogs, throwing one to each of them and ripping the fourth open, before taking a bite. ‘Now we’re ready.’

James chuckled and shook his head. Ignoring his chocolate frog, he placed the notebook on top of the box in the middle of the bed. ‘This book comes with a built-in notice-me-not charm. If we all channel our magic into it and then activate the charm, we’ll be the only ones who see it.’

Sirius frowned at James. ‘Are you telling me you’ve had a way to pass notes in class without being seen this whole time and you never said?’

James gaped at him. ‘I never even thought of that.’

‘Idiot,’ Sirius said, cuffing James around the back of the head.

James scowled at him but didn’t argue. ‘Yeah, alright. Get your wands out then.’

They all took out their wands and channelled their magic into the notebook before James activated the charm. He opened the notebook to the first page and wrote  “The Marauders” across the top, followed by their names in a list.

‘We need to pick roles,’ James said. ‘I’m the ideas man, and Remus is obviously Chief of Research. Sirius?’

Sirius grinned. ‘I’m the charm.’

‘Why exactly do we need charm?’

‘To charm our way out of detention, of course. Minnie loves me.’

‘Hmm. We’ll come back to you. Peter?’

Peter shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m not really any good at anything.’

‘You’re great at potions. You’ve stopped me killing myself at least twice,’ Remus said.

‘And we’re all very grateful for that,’ Sirius said, nodding.

‘Chief Potioneer,’ James said, writing it down next to Peter’s name.

‘If Remus and Peter are both Chiefs, then we should be too,’ Sirius said. ‘You can be Chief Imaginator. And I’ll be Chief… Um.’

‘Artist?’ Remus suggested.

‘Excellent idea.’ James wrote both the titles next to their names and turned the page. He wrote Marauders Code along the top of the new page and looked back up.

‘Rules?’

Sirius grinned. ‘All feast days are Marauder celebrations and should be marked as such with Mischief.’

James pointed his quill at him. ‘Nice!’

‘All Marauder Mischief should be harmless and fun for everyone,’ Remus said before taking a large bite from his third chocolate frog. 

‘Unless we’re getting revenge,’ James said.

‘That’s not mischief,’ Remus said with a shrug. ‘It’s revenge.’

‘Good point.’ James wrote it down.

‘Marauders always keep each other’s secrets,’ Peter said.

‘But are not obligated to reveal their secrets before they’re ready,’ Sirius added quickly, making extra sure he wouldn’t look at Remus when he said it by reaching for another chocolate frog.

‘Rule, and amendment, accepted,’ James said.

‘Ooh, Marauders always come before girls,’ Sirius said.

James rolled his eyes. ‘Obviously.’ He wrote it down anyway.

‘A Marauder will always come to a fellow Marauder’s aid,’ Peter said.

‘That really goes without saying, doesn’t it?’ James said. ‘But I’ll write it down anyway.’

None of them could think of any other rules, so James put the notebook away, and they spent the rest of the evening stuffing their faces with chocolate and making more plans for Halloween. Remus was given a new research assignment, trying to find the recipe for the animation potion they had used before, and Sirius was delegated the task of drawing the most realistic picture of a bat he could manage. 

 -o-o-o-o-

 They didn’t find time to practise the mass delayed-transfiguration until Saturday. Remus had still been exhausted from the moon on Wednesday and spent the whole afternoon asleep, and it was far too much work to bother starting during a measly hour-long free period. Thursday evening, Remus and Sirius had Art Club, and Friday evening, they had all agreed they were too tired.

Remus sat his students down in a line on the floor and gave them each a bowl he’d borrowed from the kitchen that morning.

‘I want you to find your magical core and channel your magic into the bowl, just like we did with the notebook,’ he said.

He watched as they all placed their wand tips on their bowls and closed their eyes, and he knew it was working when the hairs on his arms stood on end. 

‘Good. Now’—he handed each of them a chocolate frog wrapper he had saved for the lesson—‘I want you to turn your wrapper pink.’

They frowned at him but did as they were told.

‘What was the point in that?’ James asked. ‘We’ve been able to do that for weeks.’

‘Because you have to do what you just did at the same time as channelling your magic and speaking the incantations for the delayed transfiguration, the timing charm and my combining spell.’

‘I thought you said it was easy,’ Sirius said.

Remus shrugged. ‘It is. You just have to focus.’

‘I can’t focus on that many things at once. I can barely focus on one thing.’

‘I found it easiest if you start channelling first, before focusing on your target and intent. Once you have your magic flowing, it’s fairly easy to turn your attention to something else while it continues in the background. We can work on adding the incantations when you get the hang of the first part.’

‘Okay,’ Sirius said, still sounding sceptical.

‘So, start channelling your magic. Once it’s flowing into the bowl, create your mental images of the pink wrapper and whatever colour you want to turn it. And if you think you’re ready, say the incantation for the delayed transfiguration.  Moratus Mutatio . You’ll need to channel for about twenty seconds to change the wrapper.’ 

‘Moratus Mutatio,’ they all repeated before beginning the task.

James was the first to open his eyes. He grinned at Remus but didn’t speak, obviously knowing better than to break his friends’ concentration. Peter was next. He looked around and seemed surprised to see Sirius was still trying. Looking at Remus, he raised his eyebrows, jerked his head towards Sirius and raised his fists in the air as if celebrating a victory. It took all of Remus’ self-control not to laugh. Sirius didn’t take much longer, opening his eyes about thirty seconds after Peter and glancing to the others. 

‘Dammit, I’m last,’ he said with a huff. 

‘It’s not a competition, Sirius,’ Remus said. 

‘Everything,’ Sirius said, ‘is a competition.’

Remus rolled his eyes. ‘If you say so. Let’s see if you all managed it, shall we? Drop your wrappers into your bowl.’

They did so and all three of them changed. James’ turned Gryffindor red, Peter’s turned white and Sirius’ turned blue with bright orange spots. 

‘No wonder you took longer,’ Remus said. ‘Why did you bother with spots?’

Sirius shrugged. ‘If you’re going to do something, might as well do it properly.’

Remus laughed. ‘Well, I guess if everything’s a competition you won this round. Ten points to Gryffindor.’

‘If only you  could  hand out points,’ James said. 

Remus was finding he quite enjoyed teaching. He got a thrill of excitement when they managed to achieve something under his guidance.

‘What’s next?’ Peter asked.

‘Next, you need to learn the timing charm. I tested it with defodio, but we probably shouldn’t damage anything in here. You all have the hang of Wingardium Leviosa, right?’ They all nodded, so Remus continued, ‘Great, I want you to cast the timing charm on your wrapper followed by wingardium leviosa. After you cast the levitation charm, you’ll need to move your wand in the path you want it to travel. The timing charm is  Statuto tempus.’

They all followed his instructions to the letter. Remus was a little surprised that James and Sirius were being so attentive. They never paid that much attention in class. But he supposed this was for fun, so it was far more important than class in their minds. 

Sirius and James succeeded on their first attempt. Peter took a few tries, but it was only a couple of minutes before his wrapper was floating around the room with James’ and Sirius’, seemingly of their own accord.

‘We have got to use this for Halloween. We can make the candles do a dance,’ James said.

‘That will take forever to set up,’ Remus said.

James rolled his eyes. ‘So? We can do it over a few nights if necessary.’

‘Alright, we’ll talk about that later. We’re on the last step now. Basically, do exactly what you did before but add the timing charm and my combination spell. The full incantation will be  Statuto tempus et magicae simulio moratus mutatio.’

‘Merlin’s ragged and pointy hat, that’s a lot to remember,’ Sirius said. ‘How in Godric’s name did you manage to do all that?’

Remus considered the question. He hadn’t really found it that difficult. But why was that?

‘I think it might be the meditation.’

Sirius frowned. ‘The what?’

‘It’s a muggle thing. My mum bought me a book about it a few months before we started school. It helps me control my temper, but it’s improved my focus too.’

Sirius looked interested. ‘I could use a little help with that too. How does it work?’ 

‘It’s a lot of breathing and visualising stuff in your mind. I could teach you?’ 

‘It’s a date,’ Sirius said, winking and making him blush. Again. Goddammit. He really needed to stop reacting like that. 

Sirius smirked at him.

They went over the incantation several times until they all had it memorised before they tried it. Remus told them to set their timing charm for eleven o’clock. An hour would be long enough for them to get it done, he thought.

James finished first, again, after thirty minutes of trying, Sirius came second this time, finishing ten minutes after James and beating Peter by a full five minutes. They sat in silence, waiting for him to open his eyes. Sirius kept pulling faces, trying to make them laugh until Remus scowled at him to make him stop.

They dropped their chocolate wrappers into their bowls, and while they waited to see if they had been successful, they returned to the discussion of the dancing candles. 

‘It could be dangerous,’ Remus said. ‘If someone got in the way, they could be burnt or even catch fire.’

‘That would be bad. We’d be expelled for sure,’ Peter said. 

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ James said. ‘I think we need to add that to your Marauder role. Remus Lupin, Chief Researcher and Safety Monitor.’

Remus bowed. ‘I graciously accept.’

‘Excellent, I’ll write it in the book later. So, Maraudering Chief of Research and Safety, how do we do the dancing candles without hurting anyone?’

‘Hmm, some kind of shield charm around the candles? That would stop anyone getting hit by molten wax, too.’

Sirius frowned. ‘That sounds pretty advanced.’

Remus nodded. ‘The basic personal shield charm is a second-year spell, I think. But we wouldn’t need anything that powerful for this. It only needs to stop fire and solid objects, not magic. I’ll have a look next time I’m in the library.’

‘Which will probably be later today, right?’ Sirius asked, laughing.

Remus refused to be embarrassed by his dedication to schoolwork. They wouldn’t be able to understand why it meant so much to him, so he couldn’t blame them for finding his behaviour strange but he wouldn’t hide it. 

‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘I want to look up some things for the cockatrice essay,’

When eleven o’clock came, all three wrappers changed colour. James’ was gold this time, Sirius had gone for purple and Peter’s was black.

‘Well done,’ Remus said. ‘I can’t believe you all got the hang of it so fast.’

Sirius winked at him. ‘You’re just an amazing teacher, Remus.’

‘That might be a part of it,’ Remus said, feeling his face heating up again. He was going to end up permanently red at this rate.

They practised a few more times, trying out more complex transfigurations and working their way up to creating bubbles. They took a break for lunch, and the other Marauders joined Remus in the kitchen, where Remus taught them the theory of turning a gas into a liquid, as they wouldn’t be covering it in class until November. Peter picked it up surprisingly quickly, and Remus wondered if it was the informal setting putting him more at ease. The classroom environment didn’t work for everyone. 

By two o’clock, they were all happily transfiguring pockets of air in the room into bubbles of various sizes, and the dormitory was filled with them.

‘I think you’re ready,’ Remus said, with a wide smile. 

James fetched the belch powder his dad had sent him, and they settled down to complete the mammoth task. They would need to channel for an hour to be sure there was enough magic in the bowls to work on each grain of powder. 

 -o-o-o-o-

 The following Tuesday, after lunch, Sirius was lounging on his bed in the dorm, chatting with James and Peter while they waited for their spells to activate. They had been practising the timed levitation charm for Halloween, and there were a number of items placed strategically around the room.

 ‘Only four more days until we find out what’s behind the locked door,’ Sirius said.

James was sitting up on his bed, tossing a balled up pair of socks back and forth across the room with Peter. ‘I know. I can’t wait. What do you reckon it is? I bet it's something awesome.’

‘This is Hogwarts, mate. It could literally be anything.’

They all looked over when the door burst open and an out of breath Remus rushed through it.

‘I’ve found the recipe!’ he said, collapsing on his bed.

James perked up. ‘For the animation potion? No way!’ 

Remus sat up. ‘Yes. I still don’t see how we can use it, though. We don’t want to ruin the feast by making the tables gallop off again.’

‘Give it to our Chief Potioneer. He’s going to see what he can do with it.’

Remus stood up and took three steps across the room towards Peter when all of a sudden various items around the room rose into the air and converged on him.

‘Oh shit! Remus, duck!’ Sirius cried.

Remus didn’t need telling twice. He dropped to the floor and rolled onto his back to watch as the quills, socks, screwed up balls of parchment, and potions bottles carried out an elaborate dance above his head.

He pointed at one particular item. ‘That quill is out of time with the others.’

Sirius threw his pillow at him. ‘Shut up, it was our first attempt.’

Remus arched his head back to look at him. ‘Really? Well, in that case, it’s very impressive. Well done.’

A couple of minutes later, it was safe for Remus to stand back up, and he handed the recipe he’d copied from the library book to Peter, who looked it over with a frown. 

‘This is pretty straightforward,’ he said after a couple of minutes. ‘If I substitute a couple of items and add in a targeting charm at the end, we can make it so it only animates the bats. We’ll need to add one of them to the potion so it knows what to target.’ He looked up from the parchment. ‘It’ll take two full days to brew though.’

‘We’ll have to do it in here over the weekend,’ Sirius said.

‘But what if they do a dorm check and catch us? We’d get in serious trouble for brewing in the dorm,’ Peter said.

‘If one of us stays in the room at all times, we can avoid dorm checks. The house-elves don’t come in if the room’s occupied,’ James said.

Remus looked at him. ‘How do you know that?’

James grinned. ‘My dad told me. He thought it was important information every boy should be aware of.’

Sirius laughed. ‘I kind of love your dad.’

‘Strange. I kind of love him too,’ James said with a chuckle. ‘He would adore you. You should come over in the summer holidays. All of you. We can have a Marauder sleepover or something.’

Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen, Sirius thought. No way his parents were going to let him out of the house that summer. 

‘I can practically see you thinking, Sirius. You can’t possibly believe your mother is daft enough to refuse an official invitation from House Potter? That would be social suicide.’

He was right. She’d be furious about it, of course, but she’d have no choice but to let him go. Sirius grinned. ‘It’ll be brilliant!’

‘Yeah, it will! Peter, you in?’ James said. 

‘Definitely. I’m sure my mum won’t mind.’

‘Remus?’

Sirius glanced over. Remus was biting his lip. He knew what the problem was; he wouldn’t be able to say yes unless he knew exactly what day it was going to be.

‘I’ll have to ask my mum. But I’d like to come if she lets me.’

Translation: I want to come, but only if it’s not a full moon.

Sirius decided then and there to make sure the get together happened when it wasn’t a full moon so Remus could be there. It wouldn’t be a Marauder sleepover without the original Marauder, after all.

 -o-o-o-o-

 Two days later, after Potions had ended, Remus waited for the rest of the students to clear out before making his way to the front of the class.

‘Excuse me, Professor. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the uses of dragon blood in potions?’ 

Slughorn looked up from the essay he was marking. ‘Of course, my boy. What is it you’d like to know?’

‘Well, I was thinking about its use in healing potions. Could it be mixed with dittany to make its effects stronger?’

Peter had told him to ask that. Apparently dittany and dragon’s blood were an explosive combination.

‘Oh, Merlin, no! That’s a terrible idea. Dragon’s blood is very volatile, and it dislikes dittany immensely. Don’t ever combine them.’

Remus nodded. ‘Understood, sir.’

‘Do you have an interest in potions?’

Remus shrugged. ‘It’s more an interest in healing, really. You may have noticed I’m not particularly adept with a cauldron.’

‘Well, you’ll need at least a little competency with potions to get into the healers’ program at St Mungos. But I may be able to help you with that. I have a few connections in the trainee intake department. Why don’t you come to my party this Saturday, and I’ll see what I can do for you? You’re friends with Black, Potter and Pettigrew aren’t you?’ 

Remus nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Invite them along too. It starts at seven pm in the room next door to this one.’

‘I will, sir. Thank you.’

‘Not at all. Have a lovely evening, Mister Lupin.’

‘You too, sir’ Remus said, hurrying from the room and hoping he had kept Slughorn talking for long enough.

James, Sirius and Peter were waiting for him outside and gave him a thumbs up. They had got what they needed for the potion. Excellent.

 -o-o-o-o-  

 The Official Marauders Notebook

The Marauders

James Potter - Chief Imaginator and Lily Evans Stalker

Sirius Black - Chief Artist and Charmer of Teachers

Remus Lupin - Chief Researcher and Safety Monitor and Chocolate Eating Genius

Peter Pettigrew - Chief Potioneer and Master of Food Procurement

  The Marauders Code

- All feast days are Marauder celebrations and should be marked as such with Mischief

- All Marauder Mischief should be harmless and fun for everyone

- Marauders always keep each other’s secrets but are not obligated to reveal their secrets before they’re ready

- Marauders always come before girls

- A Marauder will always come to a fellow Marauders aid

- The Chief Imaginator is responsible for providing all Marauders with daily chocolate and must give compliments to them once every hour.

  6th October

The crossed-out sections were added in permanent ink at some point during the night when all NORMAL people were sleeping, and they do not count. The main suspect is one Sirius Black, who is giggling like a girl. - James Potter Chief Imaginator and Lily Evans Stalker.

  7th October

Sirius! Stop adding things to the Official Marauder Notebook or I’ll kick you out of the club! - James Potter Chief Imaginator and Lily Evans Stalker.

 8th October 1:23 am

James! Never! And I don’t giggle like a girl. My laugh is deep and manly. - Sirius Black Chief Artist and Charmer of Teachers.

 Monday 11th October 11:45 am

  Chief Imaginator to Chief Researcher, Gods Transfiguration theory is boring, have you had any luck finding that recipe yet?

No, I’m going to look tomorrow afternoon. And it’s not boring; it’s important. Especially if you want to be able to change, oh I don’t know, bubbles into bats? -  Chief Researcher and Safety Monitor.

You have to sign your messages so we know who it’s from. I did it for you this time. And you make a good point, I will try to pay attention. - Chief Imaginator

You know who it’s from, James. I passed it to you. And you’re not doing a very good job of paying attention. I saw you flicking bits of parchment at Snape. -  Chief Researcher and Safety Monitor.

They were drawings of his ugly nose. I think he appreciated them. Please sign your name. For me? - Chief Imaginator.

I will if you do your work - Remus

Fine! - Chief Imaginator.

 Thursday 14th October, 3:00 pm

 Remus, we need you to distract Slughorn after class. Can you talk to him about something? - James.

Sure, how long do you need? - Remus.

Long enough to sneak into his office and grab some ingredients. - James.

Ask him about mixing dragon’s blood and dittany, he’ll be horrified - Peter.

Why, what does it do? - Remus.

Let’s just say they’re an explosive combination - Peter.

Peter, you’re giving me ideas - Sirius.

Sirius, as Marauder Safety Monitor, I forbid you to blow up the school - Remus.

Remus, you spoil all my fun :( - Sirius.

Chapter 20

[lord-explosion-baku]

Thorns

Plot Summary:

Big changes are to come to Sir Cornelius Hollowstone’s School for the Phenomenally Gifted when the Supreme, the man with the living embodiment of magic itself, Toshinori Yagi announced his long awaited retirement. Six witches and six warlocks were to compete amongst themselves in trials to see who will be the next to reign over the the magical community as the Supreme.

Pairings: it’s complicated

Warnings: dark themes, occult themes, swearing, vulgar insinuations, sexual themes, slight bullying, one mention of suicide, drug use insinuation, just dark stuff idk uh

A/N: hi! I got this idea in my head while I was at work and I had to write it down! It’s a magic school au and like GIS, there’s a lot of pairings and it gets a little complicated. I just thought I’d post the first chapter here and then with updates the rest will be on my AO3 like I do with most of my serieses! (Serieses sounds wrong uh) but basically!!! Magical school heavily inspired by American Horror Story: Coven! If you can’t watch American Horror Stiry then I suggest that you don’t read this because it’s gonna get pretty dark and kinda spicy! It’s not a smut fic but there will be smut. Just throwin this into the void. For a better summary about what this story is gonna be about, you can check my AO3! Hizzzaaaht! (Everyone is aged up to 18 or older)

Magic exists but it’s nothing.

Magic is to casters the same way that instapots are to mortals. Magic is a cheat; a means to make everyday things easier to casters who have far too much power to exert and not enough time to brew their morning coffee. Magic is unbiased and has no laws to abide by until somebody was bound to come around and make them. Magic can open your car door when you’ve locked your keys on the inside but magic can’t force people to fall in love and it can’t bring people back to life. So it’s nothing.

Or so you thought.

Magic was nothing until you learned that magic is everything.

You were a third year at Sir Cornelius Hollowstone’s School For The Phenomenally Gifted, aptly and absurdly named after a famous warlock who hailed as Supreme three hundred long years ago, who once settled the war between casters and the demons in the underworld by slicing his entire right arm off and feeding it to a hungry hell pit. This would actually be your second year attending Hollowstone since the all girls academy you previously attended in your first year was shut down due to poor funding and the plague of talking rodents that infiltrated the school grounds who had demands that no caster was willing to meet. The current Supreme, the man with the living embodiment of magic itself, Toshinori Yagi, was all too willing to flex his power and rule that the boys and girls academies would be merged in hopes of bringing the magical community closer together. However, if anything, that just made everyone all the more competitive.

Witches and Warlocks did not agree on a lot of things and part of the reason for that was because there hadn’t been a witch reigning as Supreme in almost four hundred years, half because one warlock Supreme from the past lived to be over two hundred years old and half because the witches just gave up as a whole.

There was a power imbalance in the community as well that was very obviously misogynistic in its own right. When the time came for a Supreme to retire, both witches and warlocks were to compete amongst their selective gender for the titles of High Priestess and High Priest. After the two champions are chosen, they must compete against one another to see who will be ascending as the next Supreme. Many odd years ago, a warlock Supreme made the preposterous law that when the High Priest champion became the Supreme, the High Priestess champion would be forced to marry him. He made it law on the grounds that he had fallen deeply in love with his champion counterpart, Harleen Blackwater, who did not reciprocate his feelings. Upon hearing the terrible news that she was to wed the Supreme, she exhausted the dauntless task of taking her own life, resulting in the tradition of High Priestesses ending themselves when they did not become the next Supreme, as one last hail to Lady Blackwater. Of course, that wasn’t mandatory. The tradition was never set in stone but when it did happen, it wasn’t something that the community would bat an eyelash at. It just be like that sometimes.

The school year was starting out with an excited frenzy, much to your annoyance, because Yagi had just announced his retirement which meant the trials for the champions were about to begin. Six third year witches and six third year warlocks were to be selected to compete for their champion titles and that was all anybody could talk about. You, on the other hand, didn’t care for the trials, rather, you wished you didn’t. Of course, big changes like this piqued anybody’s interest but you were a cynical witch and a mundane one at that. You were called a T.Di witch, which stood for Telekinesis and Divination. Mortals would think “oh wow, telekinesis! That’s super OP!” but it wasn’t. Not in your world. Telekinesis was the most versatile of the seven affinities and though, when used correctly, it could be very powerful, more often than not, it was only used to float objects to lazy casters. Everyone had telekinesis. To put it simply, you weren’t special. Your other affinity, divination, was looked down upon in your community. Divination: the ability to obtain direct knowledge of an object, person, location, or physical event through a relating energy. Basically if someone needed something to be found, you suddenly became their best friend until you helped them with their lost item and then you’d get tossed back into Loser Village, population: you and Izuku Midoriya.

Most third years already had two of the seven affinities, those seven affinities, the seven divine powers granted to casters, being telekinesis, pyromancy, divination, transmutation, decensum, vitalum vitalus, and concilium. Poor Izuku Midoriya was just a T warlock; he could only use telekinesis and, on top of that, he still had to use a wand. Wands were given to first years so they could get a better grip on channeling their magic. After understanding the basic fundamentals of magic, second years learn to wield their power with their hands and by the end of the of the year, all students should have a better grasp on it. Midoriya was still a ways behind. You felt sorry for him but at least he was pretty decent at memorizing spells. As the two of you were each other’s only semi-casual friends, you helped each other out a lot. He was quite intelligent so he was your encyclopedia and since he was always losing things, you were his finder’s eye.

So you knew that the trials had absolutely nothing to do with you. You hoped whoever was to become the next High Priest and Priestess were two casters that were interested in changing the law a bit but it would most likely be two students who’d already been royal assholes to you. Still, you’d probably end up watching some of the trials, particularly the trials involving memorization or wit but other than that, you’d stay away from the discourse.

You spent most of your time in the herbology room, which was where you were now, since it was the classroom nobody could really use magic to excel in unless one had chlorokinesis like Ibara Shiozaki. You liked tending to the plants. They didn’t care if you were a T.Di witch nor did they talk down to you. They only showed you their appreciation by blooming for you after you’d fed them all your tender love and care.

You were lucky enough to aide for Professor Aizawa’s Herbology 1 class, which proceeded into his Herbology 2 class that you were taking straight afterwards. After taking his Herbology 1 and Potions 2 classes the previous year, he had quickly become your favorite professor at Hollowstone and you, hopefully, had become his favorite student. When the class you aided for ended and it was passing period, Aizawa would ask you for answers to problems he already knew the solutions to, just to humor you and test your knowledge— a fun game that you appreciated.

“A warlock has been struck with a hex that has caused him to convulse and vomit uncontrollably. He’s lost all his teeth in the process. Would you use hawthorn, licorice, or juniper to wean him away from his ailments?”

You stopped tapping your pen on the lab bench you were sitting on and brought it to your lips, eyeing your teacher to see if he was giving you some sort of tell, but Aizawa’s expression was as unreadable as ever.

“Is he suffering from any other kinds of symptoms? How is his heart?”

“Same as it was before the hex and he has no other symptoms aside from the ones I’ve listed.”

“Alright then, that’s easy! Juniper!”

In response, Aizawa quirked a brow, signaling that he needed more than just a simple answer. There was always a catch with him.

“Juniper and…” one steady tap of the pen on your lips brought the answer to your head, “yarrow!”

Aizawa reached out, grabbed the pen away from your lips and placed it next to you on the bench, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Go on.”

You pulled down on your school skirt, always needing to fidget with something when you had to concentrate. Aizawa rolled his eyes and you jokingly scowled back him.

“I would use the juniper and mix it with crushed yarrow. No-! I’d cut the juniper and fuse it with yarrow extract, then that together and give it to the warlock. Then maybe to relax his muscle spasms, I’d have him smoke some lavender because... I’m nice.”

Aizawa clicked his tongue and took your pen from the bench. “Clever witch,” he said, opening his notebook to scribble in it.

“What! That was noteworthy?” You said with a little more excitement than you wanted to show him. If anything, you didn’t want to be a loner and a teacher’s pet but getting Aizawa’s approval was something special to you.

“It was. I would’ve crushed the juniper and something with the same properties as yarrow together and brewed that together but letting the juniper soak in yarrow is close to genius. And I probably wouldn’t have even thought about bringing lavender into the equation. I’m impressed.”

“I carry around dried lavender anyways and I’m always trying to think about what I can use it with,” you grinned sheepishly, trying to hide how thrilled you were at receiving his praise.

“You know, I’m a little disappointed in you.”

You frowned. “I don’t smoke the lavender myself. I just carry it around with me.”

He chuckled. “That’s not why I’m disappointed… why aren’t you taking my potions class this year?”

“Oh…” If you were being honest, you didn’t dislike potions but the students that were going to be taking the class were a whole lot of people you wanted to avoid. Getting bullied at an all girls academy was one thing but now that you had witches and warlocks laughing at the T.Di witch, it was a little overbearing. “I had to choose between aiding and potions and… I don’t know. I guess I really like plants.”

“There are plants in my potions class.”

“Yeah.” And other really gifted casters but you didn’t want him to know how insecure you were.

“Hmph,” he closed his notebook and eyed your school bag that was draped across the chair you were supposed to be sitting on. “So you carry dried lavender around?”

“Mhmm…” your face began to flush.

“And you don’t smoke it?”

“Ha?” Your breath caught in your throat. In the witching world, there weren’t a whole lot things you could get in trouble for but you’d consumed enough mortal media to have a slight fear of getting in trouble with authoritative figures for your recreational activities. “I mean, maybe if I’ve been a bit stressed out.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed. Do you mix it with anything?”

“Professor!” Your face grew hot and the tie around your neck felt too constricting. You knew that you weren’t in any kind of trouble but you couldn’t keep your stomach from forming nervous knots.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, I really am just curious about you,” he grinned, amused at your obvious fluster. “So, you have some on you?”

You looked at your teacher and sighed. To hell with it. Reaching over, you grabbed your bag from off your chair and shook the little pouch you kept your treasure in. “If you want some, you’re gonna have to tell me what you’re going to use it for.”

“You might find it hard to believe but a teacher’s life is far more stressful than a student’s. I have… ways of destressing but a little added lavender could be quite beneficial,” he took the pouch from you. “How much can I take?”

“You can have it. I’ve got some growing in the makeshift greenhouse outside my dorm. It’ll be ready for me to clip any day now.”

He looked at you with surprised amusement. “During Autumn?”

“Well,” you smirked, “I am a clever witch.”

“That you are.” Aizawa thanked you and pocketed your pouch. At that moment, the chimes from the bell tower sounded the end of passing period and the beginning of class; a short eerie jingle you still hadn’t gotten used to even after a year.

“Big surprise,” Aizawa sighed, “everyone’s late.”

“They’re excited,” you said pointedly.

“And you’re not?”

You shrugged. You were just thankful that your last school year had something that would keep everyone else occupied.

“Alright,” he tapped your bare knee, surprising you, “get your ass off of my bench before my students think that’s okay too.”

“My ass?” You laughed, hopping down from the table. “I’m your student too, Professor Aizawa.”

He started walking towards his desk. “Then you should know that I have strict rules for my classroom. No ifs, ands, or…”

“Butts?” You offered.

He grinned and snapped his fingers, conjuring signs to sit atop all of the greenhouse benches that read ‘NO “BUTTS!”’ You stifled a snort as your classmates began shuffling into the greenhouse.

Speaking of the the recreational use of certain herbs, in walked Hanta Sero and Denki Kaminari with two big stupid grins hanging off their faces. You already felt your shoulders begin to tense as Kaminari approached you.

“Hey, tiddy witch!” He tapped you on your back but you kept your head down, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the horrible nickname. It had been an accident on Kaminari’s part last year when he read off a list of students in your charms class and when it came to your name, he read ‘T.Di’ as ‘tiddy’. Once he saw everyone laugh at his mistake, it was all over for you and the name stuck. You weren’t sure if he knew or even cared that the nickname bothered the hell out of you. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” You pulled your notebook out of your bag and flipped it open to the next empty page, trying to make a point that you wanted to focus on your work.

“Just fine?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he sat on the chair next to you with Sero joining him. It was a shame that Aizawa didn’t have assigned seating in this classroom. “But we’re here!”

“Uh-huh,” you began scribbling down unimportant words so it looked like you were busy but you could still feel Kaminari’s eyes on you. Finally your gaze met his. “What do you want, Kaminari?”

“I need help finding something!” His golden eyes shined while his grin widened and Sero hit his shoulder.

“Dude, don’t,” Sero said, though he covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Kaminari looked back at Sero and snickered and turned his attention back on you. “Can you help me find it?”

Your eyes narrowed. Your brain screamed, ‘shenanigans!’ but a small part of you wanted to help; the small part of you that wished to be well liked. Against your better judgement, you asked, “what is it?”

“I can’t really say what it is but I can describe it to you!”

...That was the kind of challenge that you liked to indulge in. You sighed and said, “okay. Do you have anything on you that’s related to whatever it is you’re looking for?”

“Errmmm, yes and no… maybe you can just hold my hand while I tell you about it?” He rested his hand palm-up on the table.

Your eyes flicked over to Sero whose head was buried in his arms on the bench, shaking with hidden laughter. Suspicious, you took his hand. “Alright, shoot.”

Sero let out a snort and Kaminari snickered with him. “Cool. Cool cool. Uhhh, okay… how to describe it... Well, it’s big.”

“Okay, big,” you noted, closing your eyes to allow your mind to swim through the nether. A spiral of large objects made their way past your consciousness while you started your search for Kaminari.

“And it makes me happy?”

“Happy,” you whispered, barely even able to hear the chuckles anymore. You were focused.

“It can make you happy too… especially if we were both using it.”

“Mmhmmm,” your mind took you to the greenhouse outside of your dorms and swam over to a secret trampoline that was hiding deep inside the eastern gardens of the schoolyard. From what you could tell by holding his hand, Kaminari didn’t have any idea about either of those things. “What does it look like?”

“Well,” Kaminari’s voice bounced around in your head, “it carries blood… a part of it resembles a mushroom… there’s a long, throbbing vein that runs along the underside…”

Your eyes shot open and you quickly pulled your hand away from his. You saw exactly what he was referring to and it wasn’t lost at all. In fact, it was attached to his stupid fucking body! Fuck!

“Did you find it?” Kaminari gave you a toothy grin, Sero still hunched over beside him, shaking and lost in a fit of laughter.

“No!” You spat in a hushed tone. What an incredibly vulgar joke! Wasn’t that considered sexual harassment?! Judging by the look on his face, it didn’t seem like Kaminari cared. Boys were so dumb! “I’m sorry, Kaminari, I can’t help you. It turns out, whatever you’re looking for is a little too small for me to detect!”

Sero hooted, banging his hand on the table. “She totally saw it!”

Kaminari’s smile faltered only slightly. “It’s not small, I measured it last week! It’s slightly above average!” He let out an embarrassed laugh, “you’re so cruel, tiddy witch!”

You scoffed. You weren’t cruel, he was. He might as well had dropped his slacks and flashed you! At least then everyone else would be traumatized along with you. You turned away from him and snarled, “are you done?”

Kaminari was silent for a short moment. For a second you thought that he’d finished his teasing but then he waved his hand out in front of your face. “Hey,” he whispered, “hey, are you mad?”

You ignored him and leaned closer to your desk, trying to pay attention to Aizawa’s lecture but Kaminari wasn’t having it.

“Shit,” he scooted closer to you, “wait, I’m really sorry I’ve upset you… hey… tiddy witch…?”

When you didn’t pay him any mind he teleported himself onto the other chair next to you. Kaminari was a T.Tr warlock, meaning that he already had the affinities for telekinesis and transmutation. Transmutation was simply the power to move from one location to another without occupying the spaces in between, or, in other words, teleportation. Popping up out of nowhere was just one more thing to add to the list of Kaminari’s annoying qualities. “Please don’t be mad at me!”

Aizawa stopped talking about the different properties of several disintegrating herbs and glanced at your bench, scowling at Kaminari. “Is there a problem?” He looked from Kaminari to you and silence followed. “What could possibly be so important that you need to interrupt my lecture?”

“Nothing, Professor,” the two of you said in unison. As much as Kaminari bugged you, you weren’t about to be a rat— a poor ‘woe is me, life is a nightmare, nobody is nice to me’ kid. At least, not out loud and definitely not in front of Aizawa.

Not believing either of you, Aizawa scanned the room until his eyes landed on Shiozaki, who was on the other side of the greenhouse poking at some tomato berries.

“Mr. Kaminari, switch places with Miss Shiozaki.”

In an instant, Kaminari zapped himself over by Shiozaki and said something as preposterously stupid as “hey there, sweet thang,” only to have Shiozaki toss her gorgeously thick, vine-like hair over her shoulder, stick her nose up in the air, and walk across the room. She offered you a curt smile before taking her seat between you and Sero. You liked Shiozaki. Having the power of chlorokinesis easily placed her at the top of this class with you as a close second, so you were a tad envious of her abilities but it was the kind of jealousy that drove you to do better everyday. She knew about your one-sided rivalry and even though she wasn’t competitive by nature, she’d humor you by glancing over at your work from time to time to make sure she stayed ahead of you.

You tried to relax and focus on Aizawa’s discussion about how magically charged valerian root could knock a person out with a simple whiff if aged and acutely diced but you kept feeling Kaminari’s eyes on you. After you had gotten used to it, a folded note fluttered its way to your bench. You glanced back at Kaminari who had the same damn stupid grin plastered on his face.

The note read, ‘I really am sorry! Let me make it up to you by taking you to the Cherry Moon Ceremony!’ signed with a hastily-scribbled little heart.

You nearly gagged.

Hell would freeze over before you let Denki Kaminari escort you anywhere and the world would explode before you even thought about going to the Cherry Moon Ceremony! The witching community had some sort of festival for all holidays and every full moon. The Cherry Moon occurred on the first full moon of September. It involved everyone getting very close to nude, if not completely naked, and engaging in many lewd activities, often regarding a virgin or two. Casters were an open minded people and it wasn’t that you weren’t open minded but having been raised with a caster as a mother and a mortal as a father, you were probably one of the more conservative witches around and that was saying something considering how liberal your father was while he was alive. You wouldn’t call yourself a prude, though you haven’t done anything that says otherwise, but being scantily clad in front of your classmates as well as some teachers just did not sound like a fantastic time to you. But Kaminari didn’t have to know that. Kaminari didn’t deserve to know that the thought of going out with him to an event like that flustered you beyond belief. So instead of explaining yourself to him, you turned back to him and mouthed, ‘you don’t even know my name!’

Kaminari pouted at you before whispering to get Sero’s attention. Once Sero turned to him, Kaminari pointed at you and mouthed, ‘what’s her name?!’

Sero chuckled and turned back to face Aizawa, muttering, “like hell I’m telling him.”

You leaned in and whispered over Shiozaki, “do you even know my name?”

Sero offered up a half grin and tapped his pointer finger on his temple. Right. Like Kaminari, Hanta Sero was a T.Tr warlock but he was already gifted with powers outside of the seven affinities. He was clairevoyant; a telepath. He could read people’s thoughts as well as project thoughts into other people’s minds if he wanted to. That sort of explained why he seemed more empathetic than everyone else, though, if you were in his position and you knew what was going on in the poor T.Di witch’s head, you wouldn’t let your friends make so many jokes at her expense. Other than that, Sero was an alright guy but it was easy to forget that he was a strong caster since he spends so much of his time with imbeciles like Kaminari.

Sero snickered… did he hear that?!

“Now,” Aizawa’s stern voice interrupted your train of thought, “since the lot of you were late to my class, how about a pop quiz?”

The class groaned when dozens of flower pots appeared on the benches. Every pot held the same desperate and ugly plant that looked like they used to have flowers. It hurt your heart in a way.

“If you can return some of the plant’s chlorophyll, demonstrating a freshly green hue, you’ll pass. If you can get the flower to bloom again, you’ll get an A. If you’re unable to complete either of those tasks, it’s an automatic fail. Begin.”

Quickly, you got to focusing on your plant. You knew immediately that it was of the asteraceae family. When the plant was in better shape, it seemed like seedlings had dropped down into the pot. That could’ve been the cause of its diminished state, if not from being completely neglected by Aizawa. You grinned. Flower killer Aizawa.

Tenderly, you pinch the stem and tentatively traced the poor thing. You felt your energy surge through you and as your fingers caressed your flora friend, the green hue trailed along with your touch. Reaching an old bud of the plant, your fingers grew warm as the flower began to change and warp underneath them. The corolla started to form and in an instant a gorgeous pink chrysanthemum bloomed and blushed for you.

You let out a long, squeaky yawn. Making the chrysanthemum bloom must’ve drained a lot more of your energy than you thought it would… either that or you could have had a heartier breakfast that morning. You were pleased to see Shiozaki concentrated on her flower, desperately stroking its withered stem with no success and, taking a quick glance around the room, you saw that nobody else had gotten anywhere further; one witch had actually set her pot on fire! T.Py casters.

“If you hadn’t noticed, the plant is dead. And dead means dead. There’s nothing anyone could’ve done to make these flowers bloom. So,” Aizawa’s lips twitched up into that funny grin he did whenever he pulled a past one on his student’s, “you all fail.”

That warranted another groan from the class. You furrowed your brow. Your plant was very much alive. You didn’t fail. You did another once over of the entire room. You were the only student with a flower in full bloom in front of you.

“Now I do curve your grades and since I’m positive that everyone has failed, this quiz doesn’t matter. But you’ve learned a very important life lesson. Which is…?” A pregnant pause from the room lead to Aizawa pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers in frustration. “Dead means…?”

“Dead!” Yelled one warlock from the back of the greenhouse. A wave of unenthusiastic “dead”’s followed.

“Tiddy witch’s plant isn’t dead!” Chimed in Kaminari, who, for some reason, still had eyes on you.

Aizawa froze. Slowly he turned to you. From the head of your bench, his eyes twitched down to your pot. “What?”

Finally, some good old fashioned recognition.

He walked over to behind your chair and leaned over you. He was so close that you could smell him; he had on a nice earthy blend with a hint of coffee. You tilted your head away from him. Liking your teacher’s scent was probably a bad thing. Morally gray, at least to mortals… probably.

“It appears you’ve completed the assignment,” he said in a low, hushed tone.

“This was rigged,” shouted a student. “It’s ‘cause she was the only one who wasn’t late! That’s favoritism!”

It wasn’t beyond Aizawa to pull something like that over to make a point to his lagging students but he looked awestruck. But it wasn’t a huge deal… you just healed a plant.

Aizawa cleared his throat and, not taking his eyes away from your pot, he asked, “each of these plants are exact copies of themselves. How did you do this?”

“I don’t know. I just,” another yawn escaped you and you hoped it didn’t look like you were bored or even smug with yourself, “I just did it.”

Aizawa examined your flower very closely. He brought his thumb to the steam and steadily traced your plant upwards, fingering the leaves. When he got to your ever-delighted Chrysanthemum petals, he tapped lightly on them, making some of the petals drop and flutter down gracefully on to your bench before they shriveled up back to their previous state. Aizawa clicked his tongue. He looked you straight in the eye. You held your breath. You were proud of yourself but you were sure you were about to get dragged behind your back again if Aizawa said something about you being a clever witch in front of everyone else… though hearing it again wouldn’t be so bad.

“You get a 90%. The rest of the class gets 50.”

You felt the room grow heavy. In Aizawa’s Herbology class, a 50 out of 90 was still passing but hardly. Most students took this class because they thought it was going to be an easy pass like his Herbology 1 class, so this wasn’t fun news to anybody.

There was salty energy in the air for the rest of the period but other than that, you and your chrysanthemum flower were forgotten about. When class ended, Aizawa instructed you to take the pot with you and take notes on any sudden developments your plant my form. “A pet project,” he called your task. “Take good care of it for me, okay?”

Despite your likeability plummeting after the incident, you were excited for your project. Your mind whirled with ideas on what to do with your assignment; what to do with the plant that wasn't supposed to heal. You didn’t want to disappoint Aizawa. You were, at least to him, a clever witch.

Tags for EVERYTHING (closed): @yandere-inamorata @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelanore @kpanime @ayeputita @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland @iamthe-leaf @midnightfeline666 @bungou-stray-alies-tales-of-aly -of-aly @rubyred-imagines @kattariapenn @heypartypeps @quirktaker @thecryingsombra @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @ghost-of-todoroki @geektastic84 @davalia @glixeo @rubycubix @mekakushi-dan-01-kido

[cherry3point14]

I am Sam, Sam I am

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Sam!Dean x Reader (brief) Warnings:Crack, crack, crackity crack. Also kinda sweet in the beginning. Imagine dipping your crack in sugar? Word Count:2,773. Prompt/Summary:You and Sam are secretly dating behind Dean's back. And that’s all fine until one day you see who you think is Sam, alone. (Prompted by @hoeofnjadaka on Ao3 - I mean I’m just assuming your username is the same here. If not, sorry friend!) A/N: ANOTHER BODY SWAP?!? Yeah, yeah. I know. Played out much? Get off my case guys it’s Sam x Reader this time and also kinda different. Don’t look at me like that, just appreciate this pure, uncut crack for what it is. 

Ao3 if you prefer

You’d just finished killing a pack of werewolves. It’s never an easy task and even with the three of you, it had been an evening full of close calls. You’re surprised none of you are injured beyond some minor cuts and grazes. But since no one is injured Dean goes into town to pick up some food, read: a woman, and that leaves you and Sam alone. The lights are low and the beers are cold. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders and you’re curled into his body, only a little. It’s just comfortable, that’s all. He’s so long anyway, perfect for you to hide away inside his tall frame while you watch movies. Friends definitely do that. Friends sit this close and breathe deeply enough to taste the smell of him in the back of your throat. Being attracted to him had been an accident. You’d just always been close, a leaning post for each other. When he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk to Dean you were there. And when you had trouble opening up, or were afraid of losing another friend, he was patient. Over weeks, months and years you’d kind of become each other’s everything. Or at least, he’d become yours. There’s nothing remarkable about tonight. There’s no big conversation or argument that sparks action. It's not a straw that breaks the camel's back. It’s the normal quiet you have during movies. Comfortable and calm. The Zodiac Killer, the film from the seventies, is playing on some late night horror channel and Dean isn’t around to tease Sam about his 'serial killer thing'. So, Sam is safe to lean in and tell you facts about the real case. Parts that the movie got wrong and parts that he’s surprised they got right. Every time he does you’re watching his lips, how carefully they sound out his words. He always speaks precisely when he cares about a topic, never wastes a syllable. “Sam?” He stops mid-sentence and turns to you more fully. Where before he’d been whispering facts while still looking at the screen now he’s looking right at you. Even in the dark, you can see the intensity of his eyes as the light from the TV continues to flicker in them. He has no idea what you’re going to say, you have no idea what you’re going to say, and yet he’s looking at you with the same concentration he does an important book. As if whatever you might say is gospel. “Yeah Y/N?” You don’t know what pushes you except you’re wondering if he’ll kiss you as carefully as he speaks. It’s not the first time you’ve thought it but it is the first time the question has consumed you so completely. It’s a risk. It could ruin your friendship. It could ruin your entire life. That’s if he rejects you and things become awkward. For some reason tonight confidence outweighs doubt. Maybe he’ll kiss you back is louder in your head than you’re just his friend. You slide an arm around his neck, pulling him into you and once you make contact with his skin everything speeds up because there’s no going back now, even if you saw disgust on his face you’d have to go through with it. How would you write this off as anything but trying to smash your face to his? Then your lips touch and that’s the call to action Sam apparently needed. In the blink of an eye, he’s kissing you back with a depth you hadn’t expected. There’s nothing slow or patient about this kiss. It’s fast and dirty. It’s bruising and when his tongue swipes over your lips you imagine it’s as much to soothe them as it is to ask for entry. He rolls you both as his tongue slides into your mouth, he has a hand on your hip and he’s leaning on his other arm, the perfect amount of Sam weight pressing you into the bed. You’re not sure if you kiss him for a second or a lifetime but eventually, he pulls back, keeping his forehead on yours, both of you panting and this smile on his face. It’s wide and happy and utterly heartstopping. You quickly accept that you’ll do anything for this smile as if you wouldn’t have done anything for Sam already. “So, um, you agree?” You ask with your own grin that you’re sure is breaking your face. He laughs down at you, “completely.” And then he’s on you again, kissing the little air you managed to capture straight back out of your lungs. There’s a scream as the zodiac killer begins to kill a woman. It’s a stark enough contrast against the muddling, quiet dialogue of the film that you break apart like it’s a case. Laughing some more when you realize it isn’t and ultimately breaking apart completely when you hear a key in the door. Dean had to have been drunk. It’s the only explanation for why he doesn’t see how red and swollen your lips are, or how tousled and messy your hair is. He confirms his state when he falls messily onto the other bed. You’re somewhat frozen in shock, luckily Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Dude, where’s the food?” Sam’s voice is convincing enough that even you believe he’s hungry. Dean waves a hand in the air like he’s batting a fly, “her name was Gina.” “Considerate of you,” you finally catch up enough to chastise him. Not that it makes a lick of difference considering quiet snores that start coming from the Dean shaped mass on the bed.

Four Weeks Later  

There’s something nice about having the place to yourself, although you’ll never admit that to Sam and Dean. You may just break their little hearts. There’s a peace in it though. You can cook whatever you want without Dean barking at you to make sure you clean up properly this time. You can read any of the books in the library without Sam reminding you to put it back in the right place. Wait, were you a nightmare to live with? Whatever. The boys are gone and life is good. You know Dean is going to find some mess when he gets back, there was an incident with the blender that you’d rather not talk about and you know he’ll sniff out a stray drop you’ve missed like the bloodhound that he is. So, you’ve preemptively baked him an apology pie. It’s only Pillsbury pie crust, you’re not that good a baker, but you made a pretty great apple filling all by yourself, which should earn you some pretty sweet brownie points. And Sam? Well, he may or may not find some books missing from his room and you may or may not have lost his place in every single one. Although you had some very different ideas on how to make that up to him. Ideas that may require sending Dean away somewhere. Especially since he doesn’t know what you do with his brother at night. Gun to your head, you probably couldn’t coherently explain why you’re still keeping it a secret. That first night everything had happened so quickly and then Dean came back before you could really talk to each other. The day after you’d both gone on a food run first thing in the morning if only to share a lot of sheepish smiles and blushing cheeks. It was all ten tons of adorable considering all you had to do was close your eyes to be reminded of his weight on top of you. At first, you agreed to the secrecy because he’s your best friend and if whatever you were doing didn’t work out it would surely be easier to recover in private. At least that sounded reasonable. Now it’s fairly obvious that you have something. Maybe not wedding bells and Christmas cards but it’s lasting at least. It’s just, well, now the secret thing is freaking hot. We’re not just talking a quick roleplay and move on with your lives hot. It’s all you can do not to jump him at breakfast. It’s every forbidden relationship you’ve never had rolled into one. And it’s not even forbidden. You’re fairly sure Dean would be happy for you both, you hope anyway. But now the longer you keep it a secret the more wrong it feels. The time apart has only made it worse. They’ve only been gone two days. Two days! You’ve taken longer naps. And yet here you are sitting at the map table on your laptop and looking up an excuse for you to leave with Sam immediately upon their return. Turns out, you needn’t have bothered. The door to the bunker is heavy and booming so even if you hadn’t have been right there you’d have heard it pretty quickly. However, you are there with a perfect view of the entryway, just as Sam ducks down to come in. The problem occurs when he doesn’t duck his head quite enough and slams his forehead into the thick metal door frame. “Son of a bitch!” He shouts with a strange inflection at the end. It’s familiar just, not from Sam. You're distracted by his injury and you jump up from your seat to meet him at the bottom of the stairs, “show me, you big baby.” Not once does it occur to you that Sam has walked through that door a thousand times without injury. Not when he leans down to show you his slightly red forehead and you ghost your fingers over it, gently feeling for a lump and at the same time running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll live. Where’s Dean?” “Dean? He jumps back from your touch and creases his brow, apparently shocked and offended by your innocent line of questioning. “He’s, erm, at the library! Yeah, I- I just dropped him off.” You have a library. It’s quite literally right behind you and has more lore books than the local one. That’s not taking into account that Dean is the one at the library and not Sam. None of that matters because that’s not what you decide to focus on, “um, are telling me that he’s not here?” “That’s what I said.” “We have the place to ourselves?” “That’s what Dean is at the library means.” Your voice drops into something akin to the verbal equivalent of velvet and you lean into him, looking up through your lashes. “Then why am I not already naked?”

Before he can react you slide your arms around his neck and bring him crashing you meet your lips. The kiss is different, softer, for all of the second it lasts before Sam has his hands on your shoulders pushing you back. He keeps you at arm's length as he splutters, “Y/N, what the hell?” “Oh come on, you said yourself you just dropped him off which means we have some time.” You slip past his hands, fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt and lips pressing kisses against the taut skin of his chest as it’s revealed. “Wanna see how many times you can make me...?” “Woah, woah, woah!” He pushes you back again, shirt half unbuttoned and your ego significantly more bruised than his forehead. “Are you and Sam…?” He raises his brows questioningly and makes a hand motion involving one finger sliding into a circle made with his other hand. You don’t know what's worse, the rejection or the anxiety suddenly eating at your stomach. “Sam, what’s going on?” His face pales of color and he scratches the back of his neck while he avoids looking directly into your eyes, “see, funny thing about that. I’m kinda not Sam.” “What?” The sickly feeling is climbing from your belly to your throat but you still need to hear more words. “Well, me and Sam kind of switched bodies. Accidently and it was no ones fault so let’s not go pointing fingers at anyone, and he is really at the library, my body anyway…” “Dean!?” The guilty look on his face is all the confirmation you need. “Oh my god!” You take a step back with a scandalized look on your face as you clutch your shirt to your chest as if it’s your buttons that are half undone. “Don’t give me that! You’re the one who’s- who’s…” he wags a finger through the air between you and him, or Sam’s body anyway. “You’re the one who jumped me like a damn spider monkey. And since when are you and Sam? You know!” It’s as clear as day now that this is, very much, not your Sam. In fact, it’s so obviously Dean that you almost want to slap yourself for being so blind. You’re far more tempted to slap Sam though. Or Dean anyway. “That is frankly none of your business. Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner? You’re the one who said you dropped Dean off!” “Technically I did. He’s got my good looks and my ID anyway, that makes him Dean Winchester!” An epiphany hits you sideways and you finally ask the most obvious question, not knowing it answers everything else, “wait a second, how did you get like this? You weren’t even hunting a witch or anything.” Suddenly he’s defensive. You’ve finally asked the right question, “we may have been doing a spell to track the pair of vetala and I might have, maybe, got some of the wording wrong. And two of the ingredients. And we might not know exactly how to put ourselves back.” You rub your forehead in frustration and let out the angriest sigh you can muster. “I guess I better start doing some research.” You turn on your heel an stomp into the library. Dean calling after you with Sam’s voice, “don’t think we’re not gonna talk about the fact that I can still taste your tongue down my throat!” “It’s Sam’s throat genius!”

Sam, in Dean’s body, sits down next to you with a large book in his hands. “I heard someone isn’t talking to Dean.” “He’s an idiot.” You grumble, not taking your eyes off the page. “Yeah, but we should probably cut him some slack since we didn’t tell him about us for, like a month.” Your shoulders roll back involuntarily but still tense. It doesn’t make him any less right, “I get that. But I kissed him! And I tried to- let’s just say I was happy to see you.” He opens his book not really looking at the page and for the first time, you turn your head to look at him. It’s Sam and you know it is. Not just because he told you so but his facial expressions are still his and he shakes his head like he’s expecting to have more hair. Hell, when you saw him walk over out the corner of your eye he walked across the room like he’s four inches taller. “You technically kissed me you know.” This time he’s pretending to read and not looking at you. “It’s unbelievably weird to hear Dean say that you know?” “Yeah,” he chuckles and it’s a little too Dean, “it’s weird for me too. Did you know he’s got this backache that just doesn’t go away?” You let out a laugh at that since you know how sensitive Dean is about his age. “Ok, noted. I’m so saving that information for when you two are back in the right bodies.” “Glad I could help make you smile again,” except as he says it he reaches out for your hand. It’s not unusual since he would sometimes squeeze your hand under the table or when you’re out sight. But now it’s Dean and even though you know it’s Sam you still recoil from his touch, “no offense but that’s super weird.” He's in Dean's body and yet he retained those damn puppy dog eyes in the switch. “Dean gets to kiss my girl and she won’t even hold my hand?” You sigh. He’s right, obviously. It’s a fairly innocuous thing and it’s not like Dean is repulsive, it’s just weird. It’s weird and messy and an extra slice of more weird. “First of all, I didn't know it was Dean when I... anyway how about this? Instead of holding your hand there’s a pie in the kitchen that we can tease him with?” He allows you to distract him and his face falls with a sudden horrific realization. If you didn’t know any better you might think it was another apocalypse, “do not let him near pie while he's in my body!”

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters  @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23

[pinesconessecrets]

Mistletoe

Here’s your super duper uber late secret santa gift, Fri Fri! I hope you enjoy. <3

@sci-fri

Usually, it was dead in Wirt’s florist shop when the holidays began to roll around. His shop flourished in the spring and summer, customers coming in and out to browse his wide variety of flowers and other miscellaneous plants. As fall set in, the once steady flow of customers slowed down considerably, leaving Wirt fairly bored and often alone in his shop.

It was Christmas time now. Business picked up again briefly during the month of December and the first week of January. Everyone wanted assortments of holly, poinsettias, Christmas roses, chrysanthemums, and other Christmas themed flowers. Wirt got good at making wreaths very quick. Word of them got around town quick and the first two weeks of December was spent making the darn things.

After that, things really died down and he was bored. Really bored.

He spun around in his chair, leaned back and staring up at the ceiling. There was a week left to Christmas and boy was he bored. His family was supposed to visit him but their flight got messed up and they had to cancel. Wirt put on his happy face and told them it was fine, that he could just visit in January when the crazy holiday season has died down. Greg took it harder than Wirt did since the two brothers only got to see each other a handful of times each year.

The doorbell chimed, signaling that a customer was walking in. Wirt tried not to flail while straightening himself in his chair. He was a professional that totally didn’t spin around in his chair while he was bored. Nope, not at all.

“Hey, Wirt!”

He looked up, blinking in surprise. “Oh hey, Mabel. I didn’t think you would still be in town.”

Mabel made her way through the shop, setting a cup of something warm on the counter. “We were going to fly back to Washington to see our parents, but my lazybutt of a brother couldn’t get out of bed on time and made us miss our flight. Couldn’t afford another ticket so we decided to stay here. Mom and Dad are pretty bummed that we couldn’t make it but hey, it happens. What about you?”

Wirt picked the cup up, taking a tentative sip. Hot chocolate; he should have known. “There was a glitch in the airport’s system so they never actually booked a flight and they couldn’t schedule any flights until January. It’s not the first Christmas I’ve had to spend alone so it’s cool.”

She pursed her lips, her expression scrunching up. That was a look Wirt knew as Mabel’s thinking face. He had a feeling about what would happen next.

“You should come and have Christmas with us!”

Wirt chewed on his lip, thinking it over. Either way, he probably didn’t have a choice considering this was Mabel who was asking him. “Okay. Do you want me to bring anything? Like a pie or a side dish or something.”

“Honestly whatever is good. I think Dipper is going to try to bake a turkey, which means I’ll end up baking it because he should not be let anywhere near the kitchen.”

Wirt laughed into his drink. “That bad?”

“He almost set the microwave on fire, Wirt. The microwave. Do you know how hard it is to even do that?”

“I’ll take your word for it. I had a roommate back in college who burned everything in the microwave. Needless to say, he was quickly banned from going near it shortly after. Didn’t stop him though.”

“Oh man, that sounds exactly like Dipper. He’s hopeless when it comes to any type of kitchen device.” Mabel looked at the time on her phone, then let out an annoyed huff. “I gotta bounce! I swear, everyone would be lost without me at work. See you soon, Wirt!”

“Later, take care.”

Mabel waved at him as she walked through the door, leaving Wirt alone in his shop.

  *****

Wirt sat nervously in his car, fidgeting with his seatbelt. A freshly baked apple pie and a cinnamon butterscotch pie were carefully placed in the backseat, filling the car with their sweet and tempting aroma. He didn’t know why he was so nervous to go to the Pines twins apartment for Christmas. They were his friends; he had no reason to be feeling this nervous.

Okay, maybe he was slightly crushing on Dipper. It was just a little crush, nothing to worry about, right?

Right.

Wirt turned his car off, pocketing the keys before stepping out into the biting cold. He gathered the pies up in his arms carefully, beginning on making his way to the apartment complex. The twins lived up on the top floor and thank god for elevators. He didn’t think he’d be able to go up four flights of stairs, let alone with two pies. Mabel’s spidey sense must have kicked in before Wirt had the chance to knock on the door.

“You made it! Come in!” she beamed, practically pulling him in. “You can put the pies on the counter in the kitchen.”

Wirt yelped and struggled not to drop the dessert. “You didn’t let Dipper in the kitchen, did you?”

“Nope! Chased him out with my trusty wooden spoon anytime he tried to sneak in.”

“You know I can hear you, right? Not cool guys.” Dipper leaned against the wall, dark circles under his eyes.

Wirt hummed innocently, glancing at one of Mabel’s multiple wooden spoons scattered about the kitchen.

“Oh no. No no no. You are not going to do what I think you’re planning,” Dipper scowled.

Mabel leaped at Dipper with wooden spoons in both hands, batting at him gleefully. “I am!”

“Argh, Mabel no! Look I’m leaving!” He quickly retreated from the vicinity of the kitchen, heading back to the living room.

She snickered, brandishing her weapons. “The turkey’s almost done cooking, so feel free to go chill. I’ll hold the fort down.”

“Call me if you need any help.”

“Will do!”

Wirt wandered into the living room, hovering awkwardly in the entryway. Dipper was sprawled out on the couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table as he lazily flipped through the channels on TV.

“You gonna sit down? I don’t bite.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Wirt shuffled over, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. He tried to focus on the movie Dipper picked, which was some cheesy Hallmark movie because seriously, what else is there to watch during Christmas.

But his mind kept drifting to Dipper’s presence. Oh, how he hated how his mind loved to kick into overdrive, making him overanalyze everything and anything. Did Dipper even like other guys? Wirt never had the courage to ask, let alone hint at bringing up any talk of it. He had a feeling Mabel must have figured he was harboring a tiny crush on her brother but she never mentioned it.

“… you okay, man? Kinda spaced out there.”

Wirt jumped, coming back to earth. “Y-yeah. It’s been pretty quiet at the shop so I’ve been uh, zoning out a lot. Not much to do since pretty much everyone’s out of town or busy visiting family.”

“Really? Figured everyone  would be lining up to buy some flowers or something.”

“My Christmas wreaths are pretty popular but the demand dies down once it gets close to Christmas. I guess people forget that flowers exist.”

“Lame. Maybe I’ll write a blog post about the importance of visiting your local flower shop. Buy a bouquet of flowers and get a discount on a tattoo. It’s the perfect deal.”

Wirt hoped that Dipper didn’t notice the faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Would people actually take you up on that?”

“Probably. People love their tattoos.”

“It’d be… nice. Thank you,” he mused.

“‘Course. You helped spread the word of my tattoo parlor back when I was first starting out. Kinda surprised me to have a slew of people come in.”

“Never underestimate the power of a mere florist,” he said slyly.

“Mere? Come on, you’re more than that. You’re like the flower whisperer.”

Wirt shook his head, laughing softly. “Flower whisperer? That’s a bit of a stretch. My mom’s the one who has the green thumb. She can bring plants back from the dead in record time.”

“So can you.”

“Not as well as Mom.”

“Shut up and accept my compliments.” Dipper threw one of the multiple pillows littering the couch at Wirt.

He squawked as the pillow hit him smack in the face, flailing around. Wirt chucked the pillow right back at Dipper, who caught it with ease. Dipper gave Wirt a smug grin, tucking the pillow back in its righteous place.

“If you two are done behaving like children, dinner’s ready.” Mabel poked her head into the living room, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the two.

“Says the other child,” Dipper muttered, low enough for only Wirt to catch.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Mabel rolled her eyes, passing a plate to Wirt. Once they all had a plate, they began piling food onto their plates. Wirt didn’t take too much food, knowing if he got anymore he’d end up in some sort of a food coma and would pass out on the couch for a few hours. The kitchen table was covered in a mess of papers and sketchbooks, Dipper’s laptop and numerous coffee cups, so all three opted to sit on the couch to eat. Mabel and Dipper bickered over the remote, Mabel emerging victorious as she changed the channel to something that wasn’t a Hallmark movie. She settled on Home Alone, tucking the remote between her and the armrest.

Wirt ended up sitting between the twins, painfully aware of how close he was sitting to Dipper. It’s cool, act normal. Everything is perfectly fine. Don’t let your eyes wander oh wait is that a new tattoo? he thought to himself. A few sneaky glances confirmed that Dipper indeed get a new tattoo. It looked like a single vine wrapping around his forearm, varying types of flowers here and there. He picked out carnations, chrysanthemums, petunias, and roses. Wirt didn’t take Dipper to be a flower guy, unless…

“Are you done eating? I can take your plate,” Mabel said, already taking Dipper’s empty plate.

“Oh, no. I can get it.”

“Shh. No. You’re company. Give me your plate.”

Knowing better than to argue, Wirt handed her his plate. She nodded with a smug grin and headed off to the kitchen. Soon sounds of her cleaning kitchen reached the living room.

Before Wirt could get up to help her, Dipper shook his head. “She’ll just chase you out. I wouldn’t try.”

Wirt flopped back down on the couch with a sigh, bouncing a leg. Then, his stupid mind betrayed him and he blurted out, “Did you get a new tattoo?”

“Yeah! Mabel’s been wanting to practice and I told her that I’d let her give me one to stop hounding me. She insisted on flowers for some reason.” Dipper held up his arm to give Wirt a closer look.

Wirt scooted closer, adoring the amount of detail Mabel put into the flowers. She captured their beauty perfectly and not a single line was out of place. “Mabel did a wonderful job on these flowers. If I wasn’t so squeamish around needles, I’d love to get a flower tattoo.”

“I wouldn’t mind holding your hand while you’re getting one. I mean, if you’re cool with that and everything. I wouldn’t want to make you feel awkward or anything and oh my gosh I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with that and look here I am rambling again I’m so sorry,” Dipper stammered out, flailing his arms around nervously as he spoke.

Wirt chuckled, unable to stop himself from giving Dipper a slight smile. “I’d be okay with that.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. When I can work up the courage to get a tattoo, that is.”

“Y-yeah, of course! Have you thought about what kind you want to get?”

“No, not yet. I know a lot of people get ones that have some sort of meaning to them and it’s the way I’d like to go, but I can’t decide on exactly what I want.”

Dipper nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Take your time. It’s definitely not an overnight decision to make.”

The two lapsed into silence, their attention focused on the movie playing on TV. Wirt remembered when Greg first got into the Home Alone movies. He tried to prank Wirt after that, but their mom put a quick end to it when she caught wind of what he was planning.

Out of the corner of Wirt’s eye, he noticed Dipper fidgeting. It looked like he wanted to say something. As he turned his head to speak, Wirt’s phone rang.

Wirt mouthed ‘sorry’ as he got up from the couch, answering the phone on his way to the door. Mabel was too absorbed in washing dishes that she didn’t see him walk by, not even looking up when the door was opened and closed.

The phone call ended up being from Greg, who wanted to check up on Wirt. He seemed pleased to hear that he wasn’t spending Christmas Eve alone, but was still upset that he couldn’t come to visit. Wirt assured him that they’d get to see each other in a few short weeks, and if the airport’s system got messed up again, he’d take some time off from work to drive back home to see Greg. And that was a rock fact. Soon, Greg had to hang up to go to bed since it was starting to get late, making Wirt promise to call him first thing in the morning.

Wirt slipped his phone back into his pants pocket and opened the door, only to be met with Mabel shoving Dipper towards the doorway. He shut the door behind him and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. Mabel simply shrugged before pointing up and hauling ass.

Oh no.

“Why am I not surprised?” Dipper rolled his eyes. “Of course she planned this.”

A mistletoe hung above them, easy to miss if you weren’t looking out for it. Wirt was feeling all sorts of panic now. She must know of Wirt’s crush on Dipper, or maybe it was the other way around? No, it can’t be the other way around because whoever had a crush on him had to be out of their mind.

“Well, this is awkward. I wasn’t planning on telling you that uh, that I liked you. At all really. But guess Mabel had other plans,” Dipper mumbled.

Wirt’s face burned. Dipper had a crush on him? What? Was he dreaming? He definitely was dreaming. This can’t be happening.

“I like you too.”

Why did I say that? Wirt screamed internally. No no no no no. Abort mission.

Dipper perked up. “You do?”

“Y-yeah. I hope that’s okay?”

“Course, man. God, this is going to sound so lame but I’ve had a crush on you ever since Mabel dragged me into your flower shop like a year ago.”

“Just kiss already, you dorks!” Mabel yelled at them from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Are you okay with…?” Dipper started to ask, his voice trailing off.

Wirt bit his lip but nodded. “Mmhm. Best to y-you know, before Mabel comes in here and shoves our heads together.”

He laughed, stepping closer. Wirt felt his heart thudding in his chest as Dipper grew closer, his cheeks turning redder when Dipper tucked his fingers under Wirt’s chin to tilt his head up. He let his eyes flutter shut, his breath catching in the back of his throat as Dipper’s lips softly brushed over his own. It was a small kiss but had the promise of more in the future to come.

“Took you dorks long enough. You’d still be pining over each other if it wasn’t for me.” Mabel appeared a few feet away from them, smirking triumphantly.

Dipper jumped away from Wirt, both of them equally embarrassed. “Mabel! Personal space!”

“You’re in the hallway. Not really personal space, is it?”

“Oh my god. You’re impossible. Go away.”

Mabel cackled and walked away.

Dipper dropped his head onto Wirt’s shoulder. “She’s going to drive me insane one of these days.”

“Thought she already was.”

“Haha, very funny. We should probably go join her in the living room before she comes back. But first…” Dipper kissed Wirt again with more confidence. Wirt let out a squeak of surprise, causing Dipper to laugh against his lips. “I think I could get used to hearing more of whatever that noise was.”

“Oh my gosh. No. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s cute.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

[granatumre]

Hi, Jo! You're translating Those who stand? I thought you only made playlists. What language? Can I ask you a few questions? I hope I'm not being rude, I'm really curious because I want to translate fanfics myself (in Spanish) and I don't know where to start. How you do you keep the authenticity and the quality of the original text? How do you translate jokes and word play? Have you ever been stuck on a sentence you couldn't translate? Good luck on your translation! :)

Hi anon! I hope you can excuse me for such a late response, I’ve made you wait a whole month and for that I’m sorry. Oh, wow that’s the most interesting question I’ve received so far (not that I receive a lot of them haha). But I will, with pleasure, answer your questions! Thank you for asking and thank you for the luck! Good luck on your translation too! I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job! But keep in mind that I’m an amateur, so everything I say is only my experience and my opinion, it works for me, maybe it’s different for you.

It’s Russian and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, but also not as simple. The key of translating, in my opinion, is that you have to know how to write fiction yourself, because it should resemble a piece of literature and not something soulless and taken out of google translate. So, basically, translating, is the same thing as writing: you’re living the words and sentences and you have to put them through yourself and back to find that exact line that fill satisfy you. Translating should also be fun, you have to enjoy the process because be prepared of transforming sentences and trying to make them as poetic, as the original is. And that is basically the key of keeping the authenticity.

In a way, you can’t, because each language has its own structure and I know how disappointing it is when you like the original line so badly, but you can’t make an exact translation because it would just sound weird. Sometimes I have to make a line longer, sometimes I would add some words just to make it more powerful for the language I am translating it into, sometimes I would breakdown a sentence into two separate ones. And it’s all okay! No translation will be identical to its original, it’s impossible. I will add 4 examples so you can see how it works.

The original: We’re too old for neon lights and bass sounds which are so loud that we can’t hear ourselves speak, and too young and privileged for dinner on our laps and an early night. We sit snugly and smugly, congratulating ourselves on our comfortable situations.

Russian version: Мы слишком стары для неоновых огней и басовых звуков, которые настолько громки, что мы не слышим своего голоса, и слишком молоды и привилегированны для ужина на коленях в раннюю ночь. Мы окружили себя комфортом и самодовольно поздравляем себя с bella vita*.

The exact translation of the Russian version: We’re too old for neon lights and bass sounds that are so loud that we can’t hear our voice, and too young and privileged to have dinner on our knees in the early night. We have surrounded ourselves with comfort and smugly congratulate ourselves with bella vita*.

The original: My heart beats right into his chest and his into mine as if they’re urging each other to throb at the same time.

Russian version: Моё сердце бьется в его грудь, а его в мою, словно это зов, сигнал одновременного слияния.

The exact translation of the Russian version: My heart beats into his chest and his into mine, like it’s a call, a signal of a synchronous merging.

The original: I lower my head to kiss him until he moans into my mouth in a way that is to be felt more than heard, and open my eyes to see his closed. It makes me think of all the funerals I’ve ever been to, and every open coffin.

Russian version: Я опускаю голову и целую, пока не слышу его стон на моих губах — он забирается мне под кожу, в ребро, и я открываю глаза, чтобы увидеть его закрытые веки. Я вспоминаю каждые похороны, каждый открытый гроб.

The exact translation of the Russian version: I lower my head and kiss him until I hear his moan on my lips — it gets under my skin, into my rib, and I open my eyes to see his closed eyelids. I remember every funeral, every open coffin.

The original: L said that he’d see me later, and I think about that a lot. I did, anyway. I try not to think about things I can’t reason out, but sometimes, and for the most stupid, insignificant reasons, I miss him so much that it pulls the air from me. I miss him like you’d miss air or water. An almost physical pain of loss but constant and thumping like blood in my head which wouldn’t cease until I thought that, yeah, I’d see him later. But I don’t believe it, really. I can’t, and it sucks big, hairy, massive balls. I couldn’t understand why I’d need to believe that I’d see him again just to comfort myself. I’d rather have felt nothing. So, as I say, I don’t think about it now. Everything worked out for the best, I suppose.

Russian version: Эл сказал, что мы увидимся чуть позже, и я много об этом думаю. Думал, во всяком случае. Я пытаюсь не размышлять о вещах, которые не могу решить, но иногда, по самым глупым и незначительным причинам, я скучаю по нему настолько сильно, что это выбивает из меня весь воздух. Я скучаю по нему, как вы бы скучали по кислороду или воде. Словно потеря — это физическая боль, но постоянная и пульсирующая во мне как кровь приливающая к голове, и она не перестанет болеть, пока я не подумаю, что да, я увижу его позже. Но на самом деле, я в это не верю. Я не могу, и это настолько, блять, ужасно. Я не понимал зачем мне следует верить в то, что мы скоро увидимся, лишь для того, чтобы себя утешить. Лучше бы я ничего не чувствовал. Так что, как я и говорил, я больше об этом не думаю. Все решилось в лучшую сторону, не так ли?

The exact translation of the Russian version: L said we’d see each other later, and I think about it a lot. I used to, anyway. I try not to think about things I can’t solve, but sometimes, for the stupidest and most insignificant reasons, I miss him so much that it knocks the air out of me. I miss him, like you would miss oxygen or water. Like loss — is a physical pain, but constant and thumping like blood rushing to my head, and it won’t stop hurting until I think that yes, I’ll see him later. But I don’t really believe it. I can’t, and it’s so fucking awful. I didn’t understand why I had to believe that I would see him soon just to comfort myself. I wish I didn’t feel anything. So, like I said, I don’t think about it anymore. It was all for the better, wasn’t it?

So the only way to keep the authenticity is to make it authentic to the language you’re translating the text into. It’s still going to be the same meaning and that way you keep the metaphors running too.

Also, I was talking about this with the author yesterday and it’s probably the hardest thing to translate. In Russian (and Spanish as you know), unlike in English, there’re different versions of “you”. It will vary depending on the formality of the relationship between the speaker(s)/ listener(s) and how many people are being spoken to. So there’s an informal you that will be used with your friends which is a “ты” equivalent to “tú” in Spanish and “tu” in French. And the formal way of addressing someone which is “вы” equivalent to “usted” and “vous” in French. There’s this part in Chapter 1, when Light and L first meet and it was reasonable to use the formal “you” but then I didn’t know when to switch it to the informal one. I though that L knelling in front of Light and the “yeah, now we’re friends” was a good moment of doing it because this was pretty informal to me. And apparently it was a perfect choice, so I’m happy about that.

But the puns, the jokes and oh the British fucking slang is something my betas and I have been crying about. From the light the Light pun, to the «law» in Lawliet pun, to the «interbred, loose-toothed, pink pony fucking, grandmother mugging, vagina-faced, vomit guzzling, baby killing, rectal smears within driving distance» which I had to sit through for a good half an hour trying to sort this whole dialogue out. Light’s clothing monologue is always very hard to translate because it’s very specific and detailed and I’m just so lost, but I manage and Google is my friend. My favourite was the B mumbling, which was a nightmare on its own because what’s a coma and fucking «Noir de Noir and one part Tobacco Vanille» and also that massive part when he spoke slang and I wouldn’t make it without Laura’s help because apparently the phrases are used to describe stupid people so from this:

The original: Upstairs the lights are on but no one’s home not the sharpest knives in the drawer a few cards short of a deck the bats are out of the belfry a few fries short of a Happy Meal the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor the antenna doesn’t pick up all the channels all booster no payload one IQ point above brain death if I offered you a penny for your thoughts then I’d get change not the fastest ship in the fleet the gates are down the lights are flashing but the train isn’t coming isn’t that right L?

I got this:

Russian version: Это как если бы ты надел шапку под палящим солнцем если бы ты пытался разжечь огонь в воде если бы ты взял диетическую колу с жирным обедом если бы ты отдал деньги попрошайкам надеясь что они используют их во благо если бы ты разжигал камин без дров и искал правду у лжеца понимаешь о чем я Эл?

The exact translation of the Russian version: It’s like wearing a hat in the hot sun like trying to light a fire in the water taking a diet coke with a greasy lunch giving money to the beggars hoping they’d use it for good lit a fire without firewood and looked for the truth from a liar you know what I mean L?

Which is honestly as close as I could get and even tho it’s not the same lines, it’s still bares the same meaning. When it comes to jokes I always try and find an equivalent in Russian

The original: Oh. Well, I’m sure I’ll slit my wrists over that later.

Russian version: Ну, не волнуйся, обещаю, что надевая петлю на шею, я буду вспоминать твои слова.

The exact translation of the Russian version: Well, don’t worry, I promise, when I’ll be putting a noose around my neck, I’ll be remembering your words.

or when it’s too bad I’ll just put an asterisk and explain the joke in the chapter’s description.

Considering, it usually takes me 2 days (2/3 hours each day) for a chapter, it has been going rather smoothly. However, sometimes I can be stuck on a sentence because I don’t think it’s melodious enough or I don’t like the way it sounds. Sometimes I’m stuck on a sentence because I like the English one so badly and try to make the translated version as close as possible and then I cry because it sounds weird. I have to deal with tautology a lot (not repetition, which is a literary device!) because it might work in English, but it looks awful in Russian and I’m obliged of turning the phrase upside down. The same case with the excessive use of “I” which is so basic in English, but in Russian it looks like an unnecessary tautology and we don’t need to use it as much and plus: the less is better. 

But honestly, overall, Those is very easy to translate because of the way the text is written: it gives room for a translation and an interpretation, which is honestly so rare in a fanfic. Basically, the better the original is, the more metaphors there is, the more description there is, the easier it is to translate. It’s also easy for me, because the style in Those is similar to the way I write my fiction in Russian, if that makes any sense? I live for the metaphors and allusions and the game with punctuation where there’s none and then, suddenly, there’s a lot. It gives me room to breathe and create because a translation is essentially a text you have to break down and then rebuild in a way similar to the original but also correct in the language you’re translating it into. Which is probably why I’ve shed so many tears over it. Which probably explains the playlists, ha.

You have to pick something that you really like and picture yourself doing it. Try a few sentences, test the grounds and don’t take a translation you know you won’t finish. Also! Very important! And it’s something I regret not doing: talk to the author, ask them for help if you don’t understand a sentence or can’t get through something… like… slang, ha!

There’s a lot of fanfics that I really like but would never translate because I can’t relate to the author’s style. And this doesn’t mean it’s badly written, no, the contrary, but I just just can’t picture myself translating it. With any fanfic I read, I would always translate one sentence I really like in my head first and then, if it sticks, I’ll go along. And Those stuck with me.

It was a mix of an insane drive «oh my god the Russian fandom needs to see this, I need to spread the word» and a «are you mad enough to do it» and, well, guess what? I am.

[iphoenixrising]

I can't stop thinking about your Dr!Tim verse (This isnt a prompt btw, I just wanted you to know that Ive been thinking about your writing and how much its inspired me. Sorry for how long this is). I keep imagining the man on the bridge being the hot topic on every news station and paper, even more than Batman and Robin. Everyone wants to know who he is. Is he ok? Did he give his life saving his fellow Gotham citizens? There are a lot of questions

(2)and few answers. Those in the loop are more than content to leave it that way,but somehow it gets leaked that Gothams new hero is a young prodigy doctor atGotham General. Tim is not made aware of this until he gets mobbed by reportersas he’s leaving his 36 hour shift and getting asked a lot of innapropriatepersonal questions. And it’s not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is,Jason.

(3)Of course his boyfriends quickly stop finding the situation funny once the joboffers from all over the world start rolling in. Dozens of them, all offeringthings like millions of dollars in salary, positions like chief of surgery, allin state of the art hospitals that are properly funded and don’t reside incities with crazy clown attacks. And it hurts because, how could they ask himto stay? How could they ask their genius sugar to tie himself down to a city

(4)that chews everyone in it up and spits them out, to be a doctor in a hospitalbarely scraping by, how could they ask their genius boy to refuse a once in alifetime opportunity to escape this shithole of a city and make something bigof himself, all to stay with two vigilantes who cant guarantee they’ll make ithome each night. They couldn’t do it, they want whats best for their boy, evenif it means he leaves them. They can’t ask him to stay.

(5)Damian of course has no such qualms about blackmailing, er requesting Drakestay in the city, and subsequently with his older brothers (Because if he hurtsthem, Damian will hurt Tim twice as bad). Which leads to a very awkwardconversation in which Damian threatens Tim not to leave, Tim is confusedbecause “who said anything about leaving?” And then they have a heartto heart about how Tim isn’t stuck at Gotham general, he chose that hospital.And that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

**

So, hi babe :D  Iknow this has been sitting in my inbox for a minute, sorry >.

Brilliant, babe. Justbrilliant.

I also get to play withanother back-and-forth I haven’t really gotten to yet in these little things,so I’m super excited for B and Tony Stark to just have a little snark-fest,yeah?  

**

Tony showed up a fewweeks early for his quarterly “visit” to Gotham.

It’s disconcertingbecause Tony Stark goes between creating new innovations to privatelyconsulting around the US on the most dire of cases in need of a precise handand large enough ego to make miracles happen. He might have to do somebookkeeping even though Pepper is his CEO and runs his company with iron heels. When he’s not working, he has a nice relationship waiting for himat home.

All of it didn’t leaveTony much time to be running to Gotham before schedule to do someridiculous amount of pouting.

And yet?

Here they are.

When Tim actually getsto turn away from the stack of charts he’s updating, he has an oh shitmoment because Tony…isn’t immediately talking. No white coat, just asnazzy three-piece, arms crossed over his chest, and utterly

Silent.

Tim automaticallystands, taking in his old mentor from head to foot, looking for clues toadd to the inevitable diagnosis hovering in his brain pan.

(Because, you know, thattime when he was still a lowly bachelor and could take a month off of Mercy topretty much live in Tony’s facility while things like brain tumors threatenedhis Tony Stark’s life. His hands didn’t shake the whole time he was rootingaround that famous mound of grey matter–that’s when he knew he’d hit the bigleagues.)

“If you even think,”Tony starts, low and angry, “of taking the offer from UCLA over mine, Iwill be an even bigger asshole about your terrible life choices.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Word has apparently gottenaround.

It started out with aquick blurb on the news, blurry camera phone picture of emergency workers andplain clothes civilians jumping to action in the middle of a crisis, a humaninterest story and all that. A glimmer of goodness among the chaos.

More picture with betterquality once the shock and aftermath died down, started to flood Social Media,even various videos of cables snapping and people running, trying not to gettrampled. One the media latched onto just happened to be of him carrying thelittle girl from the car and helping her mother up in the back of a truck tosend them to safety.

The one with himbreaking through the fallen debris made Dick gasp from the table where he waspatching his suit and Jay wrap a big hand around his ankle to squeeze.

The one where he almostlost his grip climbing the wall of broken shit and flaming car remains isprobably where someone saw the connection because the class of kids went on thenews, holding up colorful signs with Thank-You, Dr. Drake!

He was happy they allseemed fine and after an uncomfortable call from Channel 11 Gotham (howthey found out his name is still a mystery even though he suspects B is an evenbigger troll than he’d already surmised), in which he stipulated nocameras this time, went by the elementary school for a visit. They gripped hisnerd shirt with excited hands, and his arms are long enough for a lot ofhugs.

But while Channel 11agreed to his term of no cameras, no interviews, that didn’t really panout when it came to the story later on that night.

His picture flashed allover the damn place, the resident angel on the bridge as one Dr. Drakefrom Mercy General trying to save as many lives as he could. More video clipsand interviews after the fact (he’s so glad to see that Karmen and her mom areokay), and dammit, he’s being literally attacked outside thedouble doors to his ER after a very long shift without Steph. He mighthave been a little mean when he told them in no specific terms that he was onlytrying to make sure people didn’t, you know, die horribly, as is hisnormal, every-day job, and please let him go home where he can pass outfor a day or he’s going to lie down on someone’s shoes and take a nap.

Jay was predictablyentertained at the whole of it. Dick merely told him his kick-ass doctorinstincts deserved appropriate accolades.

Both of them areassholes, but still, they’re his assholes.

But eventually, likeeverything in Gotham, those videos became old news and the next wave ofinevitable oh shit became front and center. Which, should have meant hisfifteen seconds of fame was pretty much over (thankfully)–if he hadn’tstarted getting other interest.

Several offers startedcoming first by mail to the Penthouse, more by phone and email. Unassumingproper stationary with silver and gold lettering, bright voicemails about his“heroism” and obvious skill in emergency situations, emails from high-rankingdoctors or board members extending an invitation to visit their campus and seeif his career might be going in a new direction.

(Gag)

It was pretty easy atfirst, chucking those finely detailed introduction letters in the trashdiscreetly, sending back appreciative declines without Dick or Jason gettingwise as to how many there actually were.

(John Hopkinsthough…that one he had to think about)

A month later and thingsslacked off (or might be routed through Drake Industries so they stop coming tothe Penthouse). Apparently, though, the attention had been somewhat noticeable.

“I don’t know what youmay have heard, Tony, but–” he starts out calmly, putting the penpointedly down.

“Let me start with the shortlist,” it’s the usual sarcasm laying the mood, mimicking an imaginarychecklist, “John Hopkins, Department Head of Emergency Medicine. Mayo, General Surgery Residency Program Director. MassachusettsGeneral, Chief of Surgery. UCSF, Chief of Residents. UCLA, Chief of Staff.Cedars-Sinai, Neuroscience research grants out the ass. Sound morefamiliar?”

Well, there’s only oneway to get this conversation started.

Bonding over coffee.

Gathering up hischarts with a sigh, Tim shakes his head a little and grabs the cane he’s beenusing since his leg is finally starting to get with it (and no Steph,the House MD jokes were funny a week ago, now you need new material). Heshoos Tony out of the room and down the corridor to the chaos that is his ER.

“Notice I didn’tmention the very generous and consistent offer from StarkMedical, Tim,” because Tony really has nothing to be mad about per sayand falls in step beside him anyway, slowing down his unusually fast strides toaccount for the limp. “Because I’m not here to smooze.”

He pauses at the maindesk to arrange the charts in order, gets the approving nod from his favoriteHead Nurse.

“There’s story behindthis,” he fills in casually, “it’s more complicated than just–”

“You almost died,”Tony interrupts smoothly, “on a bridge. You ran around on a crumbling bridgeinstead of getting people the hell off while you got the hell off. Halfthe nation saw that guy with the crazy bat fetish catch someone out in openwater wearing purple scrubs, Tim.”

Well, none of that isa lie really.

Hands free, Tim gripsTony’s elbow and steers them pointedly into the break room, closes the door.With Dr. Stark roaming around Mercy, most everyone would stay clear unless somecatastrophe hits anyway.

He lets Tony stew fora few minutes while he makes a fresh pot of coffee and thinks very, very hardabout how this is going to go.

“You were worriedabout me,” Tim finally gives a half-grin in the face of Tony’s nope, andputs a fresh paper cup in his hand, “you can bluster all you want, but you wereworried, and I appreciate it.”

“That is absolute crapand you know it. I’m here to make sure no other hospitals or researchfacilities snatch you up, Drake. Not after all the effort I put into you overthe last few years.”

Sure, Tony. “The bridge. I survived. A lot of otherpeople survived, so you can ignore whatever crap the news stations aresaying–”

“All of it is true.You stupidly risked your life when the structural integrity was compromised,and since it just happened to involve that wing-nut in the cape, thenation is going to pay the fuck attention.”

Which is probably whyhe’s suddenly Mr. Popular in his field. Well, that does answer some questions.

“You’re taking thisout of proportion,” even if it’s fruitless, he’s still going to try,“there really haven’t been that many–”

“Twenty of the topfacilities in the world have made offers that would put this place to shame.Three of your last publications have shown up in recent journals. The nextsymposium you’re supposed to be at is already sold out.”

And well, shit.He…he didn’t know all of that.

“Besides, if I wasblowing it out of proportion, we wouldn’t be talking about it in thedeserted break room, Drake.”

Tim groans out loud,rubbing a tired hand down his face. How is he going to explain without soundinglike a complete moron?

“Tony, the offersare…nice, okay? I’m not going to say it isn’t cool to be wanted by someof these places. I mean Cedars… they have equipment and research facilitiesmost places couldn’t even dream of. Just the possibilities–”

A very pointedclearing of the throat makes him take a pause to breathe, count to ten becausehe has to get in the mindset to deal with Tony like this again (it’s been aminute) when he’s being incredibly stubborn.

Neither of them noticethe dark blue against black right at the side of the building, but the presenceunder the open window narrows white eyes and stays hidden in the Gotham shadow. Who even knew how long he’d been there.

“Excuse me,Cedars has equipment most facilities–aside from Stark Medical of course–couldn’teven dream of.”

The look he gets backis unimpressed at most, but Tim can see past the usual Tony Stark mask. Theexuding confidence is there like the nice, expensive suits he wears, but underneaththe brilliance and the snark, Tony’s eyes are bloodshot and the dark circlesunderneath look like bruises. He keeps his dominant hand in the pocket of hispants, probably to hide the slight tremble (which is why he isn’t wearing acoat, right? If Tony’s riding the sleep dep train, he won’t operate if hishands are starting to shake).

Tim eases back alittle, sips on his terrible sludge while idly thumbing his phone open.

“I’m very well awareof the opportunities right in front of you, Tim,” Tony starts moving, a shortwhirlwind of movement, activity, and energy. “I’m just saying–”

“What I told you ayear ago is still true,” Tim comes back, finishing up the quick text to one ofTony’s significant others, (just a little knowledge drop on how exhausted hismentor really is). He puts his phone away and crosses his arms over his chestin a firm sign of ‘this is how the discussion is going to go.’

“You can’t be serious.”And yes, that’s Tony Stark without all the touchy-feely, I care if you diekind of thing. “I’m outraged. I’m outraged on your behalf, Tim.”

“You can’t be,” hedeadpans.

“The hell I can’t.You’re going to stay here, in this death trap of a city and practicemedicine in this ill-equipped, dilapidated chop-shop hold-over from the secondWorld War–”

“Tony, c’mon.”

“While half thegoddamned world is out for you?! Do you have any idea what kindof direction your career could go if you accepted even one of thoseoffers?”

“I–”

“Anything else isliterally going to be professional suicide.”

“When you put it like that–”he snarks back, getting a little closer to his patience. It had taken longerthan usual because Tony, like Layla, needed to adults to lay it out for themonce and awhile.

“It’s time to listento reason, Tim. You’ve had plenty of time to try, I don’t know, winningthe Nobel for putting up with terrible conditions and homicidal maniacs withbomb fetishes. Isn’t it time you started challenging yourself again, and notby trying to die in this trash-dump city?”

And the shadowsoundlessly slides away in the night, leaving the conversation to finish up anecessary patrol. The rushing wind doesn’t take away anything he’s alreadylearned.

Dr. Drake, blissfullyunaware of the company, narrows his eyes dangerously, straightens up because dammit,he thought he handled this.

“I. Am. Not.Interested.” He tries, wondering if the emphasis counts. “As appealing as theresearch capabilities are, I’m not taking any of the offers. At all, atall. I’m staying right the fuck here where I choose to be.”

And he sees Tony startto open his mouth to start-up with another fast and furious argument on whyGotham is a cesspool of death and more death, but Tim walks right overanything he might have started in on by just getting right up in Tony’s faceand laying it all out.

“I appreciate the fuckout of the interest, Dr. Stark. Thanks but no thanks.”

“I need someone tocheck you out obviously.”

“I like ithere.”

“Oh? And what’s hername Mister I-Like-It-Here?”

“His name,Tony, and their names for your information.”

That has the intendedeffect and makes his old mentor pretty much pause on the next syllable.   

“But just so you know,they aren’t the only reasons why I’m staying in Gotham City. It’s more thanbeing close to my parents’ graves or close to my best friend and my niece. It’smore than just finally coming home, Tony. I belong here. I’m neededhere. It’s dirty and dangerous and so fucking what if there’s a guy in aBat suit running around kicking the shit out of criminals? It’s my city,so no. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Tony just blinksdown at him for long moments, this scene so painfully familiar from their daysof arguing back and forth during his “internship” with Stark Medical. It hadn’ttaken him long to understand what needed to be done to make someone like TonyStark change his mind.

Get all up in his faceand drop some truth bombs.

“I really, really hatethis,” Tony finally replies flatly, but his eyes are scrunched in amusement.

“I know. If I ever dowant to leave it behind, then you know the first place I’m going to go,” Timcomes back more gently, giving Tony a smirk.

Even though he’sobvious not happy about it, some of the pissed off fades out of Tony’sstiff posture. “Promise me, Drake. No one gets to kill you before I pick yourbrain about the neuro-stimulation device we’re working on.”

And with the obviouspun, he leans over laughing until his damn leg starts to ache and Tony has tohold him up by the arm so he doesn’t fall over.

**

The very impressiveRolls Royce greets Dr. Stark when he finally makes his way out the front doorsto attempt finding some palatable coffee.

The older man waitingby the passenger-side door is familiar enough that a smile cuts across Tony’sface.

“Alfred! Long time, nosee.” He smirks at the irony since his “visits” to Gotham didn’t alwayscoordinate with Pepper’s insistence he at least be in the city for SMbusiness.

“Master Stark, apleasure to see you again, Sir.”

“Always. Let me guess.You have some incredible coffee in there waiting for me?”

“Of course, Sir. Flavoredjust how you prefer.”

“You are a master ofall things, Alfred. Don’t even let Bruce tell you any differently.”

“I shall remind him atevery opportunity. However, you may do me a service and tell him yourself,”Alfred opened the back door with a slight flourish to show the billionairehimself sitting in the back, drinking from a thick, glass tumbler.

“Aw, Bruce, is that autility belt under your shirt or are you just happy to see me?”

The surgeon foldshimself down to get in, eyes sparkling for the slight scowl on his old friend’sface. He pays little attention to Alfred getting back in the driver’s seat andstarting the car. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t trust me inyour city.”

Tony stick up hispointer fingers at the side of his head, wiggling them to mimic the ears on theside of the cowl.

He’s smiling likecrazy when B just rolls his eyes and takes a deep pull from the tumbler.“You’re early, even after you’ve been running the gambit at your facility andStark Industries for the past few weeks. Forgive me for being curious.”

“I had to see anotherdoctor about a job prospect.”

“The doctor we have amutual interest in?”

“That would be theone. Next time he needs to be saved, leave the tights at home. Don’t you have aWE helicopter for a reason?”

“And exactly how wouldI explain that one away?”

“You have PR people,Bruce, let them have a field day with ‘rich socialite accidentally savespeople on a crumbling bridge.’”

“That would make morework for me as Bruce Wayne. Batman is a better figurehead for that kind ofthing.”

“Figurehead? Oh,you mean the persona you’ve gone to great lengths to hide as some kindof myth or urban legend all these years? That guy just suddenly shows up in thedaytime?”

“He’s beenphotographed before, Tony. Sometimes even with other superheroes, likeSuperman and Wonder Woman. All drawback of being on a team.”

“Teams are wonderfulthings, Bruce.

“Says you.”

And from a pocket inthe door, Bruce finally has a little bit of mercy on the overworked genius bypulling out a warm travel mug with the Batman logo on the front.

Tony laughs maniacallyfor long, painful moments, earning another eye-roll. The contents, however, arejust as Alfred promised: full of caffeine and just as tasty.

After a long moment ofsatisfaction, Tony lays his head back on the cushy seat and just sighs.

“You’re pushingyourself too hard,” Bruce admonishes gently. “I’m going to send the WE chopperto pick up Jim and Steve instead.”

That wakes him up.

“Don’t you even dare,B. I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ve made worseenemies.”

Tony doesn’t snortcoffee up his nose, but really, it’s a close thing.

“You obviously can’ttake care of yourself,” Bruce is his usual brusk, no-nonsense about it, butTony can see there’s already some kind of plan in the making. “I can seewhy the two of them have such a hard time with you.”

“Says the guy thatneeded an emergency arthroscopy for meniscus tears.”

“Then I guess I’m verylucky you were in town.”

Tony hums, but hiseyes are sparkling. “How is the knee doing by the way?”

“It hurts when I breaksomeone’s jaw. Other than that, it’s fine.” And because it’s Bruce, he wavesit away without a second thought.

Tony hums again, buthis eyes go down to the knee in question.

Bruce sips his drinkagain while Alfred continues driving and Tony makes him wait for it.

Finally, once they’repassing the old Mylar building, B looks at him head-on, “all right. What did hehave to say?”

Trying not to grin,Tony shrugs a shoulder, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Drake is staying inGotham, even with the more-than-generous offer I’ve made him. Believe me, B,I’m not happy about it, but he doesn’t seem too keen on leaving Mercy General.”

And as Tony is well-awarein their long and industrious friendship, the real Bruce Wayne is like a closedbook, doesn’t let even the smallest twitch break his facade (well, except infront of his boys, which is when BatDad makes an appearance), but thesigns of relief are really hard to miss for someone that literally kept B’sright arm moving after that rotator cuff injury.

“Dick and Jay will behappy to hear that, I suppose.” Tony observes with false cheer becausehonestly, who wouldn’t put two and two together at this juncture.

(Bruce isn’t the onlydetective. As a surgeon, Tony has to deduce with little evidence, so it’s notreally a shocker to find out the vigilantes have a doctor for a sweetie. Smartmove all around.)

“…yes, they will.Tim…?”

“He didn’t have to.You just told me yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

At the frown, Tonygives himself a mental point. The day he can get one up on the Batman is reallya day he needs to remember.

“All right, fine. Jayand Dick might have mentioned he’s been getting attention outside Gotham. I’vealready taken some steps to try making it seem like staying in the city mightbe a better deal.”

And Tony’s jaw drops,“you’ve been trying to get Mercy to partner with WE! That’s why they aren’tplaying nice with Pepper! Bruce, you devil.”

“Demon, actually, ifyou believe the stories,” and now it’s Bruce smirking into his tumbler. “We’lltalk more about it over dinner. Besides, the Batcomputer is on the fritz again.You can dazzle me over filet mignon.”

“Flatterer. How can Ipossibly say no?”

Bruce taps theintercom to tell Alfred they’re ready to go back to the Manor and Dr. Starkwill be joining them for the evening. Alfred gives him an affirmative and the planis set into motion. If there just happens to be a comfortable surfacefor Tony to pass out on during the visit, well, the pictures for Jim and Stevewould be well-worth the effort.

**

The conversation withTony didn’t end well, leaving him with a mental hangover by the time his shiftis finally over.

Night hadn’t startedbreaking away into dawn yet, so he’s still walking by dark alleys where thestreet lights are flickering.

He gets out a, “whatthe fuck–!?” before he’s just suddenly swept up off his feet by a strongarm holding him up hundreds of feet in the air.

Really, he should beused to things like this by now.

Robin undoubtedly givesno shits about how tight he’s holding onto the doctor or, the obviousdifferences in their height as punctuated by the botched landing, putting himliterally on his ass.

“Wow, thanks for the warning,Rob. I really didn’t need legs anyway.”

In some way that mightactually show he’s sorry, Robin bends down to pick up the cane and handsit over so Tim can get back on his feet.

“Alright, what’s goingon? Where are you hurt?” He doesn’t bother with niceties, just grips Robin bythe bicep and turns him, uses the cane to hold the cape out of the way. “Pleasetell me no one stabbed you because wouldn’t that just be ironic?”

He sees no blood ortorn suit. Takes a second look just to make sure.

Robin, in a creepyparody of his conversation with Tony earlier in the evening, is silent.

“Rob? Robin, what isit?”

A litany of oh shitruns through his brain pain in the form of toxins, mind control, and bloodborne pathogens (oh my).

“I have beeninformed,” the youngest vigilante starts slowly, “you are considering other opportunitiesoutside of Gotham, Drake.”

He blinks once. Doesit again while staring down at the whiteouts.

“Opportunities? Rob–Dami,what are you talking about?”

“Facilities are vyingfor you, offering you more advantages than any in Gotham possibly could.I understand the temptation of such offers–”

“Whoa, what? Wait aminute. Just. Wait.”

“However,” Robin goeson, his tone low in the night, “I am here to offer you a bargain.”

And that in no waywhatsoever sound anything less than ominous. Like, ‘I’ll promise not to takeout your spleen’ kind ominous.

He leans down a littleso the crime fighter doesn’t have to look up at him, “First: yes, I’ve gottensome job offers. It’s nice they’re thinking of me, really, but those offers arebased off a one-time emergency incident, not because they’ve seen me inaction or know anything about my…hobbies. They’re not offering a jobto me, Dami. Do you get that?”

The ensuing silenceand Bat-stillness are signs of the younger processing.

“Besides, I choseto come back to Gotham when I could have gone pretty much anywhere after myinternship with Stark Medical. You have no idea how many places wantedme on staff after I survived Tony Stark. If I wanted a job outside of the city,I could have had it in spades. The point is I chose to be here. I wantedto stay, and that? Isn’t going to change, okay? No bargains, no threats,nothing. I’m not leaving–”

He stops himselfbefore saying I’m not leaving Dick and Jay because really, he isnot, repeat Not talking to Dami about his relationship. Poor kid mightbe traumatized for life, so nope, not happening.

(Their last littleconvo to the vibe of ‘harm my brother and I shall eviscerate you per one ofyour textbooks. I shall do it slowly and methodically. Your screams would nottrouble me’ turned into a pretty good discussion on the best possiblescenario in effectively ripping someone’s spine out. His argument against thelogistics of it had spurned Robin out of the killing mood).

The obvious relief inthe small crime fighter is right there in how his shoulders sag just slightly.

“So, you’re going tohave to put up with me saving your ass when you do stupid shit like take on anarmy of zombified Jokers without backup.”

“Then…I shall haveno other option but to deal with your meddling when necessary,” the youngerwaves off his concern, but a corner of his mouth is tilted up just enough tonotice.

**

It’s really nice ofDami to drop him off on his fire escape. Walking would have been fine, but whenyou can travel Air-Robin, well, why not?

He pushes his windowup and gingerly eases in, maneuvering the cane to steady his leg. Hands are onhim before his head is inside and he wacks himself a good one in surprise.

Dick is smiling gentlydown at him, still gripping his elbow to steady him.

“That sounded like ithurt,” is a failed attempt at a joke because the mirth doesn’t reach the darkblue of Dick’s eyes.

Oh. OH. Welp, that’swhere Dami got this nonsense from, is it?

His stern lecture isgoing to have to wait for at least one cup of half-way decent coffee because hereally need to wind it up so the message hits home.

Jay is already there,his chair pulled out from the kitchen table and the pot filled with somethingdarker than the night.

“Hi honey,” he tiredlycalls, “did my boys have a good time kicking the shit out of bad guys tonight?”

Making grabby hand athim, Dick is one of his hugging moods, and pretty much lifts him off hisfeet to nuzzle/carry him to the table where blessed coffee awaited. Fine.Lecture pending.

He gets a last goodnuzzle to the face before the smell of pizza hits and a plate appears in frontof him. Jason leans down to blow a breath across his jugular before his mouthpresses just enough to be a kiss, the usual effect takes his nerve endings up anotch or two before the tease pulls away.

The three of them eatin sluggish silence, the strain of their night jobs hitting a little close tohome. The call of a communal shower and their large, comfortable bed a siren’ssong to the over-worked, sleep-deprived do-gooders.

But Tim knows them bynow, knows what’s already running them further down.

Through the last yearof their relationship, they’d already been through the whole we’re puttingyou in danger just by being with you argument.

Yes, yes it possiblywas.

Yes, he is fullyaware.

Yes, he can make hisown choices fuck you very much.  Apparently, his no, not changing mymind is going to come out for a second time tonight.

“Robin picked me up onthe way home,” he starts out while the two of them are finishing up and lookingless likely to start up arguing before he’s made his point.

“Dami was still out?”

“What? Baby Bat ain’tget enough in that warehouse down on 23rd?”

Tim finishes off hiscoffee and finally sets his eyes on first Jason and then Dick. “Going to ask mewhat he wanted?”

Both crime fighters gostill, doing that eye slide thing they can still pull off with a domino andhelmet.

“Lay it on us,Timmers.”

“He pretty much askedwhat offer I was accepting for some mystery job half a continent away,”and now he’s glaring, eyes narrowing when Dick looks quickly away and Jasonsits back with a tense jaw jutting out.

“Which is absolutelyfucking ridiculous considering I like right where the hell I am.Where could he have heard such a thing, I wonder?”

Oh yeah, that’s Dick’sguilty expression.

“It’s fine if theywant to offer me a position, but the nice thing about it is that I can politelydecline, you know.”

“Top twenty facilitiesin the world, Timmy?” Dick’s voice is softer than he’d like, shakingly unsurefor a vigilante that literally risks his life every night to keep peoplehe doesn’t even know safe. “That’s not something to take…lightly.”

His mouth drops openwith an are you even kidding me?

“‘Sides,” Jayintejects without really looking at him, “ain’t like this is the fucking centero’ the world fer a fella like you, Sweets. Smart, sassy, moves like yerass is on fucking fire when someone’s on the line. Ya got moreguts than anyone outta the cape I ever met.”

“Gotham doesn’t haveto be the hill you die on,” Dick picks up, looking down into the sludge left atthe bottom of his coffee mug, “we would absolutely understand andsupport you if you even wanted to look into any of these places–”

“Even go ta seewhatcha might be lookin’ at,” Jay shrugs indifferently, “make sure ya’d findsomewhere safe ta build a nest.”

“The kind oftechnology they could offer you would be, like, ground-breaking stuff and…andGotham just can’t give you that, Tim.”

“No motherfuckersgonna break inta yer shit, I guaran-fucking-tee ya on that.”

“It’s not just beingin the ER or in surgery, it’s moving up to management or teaching or being afull-time researcher with grants and–and everything.”

“Make a safe routethere n’ back, you feel me? Me n’ Dickie’ll scope it out a few days, check the scene.”

“We would never wantto hold you back, baby. Not when the only thing Gotham has to offer you isexploding bridges and insane mad men that kidnap you and ninjas that are readyto attack at any second, and…and Timmy, you could never be safe, notreally, not here. Not even with us and B and Dami and everyone else,it’ll never be completely safe for you.”

“But fucking believeit, Timmers, we’ll make any place ya wanna lay yer head down as safe as wecan, yeah?”

“We…we love you, andwe want the best for you.”

“If leavin’ is what’sbest, Sweets, then we’ll make it fucking happen.”

It’s DIck’s voicecracking and Jay’s shiny, averted eyes that end it for him right then andthere.

He shoves himself upfrom the table abruptly, a jarring motion. The sound of the chair fallingbackwards a loud clatter against the softness of their voices. He keeps a handon the table top to walk around the damn thing and almost strangle Jason bylooping an arm around the base of his throat and pull the Red Hood into hischest. He holds out his other hand to Dick, glaring with the best of hisabilities.

It’s a tremulous thingwhen Dick rises tiredly out of his seat and takes that hand, lets Tim pull himover and secure the both of them to him.

“I’m going to say thisbecause it’s obvious the two of you are too tired to use your detective skillsfor anything more than superficial clues.”

Slowly, Jay’s face isin his stomach, arms wrapping around his waist while Dick secures his chest,the two of them almost holding him up.

“After all thefighting I’ve had to do to get here, to get this far, I’m not giving up jackshit. I run the gauntlet because that exactly where I want to be. I staywith my people because that’s my fucking team and no, I don’t wantor need another. I can watch Layla grow up into this kick ass little person andmake sure Steph has someone to Netflix and chill with while we kill a pint ofBen & Jerry’s. But what matters the most, what I can’t fucking give upis being here with the two of you in whatever capacity I can. Asyour boyfriend, as your surgeon, as the guy that is totally, you know, inlove with you. As someone that can share your lives like this. All of it isexactly what I want and what I get to choose. You two? Don’t get to tellme what’s best for me. I decide that. Got it?”

The quiet, still menattached to him give half-shuffling nods where they’re buried in him.

“I don’t want to hearanything else about leaving Gotham, like at all, okay? The answer is no.I’m not going anywhere to tour the facilities or listen to stupid speechesabout what they have to offer or how good the benefits package is. None of thatshit. They can’t offer me my ER, they can’t offer me time doing research in theBatCave, they can’t let me play around with alien DNA for a minute, and theycan’t give me you two. So? No. Case closed.”

Dick lets up justenough for him to tilt Jay’s head back and lean down to slide their lipstogether, giving the Red Hood a little something to seal the deal. Those eyesare bluer when he pulls back, making him smirk before he straightens up to giveDick the same treatment.

(Because they’re bothtall, he has to pull them down to effectively fuck his tongue in their mouths.Such a pain in the ass.)

When he pulls back,Dick gasps in a little, tightens his hold around Tim’s chest.

But the reliefpervades the air between them, giving him a reason to go a little more lax,just to feel them pretty much ready to hold him up completely.

“So the plan is,”he continues easily, one hand on the back of Jay’s neck to rub the tensionaway, and the other gripping Dick’s wrist tight enough to bruise tomorrow, “weget a nice, hot shower with plenty of scrubbing and maybe a little play time.Then, we climb in bed and pass the fuck out. You can fix your suits tomorrow,and we’ll all feel up to having dangerous acrobatic vigilante sex after about eight hours. If you’re both good,I’ll…I’ll wear that thing you got me for my birthday. Deal?”

He knows he’s alreadygot their acquiescence when both his boyfriends noticeably perk.

“That sounds like adeal to me,” Dick tries to be mock-grave, but he’s laughing in the back ofTim’s neck, running his nose over the knob of bone.

“Fucking righteous,Sweetheart. I been waiting ta see that.” Jay is grinning up at him with thatlook– all kinds of anticipation without any of the previous hesitation.

“Good. Peel yourselvesoff of me and lets get naked. For mostly clean purposes. Or not. Really, I’mpretty beyond compromised, so I’d probably like to make you both come at leastonce before I’m unconscious.”

“Sweet-talker,” Dickteases and steps to the side so he can be the first to lift their civilianboyfriend up in a princess hold that has become way too reminiscent in the pasttwo months.

“He’s just talkin’ my language, ‘at’s all, Baby Boy,” Jaystands to give him a fast n’ dirty before he gets their mugs to the sink andfills them with water to wash tomorrow. He hits the lights and follows his boysdown the hallway where slippery skin and things like I’m not giving upare waiting.

[black-arcana]

KRYPTERIA – AND THEN SHE CAME

Interview with AND THEN SHE CAME

Interview conducted Feb. 28, 2021 by Dan Locke

AND THEN SHE CAME Ji-In Cho (lead vocals), Olli Singer (guitars), Frank Stumvoll (bass guitar) und S.C. Kuschnerus (drums).

Ji-In, you are German-Korean. What is your upbringing?

JI-IN: Hello Dan, thanks for having us. My parents are both from Korea. They met in Germany where they married and started a family. I was therefore raised in a Korean manner in a German environment. You can imagine that this did not make for an easy upbringing or childhood. But it gave me the benefit of getting to know both cultures and maybe even the opportunity to combine what’s best of them.

How did you discover music?

JI-IN: I don’t remember a specific moment in my life. I remember our home as a home of music. My parents liked to sing or play guitar or piano and I remember dancing a lot to their favorite music. I am also told that I was singing all day long to songs I heard on the radio or tunes that I made up myself. So I guess that was the time where music became my inspiration.

How did you start to write music?

JI-IN: I wrote my first song when I was six years old. I always loved animals and I couldn’t understand why my father went fishing. When he came back with his haul I was very sad and refused to eat the fish. So I wrote my first song about not hurting fish.

Describe your music.

JI-IN: Well, I definitely didn’t write any more fish songs (laughs). On a more serious note, I can’t sit down and plan my songwriting ahead of time. Instead, I am more the spontaneous type who gives in to impulses, emotions, and inspirations from all around me. I try to channel those ideas, pictures, tunes, and feelings into my songwriting.

What was your first performance like?

JI-IN: If you mean my very first performance in my life, I played Maria, the mother of Jesus, in elementary school. I remember my first stage fright. After it was over I was very proud and I knew that I wanted to be on stage again.

What was the title of your first original song? Did you record it?

JI-IN: It was called “I go fishing”. And no, I did not record it back then as a young girl but today I wish I had. It would be a nice memory to share with my future grandkids.

You started off in Become One a German Boy/Girl pop band, and then you were cast onto the German reality television show “Fame Academy”. Tell me about the time on the show?

JI-IN: Right after my studies at the Cologne University for Music and Dance where I was trained as a classical musician I suddenly got tossed into the pop business. As a participant in the German television show ‚Fame Academy,’ I endured three competitive months of singing, dancing, and acting. Every week we had to prepare live acts for the elimination show that was recorded and broadcasted from a studio set every Saturday night. In the end, I won the competition together with five colleagues of mine. We formed the band Become One and went on tour for a year. This is how I received my very first recording contract with a major label. It was a very stressful and emotional time in which I learned a lot about the reality of the music business.

You have appeared with the likes of Phil Collins, Sarah Connor, B3 and Ricky Martin. Did any of these artists give you any words of wisdom about the music business?

JI-IN: There were so many things to learn and to experience during the show. The personal time with the visiting stars was too brief for any chitchat or personal talk, though. However, I did spend some time with Lionel Richie during a show event that featured all ‚Fame Academy‘ winners from many participating countries. He said to me then that we should never give up if we really feel the need to be an artist. I think about his words every once in a while and to me they still ring true.

Let’s turn our focus to And Then She Came now. Guys, describe the band’s music.

KUSCH: It’s hard-driving drums, heavy guitars and intense singing galore. It’s Rock, it’s Metal, there are quite a few alternative vibes but also some pretty catchy hooks involved, too. Lyrically we tend to steer clear of your traditional boy-meets-girl topics, but rather go for a more sociopolitical approach. Let’s say there’s not a whole lot of stand-by-your-man stuff with this band.

How does the songwriting process work between the four of you?

KUSCH: Well, everybody chimes in with different creative ideas as we are lucky to have four very imaginative musicians in this band who all write and arrange. We try not to limit ourselves and instead toy around with all our combined influences and delusions. But apart from that, there is no clear-cut recipe as to how we create our songs. In Shecameville there’s a new adventure every day (laughs).

Do you belong to any to songwriters’ organizations like the International singer-songwriter association?

FRANK: We do. All four of us are members of GEMA which basically is the German equivalent to your ASCAP.

What makes a good songwriter?

JI-IN: In my opinion, there is no strict recipe. I know there are some songwriters who have fixed methods and procedures but that approach does not work for me. I have to feel free in the creative process and do not like to be limited in any way. In the end, the only thing that matters is the outcome. I think a good songwriter is able to somehow touch the listeners with his or her music.

KUSCH: I agree in the sense that a good songwriter knows how to connect with his or her core audience first and foremost. So even though the songs may not be all that good you’re obviously still doing something right and are considered successful at your craft. Now, a great or even transcendent songwriter is able to touch people beyond any genre confines. That’s when the likelihood we deem it ‚good‘ music increases significantly. But you can’t underestimate the importance of the performance itself and also whether a given song gets a chance to be heard. If „Bohemian Rhapsody“ hadn’t been a hit, would it be a lesser song? I don’t think so. There are probably thousands of gems out there that never got a proper forum.

You used to be in the band Krypteria. Why did you change up the band?

KUSCH: In 2012, following a killer Asian tour, Ji-In was about to become a Mom so we unanimously decided to put Krypteria on hold for an indefinite time. Then one day our bass player Frank was asked to create the soundtrack for a German-American movie. But instead of taking on this task all by himself, he brought in Ji-In, Olli, and myself. The creative process took on a life of its own, and all of a sudden we found ourselves working on songs for a full-fledged Rock album. Now, even though And Then She Came started out as just a movie soundtrack project, we just had to go on. Why? Well, I guess we’re just unable to get rid of each other even after all those years, aren’t we?

How did you first establish your band back in 2004?

KUSCH: The three original guys in Krypteria first had a band together in the Nineties and despite not working together all the time we never quite lost contact. So when the idea of starting something new came up in 2004 all we needed was an outstanding vocalist. Preferably a vocalist with a knack for energetic performances while not showing any signs of lead singers’ disease. Ji-In, who we had met during a studio session a year prior to that, fit that bill just perfectly so we asked her if she was interested in jumping aboard, and fortunately, she was. Then Olli was brought into the fold in early 2010 so the four of us have been working together for more than a decade now albeit under two different names.

Krypteria’s single “Liberatio” was used as part of a charity campaign to aid the Tsunami victims in Southeast Asia. What is the musical difference between Krypteria and And Then She Came?

JI-IN: And Then She Came is much rougher and it’s more about the synergy of organic rock instruments and electronic elements. We like to think that we still have good melodies, though. That’s really important to each of us.

KUSCH: The main difference between Krypteria and And Then She Came might indeed be the edgier and less theatrical touch that is particularly evident in the arrangements and our individual performances. I guess thanks to said more organic approach we were able to again turn it up a good notch in terms of sonic intensity, depth, and the overall vibe right off the bat compared to our prior releases.

What else did you change compared to your time with Krypteria?

JI-IN: We consciously made the choice to release our albums by ourselves. Yes, it may be tough sometimes because of the extra work and responsibility this kind of independence and freedom entails. Especially for a lot of stuff that, at least on the surface, has little to do with making music. That said, it’s a tremendous opportunity to shape our future as a band as we see fit. And as Kusch likes to say, if we screw up, then at least we’ll die by our own sword.

How did you come up with the name?

JI-IN: Actually, we chose And Then She Came because we wanted people to think, to find their own interpretation as far as the meaning of the name is concerned. Just as there is never only one point of view or one universal truth, there are many possible interpretations for this name. Sometimes it’s very funny how just one headline can lead to different background stories in one’s head. Even with all the information out there you still have to come to your own conclusion. That’s why we found And Then She Came as a name very interesting. For instance, I naturally think about the name in a totally different way than some men do (winks).

Do you think that your old fans will follow your new band?

JI-IN: I really hope our fans from back then continue to find us and are happy that we are back even though it’s with a different kind of music. And I really, really hope that they like our new sounds and songs.

Tell me about your debut album?

OLLI: You could call it the beginning of our creative rollercoaster ride. It felt like all the unused creative energy was suddenly breaking through. This and the fact that ATSC actually started as a studio film score project is probably the reason for the enormous amount of different colors in our music. Now, after the release of our second album „Kaosystematic“ and being in the middle of the process of writing new material for our third album, I can clearly say that starting this journey is the best thing we have ever done so far.

How was it to work with Arch Enemy’s Alissa White-Gluz and guitarist Jen Majura of Evanescence?

KUSCH: Well, we’ve known Alissa for a number of years now, and not only is she a killer performer, but she is an amazing soul as well. See, she’s a pro’s pro. She’s a warrior, she has to be. But as a friend, she is super sweet and she doesn’t mind going that extra mile. When we asked her if she was interested in adding that signature beast mode intensity of hers to our song „Five Billion Lies“ she didn’t even blink. Now, Jen, we have known for way over ten years, and it’s always great meeting her at a festival, a show, or a music fair. She’s such a sweetheart and an awesome guitarist, and we’re so proud of her for hitting it big with Evanescence. Her guitar solo on our song „Spit It Out“ is nothing short of spectacular. It’s amazing musicianship, creative cleverness and a fistful of good-natured cheekiness all rolled into one. Beautiful!

What is your favorite video of all time you have created?

FRANK: My favorite ATSC video is our 2018 tour movie „As The Lights Go Down“ in its entirety. It brings back great memories of a fun tour.

KUSCH: Good call! Aside from that for me, it’s a close call between “As The Battle Rages On“, “Sick Of You“ and “Public Enemy #1“. That said I like the respective messages behind „Perfect As You Are“, both the video and the tour version.

OLLI: Definitely “Perfect As You Are“. Actually, we did two videos for this song. It was an extremely demanding shoot, cause I literally switched positions constantly. Between performing and directing there was no minute of rest. But it was absolutely worth it. I really enjoyed Ji-In’s playfulness in her role as ‚Korean Marylin Monroe‘. Yet the second version is my favorite. It takes the original message of the song and projects it onto the ATSC team as a family. It is still heartwarming for me to see our crew’s performance in front of the camera during the whole video. We love you guys!

What are your feelings about streaming music?

FRANK: While streaming is very convenient and fast, for us musicians there is no significant advantage in my opinion. Granted, your work is available to more potential listeners, but the net is being flooded with new digital content ever since streaming took over, so making a name for yourself is even more difficult than it used to be. Also, the artists merely receive breadcrumbs for creating the fuel these platforms run on. You simply cannot support yourself through streaming. That’s why all the bands have to make their money on the road. It’s a vicious cycle. The author and performer should get a fair share of the profits when their music is being streamed, similar to what we had in the past with mechanical releases. The only winner in this so far is the big media companies.

If you couldn’t do music what would you like to be doing?

KUSCH: Too scary! So in true Rock musician’s spirit, I’d probably choose denial and stick with something along the lines of ‚damn the torpedoes‘ or ‚the best is yet to come instead.

Digital vs. vinyl?

FRANK: That’s a good question. It depends on your preferences and maybe your age. Back in the days I really liked listening to one side of vinyl on constant repeat while closely studying the sleeve. It made me feel like I was a part of it. Digital made everything easy, you can carry the whole world of music and movies on your cell phone. But can you really develop a deeper connection to the work a musician put so much time and dedication into? Maybe that’s why vinyl has been making a steady comeback recently?

What is the mental health situation of the World?

OLLI: Over the years we met a lot of people all over the world. And with many of them, we became close friends. It is heartbreaking how they all tell the same. Egoism seems to be overtaking everywhere. And this started already long before the pandemic. There are so many challenges for us as a species in order to build a better and safer future. For us, for our children, and for our planet and its entire ecosystem. But unfortunately, people always find reasons why they themselves don’t have to act. Ultimately this egoism leads to most of our problems we as human beings have to deal with these days.

What song from the past is in your mind right now? Moreover, what does that song mean to you?

OLLI: “Where Do We Go From Here?“ from our first album. Not only because it was the first song we ever played in front of an audience. But also because it sounds like a good headline for every single day of the last year.

KUSCH: In times of turmoil it can’t hurt to put on „What a wonderful world“ or John Lennon’s „Imagine“. With so much deception, aggression, and us-against-them in the world right now a healthy dose of positivity is what we need. And even if you don’t agree with everything Lennon said or did you really must be an all-out asshole to not share the hope that someday the world actually will live as one.

Do you feel the Covid-19 virus is going to affect the music business in the future?

FRANK: No doubt about it, as it is currently killing the whole industry. All touring activities unexpectedly got frozen, and there’s no telling when we will be allowed to return to our every day’s work. Nobody knows what will happen and who will still be in business when it finally starts to return to some sort of normalcy. But there will be a very different musical landscape for all of us, I fear. More like a “new normal” similar to what transpired after the 9/11 attacks.

What have you been doing with your self-quarantine?

OLLI: Learning. A lot about myself and my very own abilities to stay strong in order to be there for my family. It has been a tough year and it still is. But love and hope keeps me going. My thoughts are with the people who lost a loved one. But in the end I am sure that we can come out stronger than we have been before. For sure that will be the case with ATSC. Somehow we are growing together even more. But I guess that is what artists are like. Make them eat shit and they deal with it in their own ways. Nonetheless it’s a tough fight for our and our families’ existence. I can already say that this is obvious when you listen to our new material.

Have you discovered or rediscovered any new hobbies?

FRANK: I’ve been running a lot lately, more than ever before actually.

OLLI: Not a new one. But I had much more time for my biggest passion besides the music. I am an outdoor guy. I even live between lakes, forests and mountains. So whenever I can, I just grab my backpack and vanish into the wilderness for a couple of days. You can’t find me at home, in a tourbus or in a studio? Try looking somewhere in the wilderness. But maybe you wanna bring a thermal imaging camera. Stealth as stealth can be!

KUSCH: For me it’s more and more long walks in nature, minus the vanishing. Also I had the chance to follow the NFL season more closely than I had been able to recently. Plus, the lockdowns we’ve had over here allowed me to work on some old gear I still had sitting around. And while this is all nice I can’t wait to go on the road, meet people and enjoy the overall experience again. I really miss it.

95% of people said that they have changed the way they watch television. This includes people who don’t have television and use their computers to do streaming of programs and movies. Which is your favorite streaming channel?

OLLI: I am a huge movie addict. So streaming platforms became a good alternative to me. Especially since I am spending a lot of time on the road. Carrying a DVD collection wherever I go wouldn’t be realistic at all. But to be honest I don’t have a favorite channel. Each one has its strengths. And yes, I have subscribed to probably every one of the known platforms (laughs).

How can bands keep their fans if they cannot play live in front of the fans and sell merch to them at the show?

KUSCH: Well, doing an interview with UnRated sure is one excellent opportunity to reconnect.

What about Holographic concerts in our living room?

KUSCH: Do we really need less incentive to get out of the house and interact with actual human beings? Or even more technology for that matter? Take Autotune or what CGI does to movies. What was created as tools to support the arts is now dominating them. For example, given the choice between 1982’s ‚The Thing‘ and what was supposed to be its prequel from 2011 I’ll pick Carpenter’s movie any day. Same with real-life concerts in actual venues with actual people on, behind, and in front of the stage.

How do you stay healthy while touring?

FRANK: Living on a tour bus and in venues for weeks at a time is obviously very different compared to being home. You need to get ready way before you go on tour and there surely are many ways to prepare.

My personal one is I run every other day. Now once a tour has started there’s always a big party happening on the bus after the shows with great loud music and you get your booze for the night. Come to think of it, maybe this is my personal way to stay not-so healthy while touring (laughs).

Is pay-to-play still a thing? Now pay-to-play also means things like playlist on the internet?

KUSCH: Well, I don’t know about the internet but in the touring business it is. That said, in Europe, it’s more that you pay your share of production, transportation or catering costs, things you actually benefit from. So it’s not like you dole out cash just to be allowed to perform in a support slot. At least we never had to.

Any new music coming up in the new year?

FRANK: Due to the situation surrounding the pandemic everything’s in limbo. But as soon as scheduling any concerts and tours make sense again, our third album will be out right away, be it this year or early in 2022. This band is never short on inspiration, after all within the first three years of our existence we’ve released two studio albums, a live album, a live DVD, and a tour movie. So naturally, we are writing all the time, exchanging ideas. If this Covid thing lingers on any longer we may end up with a total of 500 new songs. Good luck to us trying to decide which of these will make the record (laughs).

Anything you would like to say in closing?

KUSCH: Enjoy life cause it might well be the only one you have. And stay safe and sane out there cause we want our friends and fans to be healthy, so we will get to see you on tour at some point. For those of you who haven’t listened to And The She Came go and give our music a shot, you might actually dig it. And come and see us live if you can, but make sure to stick around after the show cause we’d love to get to know you better. And bring a friend or twenty (laughs).

JI-IN: Yes, we can’t wait to get out and meet you guys, and feed off your energy on stage. In the meantime take good care of yourself everybody!

[imaginebeinghamiltrash]

I Choose You

Pairing: Daveed x Reader

Requested?: No, but I wrote this drabble on my old account and then Rosie said she was interested in knowing more so this came about!

Summary: Daveed can’t recall when his feelings shifted from platonic to romantic but now he has a crush on his best friend. She also has a boyfriend. Great.

Words: 2k+

A/N: I literally wrote this whole thing yesterday but I got the green light from Ale to post it now so...ENJOY! I hope you like it!

Tags: @hamiltonwrotetheother51 @thehamiltonpost @patron-saintof-sluts @butlinislin @daveeddiggsit @nadialinett14 @librarychild @spidey-boii @me-hoy-me-trash @serkewen12 @daveedish @anthonyramosobc @autistic-alien @runnerriley @hamilsquad-writings @thegirlonhamilton

Everyone wondered how you and Daveed never went through that “crushing on your best friend” phase. Daveed would just shrug and not ponder on it, when you have a friend for so many years you only see them as a friend. You two grew up together, went to school together, and now live together in an apartment. Then one day Daveed realized that he was a sucker for your smile. He’d occasionally go out of his way to buy you your favorite snacks when he noticed you were running low but isn’t that what best friends normally do? He ignored the feeling in his chest and kept it pushing. Then one day he walked into your shared apartment to find you making out with a guy on the couch. You introduced said guy as your boyfriend and Daveed instantly hated him. That was when he knew that the crush phase was here and it was hitting him hard. He had no real basis for his hatred of your boyfriend except the fact that he was your boyfriend. He wasn’t an ugly guy; he was tall, suave and 100% your type. He never had an issue with any of your past partners so this sudden change threw him for a loop.

“Get it together, D.” Daveed rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly in his bed.

His sheets pooled at his hips as he stretched, a few bones cracking in the process. He slowly stood up, scratching at his bare stomach as he left the room. He heard the TV down the hall and followed the noise. He found you sitting on the couch, flipping through channels as you ate a bagel.

“Y/N, is that my shirt?” Daveed crossed his arms over his chest, walking to the front of the couch.

You looked over at him, an innocent smile on your face.

“I thought it was mine!”

“I am the only person in this apartment who owns Oaklandish shirts, all the ones you claim as yours were once mine.” He pointed out, shaking his head as he sat next to you.

“Oops.” You said, biting into your bagel again.

Daveed was gonna respond when you put your bagel to his lips, he took a bite leaning back against the couch. His eyes lingered over your figure in his shirt. He would let you steal every last one of his Oaklandish shirts if it meant he could see you wearing them all day. You were so beautiful, why didn’t he make this epiphany when you were single?

“Daveed, you should go on a double date with me and Roger.”

Daveed sighed, this isn’t the first time you hinted at a double date. Each time you did he turned it down because the idea of being around you and Roger in an intimate setting was something he would rather avoid.

“No thanks.”

“Come on, I’m trying to get you laid! I know some girls who would love to sink their claws into you.” You teased, poking his stomach.

Daveed slapped your hand away.

“No one is ‘sinking their claws’ into me.” Daveed chuckled, turning his attention to the TV.

“Daveed turning down sex? I’m shocked.”

“Not turning down sex, I am turning down an evening of watching you tongue down your boyfriend. I’ve gotten enough of that in the past 2 years.” Daveed rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Like I haven’t watched you make out with a few girls. You got around in college, D.”

“Those were dark times, how dare you.” Daveed clutched his chest as if he was hurt.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Come on, we-”

You were cut off by the doorbell. You glanced behind you at the intercom and stood up, making your way over to it.

“Who is it?” You asked as you pushed the mic button.

“It’s me babe, open up.” Roger’s voice came through the speaker.

Daveed rolled his eyes as you pushed the button to unlock the front door of the building.

“Isn’t it supposed to be an us day? Movie night?” Daveed groaned, watching you walk to the front door and unlock it.

“I know. I told him that too, I don’t know why he’s here.” You shrugged, pulling the door open and hearing approaching footsteps.

“Hey babe.” Roger said, smiling at you and pecking your lips.

“Hey, what’s up? Why are you here?” You stepped back, letting your boyfriend in.

“I can’t come visit my girlfriend?”

“Of course you can but I told you today was ‘me and D’ day.” You said, locking the door and following him to the living room area.

Daveed kept his focus on the TV though he could hear Roger behind him.

“Well I got a bit bored so I thought I could hang with my girlfriend and her best friend.” Roger jumped on the couch, glancing towards Daveed.

“Am I interrupting something?” Roger raised a brow, noticing Daveed’s lack of shirt.

“I just woke up.” Daveed deadpanned, already having little patience for your boyfriend.

You noticed the tension and immediately sat between both boys.

“Babe, can we talk in the kitchen?” You turned to him, batting your eyelashes.

“Of course.” Roger stood, holding your hand as you lead him to the kitchen.

You pulled him as far in as you could and turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest.

“You could’ve texted me.” You lowered your voice, knowing Daveed was a few feet away.

“I wanted to surprise you, I missed you.” Roger whispered back, his hands on your hips.

You smiled lightly and pecked his lips.

“That’s sweet babe but you know Daveed isn’t really a fan of you. I don’t need that negative energy in my home. I live with him.”

“I know that but you should be considerate about my feelings as well. I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around your best friend. I am your boyfriend, your partner. It’s unfair. How do you think I feel when I come over and he’s shirtless and you’re wearing what is probably his shirt and no pants?” Roger responded, anger slowly dripping into his tone.

“First of all, I am wearing shorts. Second of all, me and Daveed have always been like this since we were kids. You knew our dynamic the moment you entered this house and you still asked me to be your girlfriend.” You shot back, trying to hold back any sign of irritation in your voice.

“I didn’t think it would always be him over me when I asked you out!”

“It’s never been him over you! There’s a difference between separating two people and choosing one over the other. I never canceled our dates. I came to all of your family dinners and went to your place to take care of you when you were sick. I’ve been nothing but fair and the one time I ask you to do me a favor by staying away for one day out of the month, it’s a fucking issue? You’re acting like a child!”

Your voice was slowly raising and you knew you should try to lower it but Roger was working your nerves.

“I am not acting like a child! I’m calling out your bullshit!” Roger yelled, his hand dropping from your hips.

“My bullshit? Do you hear yourself? You’re having a hissy fit over nothing!” You yelled back, pushing past him and heading for the living room.

Daveed watched you both enter the living room. He decided to stay out of it, for now.

“I am not! I have a right to feel threatened!”

“By a man who has been in my life since before I could even speak! I don’t know what you want from me, Roger!” You turned to face him again, exasperation clear in your tone.

“I want you to choose me!”

You paused, trying to make sense of what he just said.

“What?”

“I’m giving you an ultimatum. Me or him. You could move in with me and we can start a new stage of life. Or you can stay here with him and lose me. It’s your choice.” Roger said, giving you an intense look.

You noticed Daveed starting to get up from the couch but you held out your hand, signaling for him to stop. He slowly sat back down, gritting his teeth.

“So that’s it? Either you or him?” You repeated, leaning against the wall near the door.

Roger nodded, “Me or him.”

You nodded slowly, walking to the door and opening it.

“Bye.”

Roger’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Excuse me? You’re serious right now?” Roger said in disbelief.

“Yep. Go. Get out. I made my choice.” You opened the door wider, your voice cold.

Roger was stunned. He stood there, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Finally, he straightened his posture and walked out with his head held high.

“Don’t call me when you-”

“Don’t worry. The last thing I’m gonna do is call you.” You cut him off, slamming the door shut in his face and locking it.

You took a deep breath, resting your head against the door. You just broke up with your boyfriend of two years.

Daveed stood up and walked over slowly, trying to find something to say but nothing felt right.

You turned around and jumped slightly when you saw how close Daveed was to you. He smiled sympathetically.

“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to make you lose him…” Daveed spoke softly, opening his arms.

You walked closer and hugged him tightly before pulling away to look at him.

“It’s fine, I don’t need him. I have you. I’ve always had you.”

Sure, you loved Roger. It hurt to have him do this to you but if he was going to act like that then you didn’t need him. Daveed was a constant in your life that you could rely on more than anyone else you knew. Of course you would choose him.

Daveed looked at you, a smile slowly forming on his face.

“You mean that?” He asked, arms still around you.

“Of course! Us against the world, remember?” You smiled back, resting your hands on his shoulders.

Daveed felt a surge of joy that had him grinning ear to ear. You giggled and tilted your head. You can’t remember the last time you’d seen Daveed smile that big. You were going to ask what had gotten into him when suddenly Daveed’s lips were on yours. As quickly as they were on you, they were gone. Daveed’s grin replaced with a look of horror as he pulled his arms away from you.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I...I…” Daveed backed away slowly, feeling like the world around him was crumbling.

Why did he do that?

“I….”

Daveed tried to find the words to save him. The words that would justify his stupid decision but nothing came up. His throat felt like it was closing on him. You were looking at him but you weren’t saying anything, just staring at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

Why won’t you say anything?

Daveed turned on his heels and retreated into his room, closing the door behind him. He needed to get out. He needed to leave. He quickly tossed on a shirt and his shoes, grabbing his keys and opening his window. He went down the fire escape and started walking down the street, his thoughts racing faster than he could comprehend.

You blinked slowly, the silence in the apartment bringing you back into the moment.

What just happened?

You walked down the hall and knocked on Daveed’s door.

“D? Daveed, please open up. I’m not mad if that’s what you think…” You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

You didn’t know what to think about what just happened but having two men walk away from you today would be too much.

“Daveed?...”

You slowly opened the door, looking around and noticing the wide open window. Your heart sank as you realized Daveed wasn’t here anymore. With a deep sigh, you closed the door and walked to your room. You were left to an empty apartment and your thoughts.