#i wish i found ways to draw it. safe for the public anyway

[todayisafridaynight]

I think its a bit silly (/pos), you headcanon and draw Masato/Aoki as rather skinny, I headcanon and draw him as a bit heavier set, but we can all agree that he is NOT muscular. I think more people should have body headcanons for Yakuza folks that aren't just "ripped"

two sides of the same coin, that coin being This Man Hasn't An Ounce Of Muscle In His Body

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING!  It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind.  (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again.  Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time.  Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me.  (Don’t really do that.  LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual.  We’ll see how that goes.  My money is on “not well.”  LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien.  This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.)  Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character.  Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this.  The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him.  While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden.  It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home.  It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City.  Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories.  In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice.  There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain.  Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself.  (Try not to hate me, everyone.)  These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one.  He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!”  This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial.  That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity.  Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish.  It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.”  In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.  

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?…  It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”  (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy.  (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.)  One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene.  Take a moment to examine the images below.  Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus.  Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film. 

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence.  (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?)  Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.  

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted.   It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there.  And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school?  It’s bizarre.  Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges.  Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead.  Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis.  The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice.  If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it.  Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind.  Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other.  Which is true?  Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy?  Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down?  The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end.  No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

[desiredmalfoy]

Champagne Problems (G.W. x Reader)

House: Slytherin 

Universe: Not Canon (I think by now its safe to say I don’t like to follow canon much in my writing )

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader 

TW: Talks about blood purity. Controlling Parents

Word Count: 3.5 K

Get ready for some angst! Based loosely on Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift because I got inspiration for it while listening to this song. It turned out way longer then I expected. Sorry if there is any mistakes, I haven’t fully edited it. Enjoy!

Note: I aged up Draco, Pansy & Blaise to be the same age as the reader and George.

(The picture above was made by me. I tried to make the handwriting seem a bit messy on purpose) Plus George would be the one to draw doodles on a note.)

One for the money, two for the show. I never was ready, so I watch you go

Growing up in a rich pure blood family, (y/n) knew what was always expected of her. She was to know her place at all times. Whether that meant knowing she was better then half-bloods and muggle-borns. You are to never be seen with their kind darling her mother would tell her since she was very little. She was also raised to not go against her parents wishes. Sit straight and make sure you always look your best her mother had ingrained in her brain. Ever since she was a little girl her mother had fretted over her looks and manners. If you want a good husband you must be your best darling. 

She was to only be friends with the children of other pure-blood families. Make strategic friendship and make sure that she kept those who benefited her the most close. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy surprisingly had become close friends of hers. They aren’t a group of friends who share their deepest secrets but they brought comfort to each other. They knew what the other was going through as they were all basically destined for the same fate. To keep their pure-blood lineage strong. 

Her future was set in stone before she could even talk. She was to marry someone of her same blood status and continue their bloodline. She was never given the option to choose who she wanted to love. She was expected to give up her life. And that’s exactly what she did as she gave up on the only man she’s loved. George Weasley. 

She had met George at Hogwarts back when they were both students. He was in the same year as her. She had heard of him, I mean who had not with the way him and Fred were infamous with their prank pulling. Life was cruel at times and she wondered if she was being punished in a way when she fell for him.

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers. You're not sure which is worse

She shared a dorm with Pansy for her final year. They had a very complicated friendship. They cared about each other and they would often share their thoughts with each other. Pansy’s parents expected the same out of her. It was nice to have another person who understood what she was going through. Although she knew to never share her deepest secrets with Pansy, she was an opportunist who would use anything against her in the end. Her and Pansy often spoke on who they thought their parents were thinking of marrying them off to. Being a part of the sacred 28 meant that there was a decent sized list of options of who they’d be married off to. It was such a twisted conversation for two young girls to be having. Childhood and lives continuously being controlled by others. 

“I wouldn’t mind Adrian Pucey”, Pansy said from her desk as she continued to write her DADA homework. “Or even Draco or Blaise.”

“Really?” (Y/N) responded all the way from her bed. She was looking for her shoes as she was about to go out for one of her nightly walks around the school. 

“Yeah. I heard he’s still single.”

“What about you”, Pansy questioned with an eyebrow raise as she dropped her quill and turned to face (y/n). 

“Not Marcus Flint that's for sure. Remember how creepy he was during the Yule Ball last year”, (y/n) laughed with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, he wouldn’t stop trying to touch your waist.”

“Anyway, enough about Flint. I’m going to go for my nightly walk. Do you want to go Pansy?”

“Nope. I have to finish this and I still have a bit to finish before I go to sleep.”

“I’ll be back later.”

That one cold October night changed her life for the better. Even if it wasn’t meant to last. This was her last and final year here before she was to return home and do what was expected of her. The days dwindled until she completely lost her freedom. At least here she had some control over her life. She on one of her nightly walks in an attempt to clear her mind when he had bumped into her. She didn’t fear being caught by anyone, her last name alone let her get away with many things. Plus Draco was the Head Boy and wouldn’t get her in trouble. Lost in her train of thought, she didn’t notice a certain ginger running down the hallway. Probably from another prank. Not looking where he was going he knocked straight into (y/n) causing her to stumble back and surely hit the floor hard. But his strong hold prevented her from falling onto the stone ground. Time seemed to freeze as she felt his touch electrify her entire body. (Y/N) stared into his brown eyes as neither said a word to each other. This was the first time they had even crossed paths with each other.

“I’m so sorry love”, he spoke as he helped her stand up straight and let go of her waist. 

“It’s quite alright”, she answered softly. “Just be careful next time.”

“Of course.”

Silence followed for a couple of seconds before he spoke up again. His face showing he was deep in thought.

“You’re not going to run and tell your friend Malfoy that you’ve caught me”, he questioned her. 

“Should I be informing Draco of something you did?”

“No. But I thought you’d be running off now to let him know. After all, you are his friend.”

“No, why would I go and let him know that? It’s not my job to patrol at night.”

A smile formed on his face as he looked at you. His smile made you weak and you didn’t even know why.

From there on a secret friendship blossomed with the red headed boy. (Y/N) wasn’t able to see him in public because word was sure to get your parents. Plus her friends aren’t exactly the nicest people to the Weasleys. Constantly looking down on them and their financial status. Last thing she needed was her mother writing (y/n) about being seen with a “blood traitor”. Merlin, she hated that word. Her relationship with him started slow as a friendship first. Fred was very skeptical of (y/n) in the beginning and it took a lot for him to trust her. Fred knew his brother had fallen for her and he wanted to do nothing more than protect his heart. (Y/N) couldn’t blame him for that. Although she was never truly cruel like the rest of her friends, their reputation was attached to her.  

Because I dropped your hand while dancing. Left you out there standing

He wasn’t able to ask (y/n) to be his date for the Yule Ball, it was too much of a risk. Instead he watched from afar as she danced the night away with a boy from Durmstang. As (y/n) danced with him all she was wishing was that it was George that was holding her tonight. 

That night after the dance she sneaked with George to the room of requirements where the room had become the same winter wonderland as earlier in the evening. This time though, she was able to dance with the one person she truly wanted to hold her in their arms. 

“I really like you (y/n)”, George spoke as they swayed to the music.

“I like you too George.”

“Do you want  to be my girlfriend? I know it will have to be in secret but I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“Of course”, she said smiling up at him. With that, she brought his face down to her level and placed a long awaited kiss on his lips. It was one of hunger and need. A need for him to be closer to her. 

Months passed where she would sneak around and have dates with George. With the help of Fred, the two were able to see each other often. It was hard keeping it a secret as you wanted nothing more than to show the world he was her boyfriend.  But (y/n) knew she couldn’t do that. They would send each other longing looks throughout the day waiting to be able to see each other again. He had once found a picture of her inside her school bag. It had fallen from one of her photo albums she had placed in her bag. He told her he was going to keep that picture in his wallet so that he would always have her near. 

Crestfallen on the landing. Champagne problems

One Saturday while her friends were off to Hogsmeade, she had decided to stay back and spend time with George. While sitting in the room of requirements like she always did with her boyfriend she couldn’t stop thinking about the letter she had received from her mother. The one week spring holiday that the school offered was coming up and her mom expected her to be back home. She couldn’t even stay back and spend it with her boyfriend. She was expected to go home and attend an upcoming ball the Pucey family was organizing. 

Lost in her own mind, (y/n) tried to listen to George. George spoke about wanting to start his own shop with Fred. (Y/N) placed her head on his chest as he continued to speak about what their plans would be after graduation. She played with his hands as he continued on about all the products they would have and how it would be such a great shop. She wishes she could freeze time for a while more.

Spring holiday had come quickly and before (y/n) knew it she was back home and attending countless fancy balls and dinner parties with her parents. As the oldest of her siblings, (y/n) had spent her life at countless balls and dinners with her parents as soon as she turned fifteen. Each and every event they would talk to others looking for the perfect husband for their daughter. It wasn’t until one night after a ball that her parents had informed her that they had found the perfect husband for her. She looked at them with a bit of hesitation as she waited for them to drop who she was supposed to be marrying. 

“Draco Malfoy”, your mother spoke with great excitement in her voice. Mother must be ecstatic about this. 

“Draco Malfoy?” She can start to feel her mouth become dry. 

“Yes, you know that the Malfoy’s are a good family to be marrying into darling. Your life is set”, (y/n)’s mother said as she stroked her hair. “The Flint family also inquired about you marrying their son but they don’t quite have the same status as the Malfoy’s.”

At least it’s not Marcus Flint...

“I know mother.”

“We’ll be having dinner with the Malfoy’s tomorrow night so you two can talk more.”

“Of course father”, (y/n) responded obediently. Your expression never faltering in front of your parents. Although inside you were panicking. What about George?  “I’m familiar with Draco since we are in the same house and have the same friend group.”

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever darling”, your mother whispered to you as she hugged you tightly. Too bad the man you want at the end of the aisle won’t be there.

Dinner with the Malfoy’s was quite uneventful other than the talk of the upcoming wedding after the both of you had left Hogwarts. Narcissa continuously complimented her on her beauty and grace. She hugged (y/n) when they entered Malfoy Manor and whispered into her ear, “We couldn’t have picked a better young lady to carry on our name.” She felt like she was about to be sick. (Y/N) did what she was taught to do, smile when appropriate and be as charming as ever. She knew she was nothing more than an object with no feeling to them. 

“Draco darling”, Narcissa spoke once they had finished dinner. “We have some things to discuss, why don’t you show (y/n) around the garden?”

“Of course mother”, Draco responded as he stood up and walked over (y/n). He helped her stand from her chair with an extended hand. He offered (y/n) his elbow as he escorted her out of the dining room and out of the manor into the garden. 

“Are you okay with this”, Draco questioned her once they had found a bench in the stunning garden. 

“I don’t know how I feel” she responded truthfully. “But I am glad it’s you. You’ve been nothing but respectful to me.”

“How do you feel about this?”

“That we have never been given a chance. But I’m glad it’s you too.”

“Were you hoping for Pansy?”, she teased him as everyone knew of Pansy’s big crush on him back in fourth year. . 

He laughed genuinely at her joke. “Anyone but her.”

It became quiet after that as they both knew what they had to do. 

“We’ll be okay”, he whispered as he squeezed (y/n)’s hand.

“We will.”

Neither of you wanted this. Seeing as Draco himself was heads over heels for a muggle-born girl in your year. He had been secretly seeing her for a while. In the shadows with the same fears you had about your parents finding out. (Y/N) had actually caught him with her on one of (y/n)’s nightly walks on her way to see George. She had let him know that she wouldn’t run to his parents and let them know what she had seen. (Y/N) had sympathized with his situation and she’d be a hypocrite if she went and told on him. She felt his pain as (y/n) told him how she was in love with George. The both of you understood the pain you’d have to face as you returned to Hogwarts in the upcoming days. 

Both of you cried that night knowing what you had to do. Neither of you had a way out. You both were just pawns in your parents games.

Your mom's ring in your pocket. My picture in your wallet. Your heart was glass, I dropped it

(Y/N) had made it back to school after the short school holiday. The end of the school year was fast approaching and exams loomed near. She avoided George at first, trying to live a few more days of bliss where she was still happy with him. But that didn’t last long, he had eventually found her after their shared class had ended. He secretly slipped a small paper in her hand. 

“Meet me in the Room of Requirements Tonight after curfew. Love George xx”

(Y/N) was dreading this meeting with him because she knew her time with him was ending. The next time she saw George he had seemed very nervous. He was pacing in the room and kept looking at the ground. He was so distracted that he had failed to notice her presence. 

“What’s wrong”, she questioned him as he suddenly lifted his head up.

“Darling I have something important to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you know how we’re almost graduating? I want you to come with me. I need you by my side.”

“What”, you breathed out as your eyes became wide. 

“I want you by my side” he whispered as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. Inside it sat a beautiful ring with a red stone in the center of it. 

“George”, she gasped as tears welled in her eyes. She’s crying because she knows she’ll never have the life she wants. It’s like fate was taunting her.

“I can’t do this George.”

“Please (y/n) come with me”, George pleaded with her. 

“You know I can’t Georgie”, (y/n) whispered as she wiped the tears pouring down her cheeks. 

“I know I can’t give you the same you’re used to but I promise I love you!”

“I can’t go with you because I never loved you”, she said suddenly as her expression became stoic. It’s better to have him hate her then love her. It would help ease her pain.

“What”, he breathed out as he stared at her bewildered with her recent confession. He placed the box with the only ring she’s ever wanted back in his pocket. 

“I never loved you”, (y/n) repeated.

“What about every moment we shared (y/n)! You can’t fake that!”

“Please! You were nothing but a game George. You were nothing more than my entertainment for a while. I’d never thought we’d ever get this far”

“Look at me right now and tell me I never meant anything to you (y/n)”, George whimpered as cupped your cheeks. His eyes pleaded with yours to let this be nothing more than a cruel joke of yours. 

You roughly got out of his hold but not before looking right at him. “I could never love someone like you.”

“I could never love a Weasley. Especially not a blood traitor.”

His expression changed from hurt to anger in seconds. As he looked at you with pure disgust. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were different from those other pure-bloods.” 

He opened the wallet in his pocket and ripped out her picture. Along with her heart. The picture fell slowly to the ground. She watched it as it floated to the floor.

“Goodbye. Hope you have a good life (y/l/n). I hope you can find happiness in your bitter existence.”

“Because only someone with such hatred in their heart plays with the feelings of others.”

As he exited the room, (y/n) broke down in tears. This isn’t the life she wanted. She hated that she was destined for this. She would do anything for another life. She wanted to have the strength to run up and tell him what she was going through. To ask him to save him from her future. But she couldn’t leave her siblings alone. If (y/n) walked out of her parents grasp, she’d be walking away from them too. She felt her chest starting to tighten and her breaths getting shorter and shorter. 

You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches

The days seemed to go by with no color in her life. This week has been pouring rain nonstop. The mood of the sky clearly matches her current situation. Pansy had noticed her slight shift in mood but she blamed her emotional turmoil on the nerves of her upcoming graduation. She seemed to believe her or simply just dropped it as not trying to intrude anymore. She watched as he walked the halls of the school with sadness clearly on his face. He’d look her way every once in a while. Some days it was also pure anger when he looked her way.  She had attempted to stay clear of him and Fred. After their shared classes she always left first or walked different routes to her next destination. 

“You know you have some nerve”, she heard a voice behind her. She turned around and came face to face with Fred Weasley. His face red with anger.

“What do you want”, she responded to him as she turned to face him. 

“You took his heart and you bloody broke it”, Fred responded angrily. “He loved you. He probably still does.”

“That’s no longer my problem”, (y/n) responded calmly. All these years of having to mask her true feelings were being used currently. 

“You see, I don’t understand how this was a game to you! You don’t just fake all that!”

“You’ll never understand”, she said in a monotonous manner. 

“Is everything alright here”, Draco questioned as he walked up to them. He took her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. 

“Oh I see now”, Fred sneered as he looked down at her intertwined hand with Draco’s. “It was some twisted game between you two.”

“Look you don’t talk to her like that”, Draco responded as he stepped in front of you. Fully blocking Fred from your view.

“I’d hit you right now but I’m sure you’d get your daddy to fight your battles.” Fred said as he shoulder checked Draco on his way out. He didn’t bother to turn back around and look at you. 

“Don’t listen to him”, Draco said as embraced her. 

But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

She knew that George wouldn’t have a problem finding someone else. Someone who would love him like he truly deserved. Someone who could help piece back together what she had broken. He would find some who truly deserved him. Because in her opinion, she had never deserved George Weasley. She could never deserve someone like him.

Challenge to self: write angst with a happy ending??

Reminder: None of my work can be reposted anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you give credit, please do not repost!

Tag List: @keepsmilingandstayhappy​

[sardonicallys]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗼 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Hyunjin + Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Fluff (just a touch of angst)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Vague mentions of the news reports pertaining to accusations unproven

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Time heals all wounds, but exactly how much time does it take? For the past few months, you spent almost all your free time with Hyunjin, entertaining one another with the mundane company of everyday passings. Rather than being bad at expressing yourself, you found that your silence could support him in a way that allowed him to figure out what was going on in the gray matter, without any pressure. Besides what good would it do if you told him if he didn't believe it himself? You're never too far, however, always keeping up with his wandering thoughts to catch him whenever he fell out of his mind.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,349

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: Just as everyone else is anticipating with eager hopes, I want to manifest the safe return and exciting journey ahead for Hyunjin. We're ready to welcome you, whenever it's time, whenever you're ready.

The valley of Seoul was scooped out perfectly like a spoon drove in and hollowed the crust of land out, dolloping mountain ranges that hugged the capital. An advantage of the uneven terrain left much of the vegetation intact, tracing along the origins of trees that grew through millenniums that most of us have never seen. Nestled in the tall grass, the shade of a sprouted ginkgo tree’s arm gently drifted along with the summer breeze, brushing its shadow over the paled skin of your a-little-more-than-a friend a-little-less-than-a boyfriend counterpart, as if washing away his thoughts and troubled memories into the fan shaped leaves. Your stolen glance captured the sun just barely brushing along his cheekbones as you watched the imprinted shade of his lashes dance across his skin, the two of you abandoned somewhere in a park that was tucked away, despite being in Seodaemun.

There’s a sense of guilt, allowing your focus to be whisked away by the ethereal beauty of the focused boy before you when his intention of inviting you was to draw together amongst the scenic backdrop of nature, and perhaps to mentally escape for a while from the cruel cacophony of fabricated and exaggerated stories that were shrouding his every waking moment that never quite belonged to him. Visual art, particularly sketching, was a new hobby he picked up — with ease, might you add — not too long ago. You listened to the consistent strikes of graphite against the thick sketch paper, cadencing amongst the whistling of leaves as you unconsciously began to trace the profile you saw before you, sloping from Hyunjin’s forehead and nose before curving the tip of your pencil to create his lips. You never dared mention the sudden increase in invites you received after seeing the slew of news that belittled his character, knowing he could never speak honestly on what actually occurred, on what an average life of most kids his age likely reflected. People and the public knew better, of course — you hoped — but you most of all, did.

“I’m just taking a break,” you recall him mention, unprovoked, one night while you both silently ate ice cream on your rooftop. But he was stiff, his eyes projected into the distance of the night sky but you could tell they were galaxies away, swirling somewhere you had never been. These words seemed more for himself than for anyone else.

“I know, you needed it anyways,” you assure him, hoping your words can envelope him in an embrace you were too afraid to offer, afraid it wouldn’t be enough to carry his worries.

Hyunjin, that night, looked so different than right now before you. Shoulders slouched over his canvas, he let the pencil sit on the surface of his sketch pad as it rolled down and rested against his abdomen, flicking and stretching his fingers before making a quiet fatigued sound. You bit back a grin as you slowly turned Hyunjin’s lips into thatched leaves, drawing in the veins of stems before retracing your way up his profile to create the foundation of thickets. Smoothing out petals that sprouted from the crown of his head, the portraiture disappeared as it grew into a bundle of amaryllis, a symbol of strength, the narrow and pointed tips reaching out in every direction as you sealed a wish into each stroke of your graphite — please give him strength, as an artist and as a person.

So consumed by your mantra and creation, you didn’t notice the sudden uninvited stray pencil mark in the corner of your sketch pad. Since you had taken too long to register the first attack, a flash of flesh sprung past your vision as yet another mark appeared. Furrowing your brows, you looked up at Hyunjin to see him feigning concentrated contemplation while staring at his drawing, twirling his pencil between his fingers. You were tempted to return the favor but decided against it as you took your eraser and buffed it over the mark. Continuing to sketch, Hyunjin carefully sat as high as he could to peek at what you were so immersed in. Flowers? Casually rotating his head back and forth, he wondered where you were capturing them from.

Using your kneaded eraser to adapt to the dimensions along your shaded petals, you gingerly created shadowing onto your page before watching Hyunjin’s pencil run along the spiral of your pad, back and forth, while it clicked out notes and nostalgia. Peering up at him, you tilted your head curiously before nudging his pencil away with your own but not before he playfully jabbed the tip in your direction, emulating a saber. The body of your pencil suddenly in defense as you blocked the flick of his makeshift weapon. Soft taps of the tools countered back and forth as you felt your smile deepen into your lips.

“…So you’ll only give me attention if I challenge you to a duel?” Hyunjin’s voice reeled your eyes up as you focused your awareness on him, belatedly realizing he had not as he flipped his pencil and poked your hand with the backend of the instrument, “Ha, I win.”

Snorting, you rolled your eyes before shooing his hand away, "You know you're the one who said you wanted to draw."

"And I did."

"Did you now?" Combing your fingers through your hair, you returned to your unfinished sketch as you smudged the uneven blends of your pencil residue, giving the image the realism you desired.

"Mhmm, around the time you couldn't stop staring at me."

Abruptly, you stiffened before attempting to play off your awkward body language, "...Who said I was staring at you?"

"No one said that, I just saw you staring at me."

"Well you saw wrong."

The corners of his eyes creased downwards, drawing an imaginary line that pinned the ends of his mouth and dragged them up to meet in a harmonious smile, his expression exuberant and full of delight as he cackled from your response. The warm and pungent fall of his voice warmed you deeper and more fluidly than the sun above you, causing the infectious sound to travel up and down your throat as you returned his laughter with your own. When you both finally subside, he hummed quietly in satisfaction, "...You know, I don't know if you saw it but, we won."

Something clutched at your chest as the tear ducts in your eyes began to swell at the word we instead of they. For months, he had been using the other pronoun, removing himself from association as if he brought a stained shame. They curated this amazing choreography, did you see it? They arranged the song to fit this refreshing theme. They were exhausted but look how hard they pulled through. Even though you distinctly remember several late nights when you pillow talked to sleep and listened to Hyunjin's tired whispers of confessional involvement, and how he supported and encouraged them as an unlisted creative amongst their project. You knew it had always been we, but you waited patiently for him to realize it, all on his own. All these words you were unable to vocalize, afraid the dull stone in your throat would evaporate and melt down your cheeks in the form of tears seemed to reach Hyunjin as he brushed your hair away from your face and tenderly pressed his lips against your own while cradling your cheek in his palm, a quiet form of gratitude that meant more to you than anything he could have ever said otherwise.

You wished to keep these selfish moments for you and you alone, quietly showered in his undivided attention because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his company. Now more than ever. But as he grew into his own strength, evolved and molted into a new skin that prepared him for the journey ahead, his long rest well deserved and savored, you wanted only his happiness. From the looks of it, it seemed he was ready to pursue and receive it too.

[spilledkauffie]

I Feel It Again, The Pull. . .

Pairing: Ben Solo x ForceSensitive!Reader Word Count: 2.4k T/W: intrusive thoughts, physical harm (blood, bruises), death idealisation, fluff at the end A/N:  vent fic, yiiikes! (song I binged)

Please read at your own discretion, Loves! Don’t read if it’ll trigger you! Take care of yourself and your mental health first!

Your visions brought you back to the same place, yet you never knew exactly where you were. It was dark, always dark and you were always alone. There was a stillness surrounding you, but the air was uneasy, wind whipped against you. Small granules of salt scraped across the surface of your skin, if you stood there long enough, you were certain they’d begin to leave reddening scratches; somehow burning while remaining cold. Looking down, you saw the familiar cove of water, it crashed against the rocks methodically, violently. Sea foam climbed the rocks as if they were hands reaching up for you. For a moment the rocks looked soft and frothy, like clouds against a dark background. But when the water receded the sharp points were again revealed. So there you stood.

When the visions had first begun you were scared. They frightened you, even within them you had tried to escape, run, call for help, something. But now it scared you more that you didn’t mind being stuck within them, at times they had seemed better than reality. You’d become familiar with standing on the edge of what you didn’t know, and had given up trying to find out. Crossing your arms around each other, as if hugging yourself, you breathed. This time you didn’t look down, you closed your eyes and swayed with the wind, it was pushing you, calling to you, “come.” You exhaled and let the wind sweep you off your feet, beginning to fall forward--

A gentle, but firm touch brought you back. . . to the marketplace. Your eyes were wide and your breathing was silently heavy in your chest. Turning your head slightly, you met Ben’s face. He looked worried. You suddenly became aware of the pain you were inflicting on yourself; your nails dug deep into the skin of your forearm. Releasing your grip, minorly shocked yourself that you hadn’t felt it sooner, your hand hovered shakily over the place it had just been attached to. Little purple crescents were already forming from where your nails had been. 

Looking up, you hoped you hadn’t been gone for very long, “y-yes?” You asked, feeling as though you’d missed an important question. 

Ben was still for a moment, eyebrows knitting a little further together, before he tried to return to a normal expression best he could, “I just asked if you saw the necklaces?” 

His voice was soft and quiet, sounding like a much softer space you could get lost in. He pointed with the opposite hand that wasn’t touching you to the small little ugnaught holding out a necklace out towards you. She was trying very hard to make the best possible display of the gathered shells.

“Oh,” you followed his point, seeing the small figure stretching out its arms up at you, trying her best to show you the necklace, you exhaled, “yes,” forcing a smile, that you desperately wanted to be real, “they’re so lovely. I’d like to get this one specifically.” 

The child smiled and giggled, overjoyed with her first sale. Rushing back to her parents at the booth with the credits you had handed her, they quickly, but gently, reminded her that she’d forgotten to actually give you the item in her excitement. With a blushed shyness she walked back towards you a little. 

“It’s okay,” you assured her, ironic, those words coming out of your mouth.

She draped the shells in your hand and skipped back to find a new one to showcase for her new found public. You glanced down at your hand, the voice you had heard in your vision spoke again, this time in a whisper, crush them, break them, you don’t deserve something so precious, you never should have taken them from that innocent child— you twitched your head to the side for a moment as if in pain; it was rare that it spoke to you outside of the visions and that still frightened you. Ben’s hand was still on your arm and you felt his hand slip down into yours, softly bringing you to walk with him again. You tucked the necklace safely into your satchel, before you actually did anything. 

“They said it’s the rarest shells in the whole desert,” Ben explained as you walked along, “she made it herself.”

“They did?” You asked, to yourself, wondering how much more you’d missed, “they’re lovely.”

Ben turned to look at you, curious at the repetition that was usually not like you. He noticed the dazed look across your face. Then flicked his gaze down to your arm, where the partially swollen crescents were turning into bruises. Your hand was loose in his, you made no attempt to hold his back. Your head was somewhere else. Ben tried to connect with you, but he just saw darkness, to him it was quiet, he didn’t see what you did and he never heard the voice you heard. He tried again, but nothing. Looking to you for any sign of...well, anything he found nothing. He saw you wince and furrow your eyebrows again.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little tired,” He asked, no answer, “we’ve been in the sun for a while maybe we should-“

“I’m fine Kylo,” you snapped, faster than you thought about the words. He swallowed at hearing that name again; both of you paused. Lowering your head swiftly, you bit your tongue, slowly until you tasted traces blood. Already you were hurting other people, just as you feared; a sudden longing for that darkened fall came to mind, was that selfish? “Ben, I meant Ben.”

Knowing he didn’t mean to, he gave you a smirk that made you feel worse, “it’s getting late anyway,” he gestured towards the suns, shrugging, “we should head home.”

You nodded, not wanting to say another thing, for fear of knives coming out instead of words. In the beginning you wondered why he hadn’t been able to sense it all inside your head, then you realised no one could ever understand what was really going on inside of you. Methodically, you followed Ben’s steps home, hand still in his. The evening was silent, you kept to yourself as much as possible despite how Ben tried to continually draw you into conversations, you answered in short and insisted it was simple because ‘he was right earlier’ and you were just ‘tired.’

You retired to your shared bedroom early, but as much as you tried to find sleep, it evaded you. Staring at the wall in the dark, you almost forgot to blink, you were so lost in your mind. Darkness came when you least wanted it, but when you actually wanted it as relief it was as if it didn’t exist, only making you long for it further. Knowing it was wrong, you tried to think of all the beautiful things in your life. You realised they didn’t necessarily need you, ‘life would go on, you’d be-, you tried, harder than ever to push the voice back. Your eyes burned from not blinking now, why were you doing this to yourself? 

It was such an effort mentally that it physically affected you; finding your lip quivering and eyes watering you held your breath when Ben came to bed. You felt the bed shift as he carefully as he tried not to disturb you. He leaned over to you, kissing your cheek with a soft, “I love you,” before he turned to settle on his side of the bed.

Exhaling, you blinked. Those were just the words you needed. Hearing his voice saying those words sounded better than any voice in your head could offer. Ben’s words reminded you that you were loved, you were needed, and you were priceless to him. His life would not just ‘go on’ without you. . . 

However, the peace only lasted a moment, the voice still tried to convince you otherwise. A momentary, but vivid, vision pulled you in. The wind was stronger this time, the voice was louder, not a whisper but a scream. Even as you tried to keep your feet steady on the edge it nudged you forward. Snapping back to reality just before the fall, you found sleep to be pointless and abandoned any attempt at it. Getting up, you made your way to the bathroom where you stared into the mirror.

It took the breath out of you. This vision wasn’t over, your reflection wasn’t your own, or at least not how you wanted to see yourself. There was a brewing darkness. The eyes staring back at you were tinged with a glowing amber, ‘come closer,’ your reflection spoke. You felt it, a pull, a physical pull, to the glass. ‘You’re no good there,’ the reflection told you, ‘come,’ you lifted your hand, but stopped; a rescuing “I love you” rang louder for once. 

Before you knew what was happening you heard your name being yelled fervidly. Looking to your left you found Ben, disheveled and out of breath in the doorway. Glancing to the mirror, there was nothing there anymore. You then followed Ben’s glance down to the hand you had in front of you. Your fingers were balled into a fist, it was streaked with red droplets making their way down your forearm. 

Breathing heavily you swallowed, “Ben?” you asked, as if really asking what had happened.

“You’re okay, it’ll be okay,” he immediately rushed to you, only the slightest worry in his voice, “it’s okay.” 

You practically fell into his arms, dazed. He sat you on the edge of the tub and crouched down to your level, dark messy hair in his face. You watched as he gently used the force to pull any glass from your skin, after that he blotted your forearm down before touching you, transferring some healing force into you. The wound healed in no time and you wished the wounds in your mind could be patched that easy. There were tears in your eyes that you hadn’t even felt form, but they were there and they were streaming down your cheek.

“You’re okay. . .you’re okay,” Ben said repeatedly, as he looked up, caressing your hand and pressing his lips against your skin; in truth he was more so assuring himself that you were okay. He let the silence settle before he spoke, “can- can you tell me what happened?”

You avoided his eyes, absolutely stunned that you didn’t even remember hitting the mirror.

“Sweetheart-” he was about to try again, when you softly cut him off.

“There’s a dark violence, a voice, within me,” you explained, quietly and slowly for fear of sounding crazier than you already felt, “I thought it was gone for a while, but it’s back and it’s more powerful than I think I can handle alone.”

You looked to meet his eyes, they were warm, they always were when he looked at you. He didn’t look at you like you were crazy, he didn’t look at you and pretend to understand everything, he looked at you because he was listening. The first person you’d ever met who just listened, so you let him in more.

“I have these thoughts,” you took a deep breath, “I’m standing at an edge, and sometimes I give in, sometimes I stay still, but sometimes it drags me down,” you looked directly to him, “but...this last time, I couldn’t stop it, I didn’t have a choice,” your chest heaved; you felt the tears form this time, and you were reminded how much you hated crying, “I’m scared, Ben,” you admitted, attempting to steady your voice, “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been before.”

He nodded, hand still holding yours, the other resting atop your knee softly, just to let you know he was physically there and so were you. 

“I want to help you, in any way I can,” Ben began, “but I will not pretend to know how to do that.”

You sniffled a little, looking down and nodding subtly, silently thanking him for being honest, instead of pretending he had answers.

“I can tell you how much I don’t want you to take that step though,” Ben lifted your chin with a finger, “I don’t want you to go, you’re still needed here, you’re loved here and,” he lifted his eyebrows, softly smiling, “and maybe I’m selfish, but I need you here more than you know.” 

You shook your head, “that’s not selfish,” suddenly your throat felt tight again, as if the tears were caught there, stopping you from breathing, “that’s just love I don’t deserve.”

Ben hushed a quiet, ‘no, no, sweetheart,’ caressing your cheek as you lowered your face crying. Your forehead pressed down against his, he felt your tears against his cheek and heard you try to soften your cries best you could.

Trying not to cry himself at seeing you in such a pain he could not understand nor see himself, he assured you with his presence, “you deserve more love than you know and even more than I can give, that’s why I need you to show yourself some too.”

You pulled back slightly confused, and Ben continued, “I can’t see inside your mind, but I do know that these visions do not define you,” He brought both his hands to your face, thumbs wiping away your tears, even though they continued to fall, “I know that it is really hard to believe you’re something better than your worst parts, but there’s so much more to you that I want you to see it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, you just stared at him, tear stained skin and wet eyes, reddened from crying. For once you didn’t think about how you looked, because you were feeling something you’d never felt before, a true genuine care, that you’d never even given yourself.

“And that’s what I can be here to do,” he smiled, “to remind you that there’s so much love in you; you need to give yourself some of it. Can you do that, for yourself, for me?”

“I can try,” you responded.

“That’s enough,” he said immediately, “your trying is tougher than you know.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from all the previous crying.

He lifted himself slightly, just enough to wrap his arms around you, bringing you closely and softly into a hug. You responded, slipping your arms around him, pressing your face into the side of his neck. The tips of his hair tickled your nose as you nuzzled against his warm skin. You clung to him, and relaxed in his embrace, exhaling a breath you felt had been trapped in you for years. 

He felt so safe, he felt like home.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Soulmarks, Part 21

First part

Previous

~~~

Mme. Bustier gave a sigh when the three dropped their documents on the desk in unison, but this was nothing compared to the shock that came with Marinette’s words:

“We’re transferring.”

“But… but you’ve only been students here for two days!” She said, flipping through the papers with wide eyes. “And you didn’t even come for the second!”

Marinette gave a tiny shrug and glanced at Tim, who waved a stack of papers.

“You can try and keep us, if you’d like, but we have record of over a year’s worth of bullying complaints where no action was taken. Of course, you can still contest us if you’d like to deal with Mr. Wayne and Mr. Agreste’s lawyers…”

The woman’s kind face drained of color.

“I’ll… I’ll sign this right away. I hope you enjoy your time at…” She looked at the papers. “Gotham Academy.”

Marinette sent her friends grins.

“I think we will. Thank you.”

~

The superheroes had never felt more anxious in their lives. Their food remained untouched in front of them... outside of Kagami, who was slowly eating her beignet fries.

Or, at least, she had been. Now she was looking at them all with wide eyes.

“Let me get this straight…” Said Kagami. “You --.” She pointed her fry at Adrien. “-- are Chat Noir. And you never told me to keep me safe, despite having no problem with giving me a miraculous on occasion.”

Adrien pursed his lips and looked at Marinette imploringly. She didn’t seem to be enjoying being the only one to speak. Her hand gripped Tim’s arm so tightly that he swore she was going to draw blood.

Damn, Tim could have so easily been left out of this. He didn’t know Kagami outside of what Adrien had said about his soulmate, he’d had every excuse to not come. But then Marinette had given him puppy-dog eyes and he was weak, okay?

Marinette coughed uncomfortably. “To be fair, Adrien was the one who didn’t want to tell you.”

Adrien choked. He glared daggers at his partner, only to stop and give his girlfriend the world’s most innocent smile. He carefully brought his hands up and made a heart with his fingers.

Kagami didn’t seem amused, taking a bite of the fry and turning back to Marinette slowly.

The girl did not seem to like this development, if the tightening of her grip on his arm was any indication.

“Anyway, because his dad is Hawkmoth, we’re relocating him. We have to tell the public who Hawkmoth was, because Gabriel was too important to just have him disappear, and we don’t want him to be attacked.”

Kagami took a sip of Adrien’s drink. The model huffed a little but let her have it.

“And you’re telling me in case I want to go with him?”

“Yep. We don’t even have to tell your mom where you’re going. I can go in as Ladybug and tell her I’m relocating you for safety reasons and we can take you.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then gave a shrug. “Sure. Sounds good. Where to?”

The heroes breathed for the first time that night.

~

The press. God, she hated the press. And she hated it even more now that they were screaming ‘Marinette’ instead of ‘Ladybug’.

But she had to do this.

Marinette fought the urge to mess with her yoyo as she stepped to the podium with Adrien at her side.

He still couldn’t speak but she’d still wanted him to come onstage with her.

She smiled faintly. “Hello, Paris, we have come to make some announcements.”

“First of all, Hawkmoth has been defeated.” She paused for the cheering and applause. “The authorities have given me clearance to share this with you: his civilian identity was Gabriel Agreste.”

The gasps were soon replaced by murmuring and she had to drum her finger on the microphone a few times to get their attention back.

“That being said, please do not attack Adrien Agreste. I did extensive research and observation, and I found that he did not know and was not involved in any way. However, just to be safe, I have decided to take him out of France. During my time in America, I found a suitable person to look after him.”

“Secondly…” She took a deep breath and looked at Adrien, who gave her an encouraging smile. “... we are resigning as protectors of Paris.”

The silence that followed that was deafening. She hugged herself.

“Hawkmoth has been defeated, we are no longer needed here… and it is no longer safe for my family, as the world knows my identity. We will also be relocating to America, but I implore you to respect our privacy.”

“As for Chat, he wishes to remain anonymous so he can continue hero work where he is needed. I hope you can respect that, too.”

“You won’t be left unprotected, of course. The Peacock miraculous is still lost and, though we doubt it is here, Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee have all elected to remain in Paris in case it shows up.”

She swallowed thickly and looked out over the sea of people.

“Thank you.”

~

He flipped through a book on ASL, spinning in his swivel chair absently as he read.

Gotham was quiet at the moment, anyways. The most interesting thing he’d seen on the cameras all night had been Dick accepting a plate of cookies from a stranger.

His phone beeped to indicate his shift was almost over.

On cue, Marinette came in with two cups of coffee.

He smiled faintly as she took her seat, then she pushed her swivel chair over until it knocked against his a tiny bit. She read over his shoulder, sipping at her drink and occasionally bringing his to his lips so he could continue to hold the book for them.

He tugged at the collar of his turtleneck with an annoyed sigh. Honestly, he wished they’d come up with a different cover story for why Tim could no longer speak, because wearing sweaters all the time was quickly getting annoying. ‘Rich kid had taken a blow to his windpipe and could no longer speak’ wasn’t all that unlikely in Gotham, it was hard to beat, so now he had to wear turtlenecks all the time or spend time in the morning putting a fake scar over his neck.

(And, well, Tim had never been one to put much effort into his appearance when he could be doing something more productive.)

Thankfully, no one else had needed a cover. They were a bunch of French kids, no one would be surprised to hear that they had opted not to learn two languages at once. It would have been hard to come up with similar yet different accidents for all of them, and definitely a little suspicious.

Marinette pulled his hand away from his collar and pressed a kiss to it before lacing her fingers with his. “I think you look cute.”

He smiled.

His phone beeped and he quickly fumbled to silence it, because he’d barely done anything that night and he didn’t want to have to stop already, but from the way she set her jaw he knew that she wasn’t going to let him do that.

He set the book on his lap and signed: “Can I at least stay with you?”

Marinette blushed and nodded. He smiled at the tiny victory.

She pressed a hand to her comm. “Right, I’m here, now. Ryuuko, Chaton, report.”

“We found some really good hotdogs on eighth,” said Kagami.

“That’s…” She laughed. “Good for you. Bring me one in the morning.”

“I’m glad you’re getting some sort of nutrition, but get back to work,” said Bruce.

Kagami and Adrien groaned and she could hear them pick up speed.

“Batman, report.”

“No new information on the Two-Face situation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Nightwing, Batgirl, report.”

“A civilian gave us cookies,” said Dick brightly.

“Are they poisoned?”

“We’ll find out soon,” said Barbara with a tiny sigh. “Nightwing already ate one.”

“Nightwing!”

Dick murmured something that the comms couldn’t catch, likely some version of ‘traitor!’, and then attempted to defend himself: “The lady gave them to me directly! It would have been rude not to eat one!”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. Take the cookies to Alfred to inspect and then take Nightwing to medbay just in case.”

“Gotcha.”

Tim smiled, watching her flip through their views to make sure they were all safe.

He had never really intended the man-in-the-chair thing to become his permanent form of vigilantism, had always thought he would go back to being Robin at some point, but he was glad that he hadn’t.

After all, it was less stressful and unlikely to get them hurt.

And he knew that Marinette liked the new job, too, if the tiny computer over his heart was any indication.

He felt her rest her head on his shoulder again, apparently appeased by what she had seen, and he wrapped his arm around her.

They listened to a police scanner and relaxed, together.

~~~

I need to stop writing finales at 3am --

Taglist

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[lofi-tophat]

Let’s talk about the 70s punk scene and HWS England

I sometimes feel that the fandom doesn’t give England’s love for punk/rock music much justice. Some authors usually write about this human AU in which Arthur wants to be a rockstar and some others plainly avoid the topic whatsoever. Which is a pity because I actually believe the whole character has a deep punk reference, specially regarding appearence (might expand on this in another post but basically, for me, England seems like some random bushy browed anime 70s punk guy who suddenly has to put on a suit and attend world meetings, which is both fascinating and hilarious).

So I thought maybe we could dive a bit into very general punk history and then I’d like to share with you some hc regarding England’s involvement with punk culture in general (if you just want to read the hcs just scroll down to the last paragraph with the bullet ponts).

My experience in punk stuff is actually that I’m kind of a metalhead lol. Metalheads and punks had and probably still have a deeply-rooted rivalry. However, punk influenced metal a lot, and metal also influenced punk. So I stumbled upon many punk facts while browsing about my favorite metal bands. 

Take this as historical hetalia... but counterculture historical hetalia :D (which is something we need more in the fandom, btw, I know military history is cool but its also cool how humans expressed themselves through art, fashion and music when they felt the pressure of authority and the frustration of society).

Historical context

Let’s return a bit in time and remember the 60s. The 60s were this blessed time in which people tried to defeat the establishment with peace and love. The hippie movement is from this decade and it influenced a lot on how people thought and behaved. In terms of counterculture, I must say this is a fascinating time in history (I recently discovered psychodelic science and its so incredible what was being talked back then).

Anyways, although a lot of young people were into this discourse of love and peace, some weren’t really that happy about it. In Europe, the post-war situation was sad and a lot of young people either were jobless or had the shittiest jobs you could imagine. Politics were also depressing. This was the origin not only for punk but also for other genres of heavy music, such as metal: People who didn’t want to be all happy and peaceful and had the need to express their frustration and anger, shouting about how society was fucked up. They needed an outlet.

Origins of punk

The origins of punk music are actually not quite clear. In fact, the US and the UK both claim that punk music was born in their country. Funnily enough, my country also claims to be the origin of punk (I’ll leave this mini-doc for you. Sadly, I don’t think this is a correct claim, mainly because their music was in spanish and I doubt that major punk bands took them as reference. Its a cool band tho).

I have to side with americans on this: The arguments for the american origins of punk are quite solid. The Ramones were the first actual punk band out there. They were active since 1974. Their music had all the elements of punk and, chronologically, they were the first ones performing this type of sound.

However, they didn’t have the aesthetic. That actually was a british invention. American punk had still leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. British punk? Well, remember all those ripped pants and shirts you commonly associate with punk? Yes, those were the Sex Pistols all along. They were the ones introducing the attitude and the style. The Pistols had some insane performances and a huge shock-value that can’t be found in early american punk. So you can safely say that your image of what a punk is is based mainly on the Pistols (also, for singing anti-authoritarian lyrics, they actually were managed by some dude who had a fashion shop. So yeah...).

Punk attitude or philosophy or whatever

The reason why I addressed the rockstar thing at the start of the post is because I find it curious. Punk is characterized by the whole Do It Yourself attitude and breaking with the establishment. Anarchism in punk is scandalizing people since there is no authority whatsoever. There wasn’t really any deep philosophy behind all of this, nor any political movement. Punk has nothing to do with a formal anarchist philosophy (which actually exists and has nothing to do with disorder). However, punk is characterized by the anti-establihsment lyrics. Remember, this is all about scandalizing people (which sometimes took great lengths). Presentations from british punk bands were also quite wild those days. They involved a lot of insults, spitting and, of course, pogo.

So, it is obvious that there is this deep concern about turning into a sellout, a pretty common fear in any underground scene. Authenticity was encouraged. Aspiring rockstars really didn’t have much mercy in the community so to speak, at least in this specific period. 

I would also like to add how punk had other aspects beside the music. For example, fanzines were pretty popular in the punk scene in the 70s and a great way to engage with what was going on with bands and music. I remember also this interview of this band in which they remembered how a very high guy decided to recite his poem while the band was playing. So, yeah, literature, illustration, fashion and other stuff were involved in the punk scene too.

British punk was also characterized by a very nihilistic attitude and a total disregard for previous influences. 1977, a song by The Clash, stated:

No Elvis, Beatles, or the Rolling Stones!

Now, for the important stuff: The music. Punk music is all about being simple. Punk musicians aren’t really known for their virtuosity in their instruments, something that actually inspired musicians from a lot of heavy bands later. In fact, the famous Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols never could learn how to play the bass. So the band disconnected his instrument from the amplifier and he only had to pretend to play. The guy actually tried to learn how to play bass but music wasn’t exactly his talent. He had tons of punk attitude though, and that was the reason why his band didn’t kick him out. 

Vocals are usually shouted, the rythm is fast and the riffs are quite simple. In fact, there is this famous publication on a 1976 british fanzine that stated:

This is a chord

This is another

This is a third

Now form a band

HWS England and the 70s punk scene and onwards 

Thanks to his immortality, it is obvious that England had to experience the 70s in all their glory (what a lucky bastard). Was he there? Hell yes. As I explained before in some of my hc posts, nations represent the population more than their Government, so I really believe that England felt the frustration from that post-wwii decade and he probably also felt pissed about this. Working for the Government must have felt really frustrating during those years. 

In the past, he probably would have tried to take his ship and sail the seas or whatever, but that was not possible in the modern era. I guess that’s how he discovered punk. 

Now, rock existed in England before punk. I mean, the Beatles, duh. So Arthur wouldn’t have been completely ignorant about rock music in general. Contrary to popular belief I don’t imagine him being that much of a beatlemaniac though. Sure he likes them, but the music didn’t resonated with him as much. But boy, that first time he heard the Pink Fairies in 1971 (Yes, this was an actual band, a proto-punk band)? Yeah, he could relate more to that.

More detailed stuff here:

Pubs were crucial for the development of punk music. They were these spaces in which bands could play, a venue to discover new music. Yes, Arthur must have been a regular in a lot of these pubs.

Fanzines probably fascinated Arthur as an outlet for his own writings and silly drawings. He probably created a cringey pseudonym and collaborated with a lot of them. 

Its canon that England likes to critic american movies, and, taking from there, I think he’s the type of guy that has an opinion for everything. So I can imagine him also writing about what bands he enjoyed and what bands sucked.

Yeah, I can also see him being drunk and just reciting a poem while some rock band played behind.

With some ability, and a lil bit of tricks, Arthur could escape normal Government activities and perform with punk bands at nights. People were so into the music that he had no problem passing by.

Some cover art in CDs show Enlgland with a guitar and a bass (yes, not many people remember the bass cover art). So he probably plays both guitar and bass. He also probably plays the drums. Of course, he’s no virtuoso and he only knows the most basic stuff in those three instruments. I can see him being into songwriting tho.

Music equipment:

Guitar: Definetely a Telecaster

Bass: Fender P-bass and I can also see him having a Rickenbacker 4001

All these instruments are full with stickers. Punk instruments look really cool btw. (I wish my bass could look like those I see in certain punk bands)

England’s probably the kind of guy that doesn’t cut his strings at the head of his guitar.

He can actually play guitar/bass and sing at the same time.

England plays bass with a pick (what an asshole, we bassists know picks are not allowed)

Contrary to popular belief, I can see England appreciating good rock music from other countries and supporting them. He probably insists that punk music was born in the UK though.

1977: The Queen was going to celebrate her silver jubilee. And England had no problem with this. He really had none... but he HAD to be in that boat trip with the Sex Pistols. There’s no way he was going to miss that. He later had to explain his abscence that day to his Government officials (Btw, my hc for England’s relationship with his monarchy is “It’s complicated”. I can explain this later. Just remember that he was really pissed those days)

I can see Arthur in general being really involved with the scene. A lot of the stuff they were making actually matches with his canon interests and even personality. So he probably enjoyed those days and felt quite at home. I can even say that, for a long time, he hadn’t felt that kind of connection with his own people.

Although I can see England being attracted by the nihilism in the scene, I think his romanticism protects him from embracing it fully.

England had to live a double-life during this era. Not that it was new for him.

Arthur was pierced several times by some random, drunk teenagers. He doesn’t remember who tho. He was also drunk. Obviously his piercings close really fast, unless he has a permanent jewel in there.

I can actually see England expanding his music taste. Although punk is in his heart, it wouldn’t be strange for me that he’s overall a rock nerd and enjoys other genres, specially those with fast drum beats and heavy riffs. So I can see him having some metal favorites too, having a certain taste for prog rock and even digging into hardcore.

I’m still unsure if England would have been a massive Pistols fan as fanfics usually portray him. I mean, maybe? I would say he is definetely into acts such as the Pink Fairies (I mean, c’mon, its perfect). The Clash and the Damned probably also have a place in his heart.

After the punk scene dried out (the 80s weren’t that great for punk music although it was the birth of even heavier forms of music based on punk), England also was eager about the new genres flourishing during these times based on punk. Acts like folk punk might have had an appeal for him. He’s also fond of the punk-ish bands from the 90s like Green Day.

“Punk will never die!” shouted England while stage diving in some random small concert. He likes to support new bands these days.

The most fascinating thing, maybe in a more poetic sense, is that England’s immortality probably also helps him to keep up a punk spirit as much as his nationhood allows him, instead of aging poorly and angry like a lot of punk musicians... I mean, he aged poorly, but for other reasons lmao.

[samwrights]

I Found You

I have no excuses for this one except I’m a dirty dirty Overhaul fucker.

On the real though, this one was very loosely inspired from Yagami Yato’s plot lines for Dabi and Overhaul. These routes inspired the Underground and Dabi and Kai’s occupations, otherwise everything else was just me being a simp.

⤞ Pairing: tattooed!Reader x Former Villain!Chisaki Kai

⤞ Word Count: 16,850. Yes you read that right.

⤞ Warnings: language, arson, awkward questions, reader smokes, I shafted Dabi again and made him the best friend...again, slightly vivid gore, mentions of death, male masturbation, daddy kink, age difference, breeding kink (ish), dirty talk, dom!Kai, 

I’m sorry this is so long. Just kidding, no I’m not. I love writing really long fics. Honestly, I’m trying to see how much I can push the boundaries of my writing and how long I can keep one idea conhesive and consistent and how much I can flesh out. Eventually these longer oneshots will be cross-posted to my AO3, I just really need to do my paper. Also Tropium Tattoos is pronounced as Tro-Pie-Um.

The color of fire always burns in accordance to temperature as well as the material that it’s burning. Watching the local Underground clinic slash orphanage burn not only red, but an almost ethereal green from the copper couplings and details of the building felt like an early Christmas warning—like the Underground was a target and the rest of the hidden city would soon follow by the holiday. That warning was only followed by disgust at the thought of someone feeling the need to go after a free clinic and orphanage in a city built out of a hollow sewer full of exiles for whatever fucking reason. 

Your heart is an amalgam of aching and sorrow and anger as you watch the flames burst through the windows of the shoddy building from a safe distance. From where you stood outside of your tattoo parlor only two blocks down, you see a crowd beginning together. Much to your surprise, most of them were only kids with one adult herding them—a man you recognized to be the owner of the building currently meeting its demise. 

The doctor of the clinic is as calm as ever, or rather trying to be, quietly attempting to do a headcount of his children. It seemed that concentration was alluding him, given the situation, because he swears up and down that he knows he has nine kids. Yet, he seemed to be unable to count past eight. He’s trying not to panic, but one of the kids speaks his greatest fear into fruition. “Daddy, Eri’s not here!” Golden eyes widen until the sclerae are fully round, pupils constricting in fear. This ‘Eri’ was special, you realize as you observe from a short distance away. The doctor is looking back at his children who are all in some form of tears and shambles then back at the burning building like a ferocious game of ping pong. Chisaki Kai can’t just leave his kids out here—not when he is almost certain that this attack was premeditated. But his daughter, his eldest daughter at that, was still inside potentially being engulfed by flames. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Your body moves without a second thought. 

Your body moves, ignoring the screams from other bystanders for you not to go inside the burning clinic as you burst past the dilapidated red door. Upon entering, copper decor and steel support beams had fallen from the ceiling, sparking flames that were separating you from the stairwell that led up to the orphanage. There was no way you would be able to find this Eri person through the wreckage—not alone at least. Maybe your dumb quirk was good for something. 

You didn’t even realize you had a quirk until the age of twenty when you had gotten your first tattoo. It wasn’t anything crazy—a traditional-style three-eyed wolf’s head on your arm—only to wake up the following morning with no soreness, no tenderness, and no ink on your body. The wolf laid beside you, curled up in your bed, somehow manifesting into real life. At first it was terrifying, of course, but after learning how to return the creature back to your body you realize it might not have been a total waste of money. Your quirk, something you jokingly called the Magic Pencil quirk in reference to a Spongebob Squarepants episode from your childhood, was officially registered through the government on the Surface as Life Canvas. Again, it was a pretty dumb quirk unless you knew just what to utilize. Now your body was littered with dozens of creatures, weapons, hell even a telephone just in case you might need it. But the wolf was your favorite, as it was your first, and he was just the one to call for in this situation. Activating your quirk, you pinch at the ink on your forearm until it begins to peel off before setting it down on the ground. The line work stands on its own before the ink fills out into a three-dimensional mass and a now recognizable creature. 

“There’s a child somewhere here. Help me find them,” you implored your creation, cautiously climbing around the shambles while it did the same, though much nimbler than you. Fragments of the stairs were missing, some of railings were in flames—it was hard for you to get anywhere at the moment. A scream rips through the walls, a young girl you realize. She’s probably now seeing your large and somewhat creepy three-eyed wolf. Maneuvering carefully, you find spots that have yet to burn until you see a little girl cowering away from flames in her bedroom and away from your quirk. “Take my hand!” You try to scream, but the way building was going down was deafening. Instead, you cross a patch of fire to scoop the frail child in your arms and trapping the both of you behind a brazen wall of flames. Patting the wolf on the head, as if deflating it with your magical hands, it flattens back into a two dimensional drawing and returns to your body to grant you the ability to switch out to a manifestation that would prove to be more useful in this situation. You repeat the process, this time with a Phoenix from under your bosom that emerges just outside the window closest to the two of you. “Hold on tight,” you tell her as you pull her flush against your own body before smashing through glass to land the back of the Phoenix, covering her head to make sure the shards didn’t mar her skin. With a gentle descent, you place her feet first on the concrete with her family. 

“Eri!” The doctor of the clinic calls out in relief, arms wrapping around his daughter tightly. Your lips purse in a small, tight smile before you’re off on your way again, riding off into the horizon on the back of your strange creature. And for a moment, Chisaki Kai is torn between going after you to thank you while Overhaul wants nothing more than cleanse his children and you for touching his precious daughter with a vile quirk. He settles on the former, golden eyes watching your back disappear into the dark cavern of the Underground city. 

Weeks had passed since the fire burned down the orphanage clinic. Tabloids were published trying to figure out who the mysterious hero was, though most of the articles feared that an actual Hero was among the residents of the Underground. The Underground welcomes Heroes like the human body welcomes the plague—they tried to be eradicated and killed off. Not to say that quirks themselves weren’t welcome, no. It’s just that most of the residents were quirkless and those that did have one were all registered in a public database, separate from the government mandated one up on the Surface, so that quirk wielders were no secret. 

All but you, anyway. 

One of these well-known resident holders was Chisaki Kai. Quirk: Overhaul. Local doctor and caretaker of the orphaned, quirkless kids. Though, whether their powers had yet to manifest or he had removed them himself due to his vile distaste for the genetic mutation was unknown to the public. 

Another was the leader of the Underground: Dabi. The Cremation user who was presently lounging in one of your dingy, beat up sofas of your tattoo shop. “You know, most of the people just want to know who you are,” he supplies, flipping through the most recent news article. Instantly, he knew it was you that had rescued the little girl from the burning building, knowing full well of your quirk regardless of how rarely you used it. 

“And half of them want my head because they think I’m a Hero,” you spit the last word out as you finish tidying up your workspace. Your last client of the evening had just left, leaving you to close up shop while Dabi came to bother you as you did so. Not that you complained considering he had been a close friend for a long time. “Like I would ever be a Hero.” Heroes were the reason you and many others here in the Underground existed in this hidden sewer metropolis. Whether the Heroes had destroyed their livelihoods, their families or, in your case, accidentally killed your parents while you were still a teenager and you had nowhere to go, they were at fault for the creation of this cozy, dingy city. 

“Says here that Eri wishes to personally thank you,” Dabi adds, turquoise eyes flickering in your direction as you stop at the mention of her name. “We could hold some little rally, get you a medal—“

“Dabi, no.”

“—or you could just stop by town hall with me. Overhaul and the kids have been staying there while the clinic gets rebuilt.” You mull his words over in your head while capping all your ink bottles and putting them away in their respective drawers. Dabi takes your silence as a gesture of you thinking, even more so as you aggressively sanitize your client chair. “Come on, [ name ], she’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I hate kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.” With that, the leader leaves your shop, bells tolling as he exits. You weren’t being childish, you internally bite, silently and stubbornly. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to just announce that the lone tattoo artist of the Underground had a quirk that the public didn’t know about. It wasn’t your fault that your body moved without thinking. And it certainly wasn’t your fault that you rescued the daughter of the most notorious quirk hater in the city. 

Chisaki Kai was not quiet when it came for his distaste of quirks despite having one himself. Rumors floated all around the Underground that all of the children in his care had their quirks removed by his own hand, Eri included. What kind of monster did that? To his own child, no less. The thought made you sick to your stomach, only reaffirming your initial decision to not meet with Eri. 

But thinking of her brings great sadness to you. She was merely a child—a child who probably didn’t understand her father’s distaste. A kid who just wanted to thank the woman who saved her and nothing else. A sigh passes your lips as you head up the stairs from your shop to your attached apartment, turning off the lights to Tropium Tattoos. It’s not fair to deny her, you think. 

Maybe you’ll just sleep on it for now. 

 The following morning was quiet, as it was every morning in a city built out of a sewer. But eerily...too quiet. The sound of chirping nature and wildlife was a foreign concept now, especially years later. But there were no sound of bikes or clunky old cars passing by or arguing neighbors—if noise was present at all, it was in the form of faint crackling and crinkling of papier-mâché but somehow on a grander scale. It was new. There’s a grotesque smell in the air; a cross between a stale bonfire and rotting wood and warm smoke. 

Oh no. 

Oh fuck.

Panic fills your veins, throwing your nearly bare body out from under the covers. Ripping open your bedroom door and flying out the narrow entryway that led to the stairwell, you’re met with orange flames burning the wood of your staircase leading down to your shop. There’s no time for you to think about anything other than retreating back to your living room, to where the flames had yet to enter the threshold. Glancing out the large bay window behind your couch, you debate how steep of a drop it is from your second story down onto the cold pavement without sparing a second thought to how you could break your own fall. Contemplation wears down at your time to escape, you realize, as the fire is now entering your living space and burning brightly like a firework and catches onto the wooden console table in your entryway as well as the walls. Without another moment’s hesitation, you throw yourself through the window, bracing for impact from both the glass and the inevitable shattering of at least one bone. 

“[ name ]?!” You hear Dabi yelling over the sound of collapsing support beams from the inside of the building. All that’s on your mind is pain—throbbing pain and an ear-splitting cry as you try to cradle your probably broken arm from the back alley of your shop. Dabi calls out your name again, running over towards you while still trying to be somewhat mindful of all the shards of glass in fear of accidentally kicking more in your direction. Between rapid breaths, a few heavy coughs escape your lungs, no doubt from smoke inhalation. “I got you,” he murmurs as he picks you up gingerly. Another groan leaves your lips—your whole body hurts and were you more coherent and not in shock, you probably would have realized sooner that you’d broken more than just your arm. “Find who did this and bring them to me,” Dabi snarls at the small squadron behind him attempting to put out the fire that was destroying your livelihood as he makes his way back to town hall. 

It takes everything in Dabi’s body to not stamp his entire way back into his living quarters and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s carrying your busted body. This is the fourth fire in two weeks with no discernible pattern. All he knows is that it started with Overhaul’s clinic and now has somehow reached your quaint and quiet tattoo shop. As a leader, it makes Dabi want to tear his hair out. As a friend, he’s just pissed off. 

He’s thankful you’ve passed out just so he doesn’t have to deal with you bitching about how gruff he’s being. Though, it certainly dawned on him that you had probably fallen unconscious from the sheer agonizing pain of breaking multiple bones simultaneously. He sets you down, far from gently, in the residential living room upstairs of the Town Hall building. “Overhaul!” He bellows out, not even caring if the children heard his angry tone right now. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” the doctor appears from around the corner, a clearly agitated look on his face, even beneath a simple black mask. The irony isn’t lost on Dabi despite his composure—he remembers once upon a time when Kai only went by the name of his quirk. Funny how years go by. “Her again?” Overhaul all but sneers, looking at your limp body that was covered only in a thin tee shirt and a pair of panties. Ignoring that little fact of seeing so much painted flesh, he notices the distinct smell of burnt wood and swelling under the skin where the breaks were. “What happened to her?”

“Someone set [ name ]’s tattoo shop and apartment on fire. She jumped out of a window to get out.” Dabi is absolutely seething, little sparks of blue flames leaving his nostrils as he lets out tufts of air. “Idiot had no idea how to break her fall and busted her shit. Can you help her?” 

“I suppose that would make us even.” The doctor snarks back thoughtlessly, but he can’t help but wonder why you didn’t use your little quirk to save yourself as you had with Eri. 

“Good. I’m gonna go find this fucker.” With that, Dabi storms out of the living room and out of the town hall building, leaving Kai with the woman that saved his daughter’s life. At least maybe now, Eri could say thank you like she had been asking to do. He could say thank you. 

Chisaki adjusts you on the couch so that you’re entirely flat on the cushions, mindful of the glass that’s embedded in your skin. If anything, he should probably remove those first. With gloved hands, he picks out all the shards he can see with his golden eyes while his mind wanders as he looks at the lines and colors of the tattoos that covered your body. From neck to toe, there was ink on nearly every inch—even the one dragon-snake hybrid on your face that wrapped around your temple and cheekbone. Despite your [ hair color ] locks matting your skin, Overhaul found all of your tattoos rather intriguing to look at; almost as if it weren’t flesh because the contact wasn’t causing him to break out in hives. Like your body told a story without you even needing to speak. 

After getting all the glass cleared up, Kai gently pushed on your arms and legs, checking for any signs of bones out of place from where they should be or cushioning and swelling to protect the damaged areas, outside of the very obvious ones that nearly looked like softballs. Two breaks in your femur, four in your ulna from what he could feel—nothing that Overhaul couldn’t fix. Though, he had to make sure that everything had set the way it was supposed to and that you were able to use your limbs after he did the repair. That meant he would actually have to speak to you, and he comes to the realization the two of you never actually had the chance to speak to each other before. Maybe he shouldn’t be as judgmental of the fact that you had a defect—maybe you were like him and abhorrent at the fact that you had a mutation to begin with. 

After using his own quirk, Overhaul checks for a pulse on your neck with two fingers, making sure you at least had a heartbeat before patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness. In the meantime, he continues picking out the fragments of glass that escaped his initial sweep—a task made slightly easier when the shards caught the light contrasted the dark lines embedded in your dermis. For a brief second, you stir against his touch before your eyes snap open. “Holy fuck, what happened?” You all but howl when you come to. You let out a deep gasp for breath, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your arm and leg as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. 

“Can you tell me if this hurts?” The doctor to your left says evenly, emotionless even, as he holds your wrist between his thumb and middle finger, moving your arm in all sorts of ways. A sharp inhalation sucks in between your teeth as it twists in ways you weren’t sure it could before. A grimace touches his lips underneath is plain, black cloth mask—maybe he didn’t set the bones correctly? Overhaul lays your arm flat, ready to make his adjustments, but as his gloved fingers padded closer, you found yourself retreating further into the depths of the couch cushions. 

“I-I’m good,” your words come rushing out, desperate to dodge his touch. Why did you wake up with Overhaul over you? Did he take your quirk away? You’d have to investigate further when you were alone, test it out in private. Ignoring the dull hums of pain coming from your arms and legs, you manage to sit up, slumping over your knees before you realized where you were. “Town hall?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything?” You shake your head—you remember waking up to smelling the smoke in your apartment. You remember the fire creeping up the stairwell and the way orange painted your once tan walls. You remember jumping out the window, but everything else after is met with a blank slate. “You broke your arm and legs in a few places—I reset them with my quirk.”

“Oh,” is all you have to say. “Uh, thank you.”

“Speaking of thank you,” Overhaul palms his knees before pushing off of them from the wooden stool he’s sitting on, standing at his full height and smoothing out his black dress shirt and slightly creased slacks. “My daughter would like to thank you for rescuing her a few weeks back.” 

Dammit. 

It wasn’t like you could just say no to Eri’s father when it was only the two of you—that would just make you look like an asshole or worse; he could just kill you and say you died in the fire. It was even more difficult to decline considering the young, silver-haired girl was peeking her head from behind a partition, wide-eyed when her dad mentioned her. With your own eyes softening at the sudden contact, you offer an awkward smile that you pray comes off as welcoming. Overhaul beckons her to come closer, holding one hand open until the young girl is tucked underneath his hip. 

“U-Um, t-thank you for saving me,” a squeak spills past her dry lips before she runs out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t blame her. Even if Overhaul is her father, he gave off an intimidating air that surely would frighten any child. It made you wonder how such a man ran an orphanage. But to your surprise, Eri returned, though this time not alone. A flock of children was accompanying her, each of them with bright eyes and big smiles adorning their unique appearances. 

“Thank you for saving our sister!” They chime in unison. The sight made your heart swell and soften, even if only slightly. Eri steps forward cautiously, pushing through her own trepidation as she stands before you and throws herself at you, hugging you tightly with arms around your neck in gratitude. As if triggering a domino effect, a few of the other children felt the need to express the same sentiment. An uncomfortable laugh bubbles past your lips as you awkwardly wrap your arms around the gaggle of kids—you may not like them, but you weren’t that much of an asshole to deny them a hug. 

Kai’s typically hard, cold expression mellows at the sight. It’s heartwarming, he gave it that, but a part of him cannot stave off the tiny bubble of envy he feels seeing his children so ready to embrace you when they initially had such a hard time adjusting to life with him. He loved these kids—and it was quite clear you felt the opposite—so why hadn’t they gravitated towards him like they did you? Underneath his mask, he grimaced before internally shaking his head. They were his children, they loved Kai regardless and he knew that. “Alright kids, why don’t you go play and let [ name ] rest? It’s been a rough morning for her.” The use of your name shouldn’t have shocked you, or maybe it was fear that crawled up your spine at the doctor’s endearing tone. You weren’t aware that he knew who you were. The kids let out a collective groan before listening to their father and exiting the living room. As soon as each of their little, youthful heads is out of sight, you breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“S-sorry,” you mumble out, suddenly reminding yourself that it was probably rude of you to make a sound as such and you wanted to make sure you did nothing to insult Overhaul to his face. A huge part of you felt that one wrong word out of your mouth meant the end of your quirk or your life. 

“It’s alright, I know they can be a handful. Though, they seem to be quite taken with you.” His tone is still rather polite, you notice, and his voice is entirely different than what you’d thought it would be in a one on one interaction. You thought it would be deeper, as whispers and rumors of Chisaki Kai being an incredibly cruel, bitter man painted a different picture in your head. But the man standing before you looked every bit as broken as you felt on the inside—as if a part of him had an empty chasm residing in his chest that could not be filled by the nine children in his care. 

“I can’t imagine why,” you reply. 

“Neither can I,” he says without skipping a beat, his tone still airy and light. Before you can rebuttal with your quick wit, Dabi storms in with his eyes locked on to your now conscious body. Gesturing with his head, over exaggerating the folds of his damaged skin, he encourages you to follow him downstairs to the mayoral study. Silently, you sauntered off behind him, leaving Overhaul alone in the living room, while you could feel the internal flames burning within Dabi. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face.

In the office, photographs of burnt down buildings, rubble, and the skeletal framework of Underground businesses were littered across the large, maple desk. All the while, the leader of the Underground was grumbling to himself repeatedly while tugging at his raven locks in frustration. Not only had someone burned down local businesses in the city, let alone a close friend’s business, but it seemed that someone was attacking his city from the inside. “I wasn’t able to save Tropium.” You offer no response, mostly because there isn’t one to have. You felt anguish over losing your home, sure, but knowing how hard Dabi worked to protect the Underground, you can’t quite imagine how he’s feeling.

Instead, you respond with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I should be asking you that. Your home is gone, [ name ].” He had a valid point. Perhaps you could find a few local contractors and give them some work—it wasn’t like you didn’t have the money to spare. But that would probably take some time considering, from photo evidence, the place—all of them—was going to need to be built from the ashes. “Stay here while you figure it out. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t you already have Overhaul and the kids staying here?” Maybe Dabi didn’t notice the way your voice trembled as you spoke his name, even more so after having woken up to him by your side. But the thought of you, a quirk wielder that kept that little fact hidden from the public, temporarily boarding with a man who was vehemently against the abomination of quirks gave you severe anxiety. Additionally, there was the nine little children that also were a factor and the thought of one of them waking up in your temporary residence and intruding on what little privacy you would have—

“And?” Dabi asks, pulling you from your reverie. “[ name ], I know I don’t say this enough, but you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t feel right not giving you a place to sleep.” His quirk may be Cremation, but Dabi was a master manipulator when it came to pulling at your heartstrings whether or not he was aware of that. You let out a sigh of conceding, knowing you wouldn’t be able to argue your way out of this one. 

“One condition, bud,” you hold up a single index finger, the black quill feather tattooed there standing erect, “find me some contractors to help rebuild all the buildings that were burned dow.”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” Dabi hums, as if contemplating. And he was, but rather in estimated cost as opposed to the proposal itself. Physical currency was a rarity in the Underground, as the city ran on a merit and bartering system. Real Surface money was only used for certain occupations. Realistically speaking, he knew money was no object to you considering the wealth, or rather hush money, you acquired from your parents’ death, so there had to be another reason. Knowing you as well as he did, it was probably the fact that the faster your homes were rebuilt, the less time you would have to spend sharing walls with Overhaul. Very smart, the leader mused. “You got a deal, doll.”

 You lost count of the days that had gone by since you took over the project of rebuilding the structures that had gone down. While the orphanage project had already begun, you had hired two additional bodies to help the progress go faster so that Dabi could return to his duties without the addition of eleven more mouths to feed. Simultaneously, you had been at your own construction lot from metaphorical sunup to sundown, helping contribute and manage the two men that were hired for your location. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you told Dabi repeatedly when he asked where you’d been all day. 

This project was an opportunity for you to set up shop in a reimagined way—to be able to design both your studio space and your living space exactly to your tastes. It had sort of become your baby and you wanted to be as hands on as possible. 

You weren’t avoiding Overhaul, you kept telling yourself. 

Tropium’s new store front was stunning, albeit a bit ill-fitting with its new modern style in contrast to the Underground’s more rustic, steampunk look. But the charcoal grey stone walls with chunky white trim filled your heart with a sense of pride that your business would hopefully rise from the ashes much like that of the Phoenix tattooed under your bosom. 

Currently, you were upstairs with the tiny team of contractors while going over the floor plan of your currently bare apartment. Given the space of the empty building, you managed to enlarge your rooms at the cost of downsizing your entryway and living room. It still felt homey and, with the addition of a small office that served as a spare bedroom, you figured on nights that Dabi hung out and didn’t feel like going home, he had a space too. After laying out the floor plan and going over schematics with the team, you ventured back downstairs to continue sanding down the counters for your studio space. 

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time?” Oxygen freezes in your throat as you’re met with Overhaul’s golden eyes and black mask. Albeit he wasn’t in his normal dress shirt and tie for once, but rather sporting an oversized hoodie and tight denim jeans. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Is all you can say back. You aren’t sure if you’re moving or even breathing at this point. The pressure you feel from a man whose face is half-covered is terrifying—liquid gold was dull in comparison to the intimidating eyes of Chisaki Kai. 

“Dabi told me about your little deal,” his voice rolls like honey straight from the dripper as he makes small flits toward you that subconsciously leave you retreating back up the stairs one step at time. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when he sees your reaction—not that he blames you in the slightest. Overhaul is more than aware of his notorious reputation both in the real world and in the Underground and is accepting of strangers’ reluctance to be around him. He knows he’s partially to blame for not trying to quell the stigma around him by formally introducing himself prior. maybe not being such a condescending jackass when he first officially met you would have helped as well. 

But he can’t squash the little bouts of jealousy that filled him seeing his children flock to you like dragonflies in search of water that almost make him bask in your trepidation. 

“Take a walk with me,” Overhaul adds, torn between offering you a gloved hand as a metaphorical olive branch or simply turning around to see if you follow. He opts for the latter merely for the fact that you’re covered in dust and paint from your days’ work. Bounding after him, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your loose overalls as you try to catch up while bearing in mind to keep a short distance between the two of you. The two-block walk is brief and silent as you end up at the construction site of the clinic. Perhaps your memory of the building you never visited beforehand was skewed, but it you were certain it was much larger now. “Feel free to look around. After all, you’re paying for this.” There’s a twinge of malice that paints his invitation that isn’t lost on you, but you decide to forego the welcoming regardless. 

Passing through the threshold cautiously, you’re greeted with what looks to be a regular, two story home. The skeletal structure foreshadowed a kitchen, dining room, living space, and a hallway leading to two rooms. One staircase that lead to a basement, one that lead upstairs—it was strange to see the clinic become more of a home than anything else. “Where are you putting the clinic?” You ask meekly, careful not to touch. Just because Overhaul invited you to check out the specs, doesn’t mean he wanted your lingering fingerprints ingrained in his space. 

“Basement. I figured it would be better for the children to have majority of the space.” A pregnant pause takes over the conversation once again, leaving you to roam around the new space in appreciation. A part of you was pleased with the work the contractors did for this family, a large part even, but there was a small nagging voice in your head that was still telling you to retreat back to your own project. “Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” A brief chuckle that is muffled by his mask dances on his lips. He’s not sure which of his theories he wants to start unraveling first. So he starts with the one he believes to be most ludicrous—the conspiracy that you or somebody you worked for was trying to take this children away, or Eri at the very least. If people on the Surface knew about her and her quirk, Kai doesn’t doubt a bounty would be on her head. But truth be told, he knew this seemed unlikely. You had never bothered to even engage with him or anyone else in his family until recently, despite having come to the Underground shortly after its establishment. 

“Rescue my daughter, for starters.” Of course he starts with the question you don’t have an answer for. To which you can only respond with the truth—your body moved on your own when you saw the panic in his eyes. Also knowing he had to watch his eight other children and ensure their safety prompted your body to act automatically. “You used your quirk to save Eri, but not yourself. Why?” Your eyes narrow slightly in both suspicion and out of confusion. It was strange that Overhaul kept demanding answers and logic and reason for things you did as a knee jerk reaction. Considering you’d only discovered your quirk just before going to the Underground, it wasn’t exactly what you would call a natural reaction. Plus, weaving through danger for someone else wasn’t as simple as just running in and out of the building as it was to jump out your bay window. Judging by his silence, it seemed he accepted that answer.  “And the contractors?”

“I just want all of our lives to go back to normal, including Dabi.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—rather just a short omission of the truth—and it wasn’t like you could tell him that you couldn’t stand living in such close proximity with him due to fear. But Overhaul had a knack for pinpointing a fib like a honeybee in search of something sweet. 

“You’re lying,” he bites. You shake your head almost violently, as if the movement will deter your mouth from telling him the truth in its entirety. There was no way you could admit the fear he instilled in your bones or the anxiety you felt standing close enough for him to touch you. Sure, you may have felt that your quirk was less than impressive but that didn’t mean you wanted him to take it away or worse, your life. Knowing that he knew about it too, while the public didn’t which was a requirement for living in the Underground, only reaffirmed your worries. “Do you fear me?” Overhaul asks, making note of the way your fingers were trembling and way your eyes constantly averted his. 

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a mere whisper, barely rising above the hammering and drilling of the construction workers. A part of you wished that your admission made you feel better—like it felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulder rather than making it feel like you were denying some greater truth—a part of you just wanted to run and hide and pretend this interaction wasn’t happening. 

It shouldn’t have hurt Kai as much as it did to hear you say it out loud, considering you were nothing but a stranger. But you were a stranger that his children were so utterly enamored with and all he wanted was to understand. Yet, the feeling of disappointment is a dull thrum in his chest, long forgotten with a wide array of other emotions and coming only second to his envy. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, though the monotone voice almost sounds insincere. 

Perhaps, his jealousy is misplaced, he thinks. His children may be drawn to you, but at least they didn’t tremble or wrack their bones with trepidation the way you do when you see him. If anything, his jealousy is replaced with empathy. Despite your clear distaste for youth, you got along swimmingly with his kids and they clearly wanted to be present with you. It must have been difficult for you to be near them, even more so considering you trembled in their father’s presence. The two of you stand in silence with you looking away pretending to soak in your surroundings of the plastered walls. Overhaul is observing your nervous ticks—the way your twitching fingers are exaggerated by the ink in your skin or the way your knee bounces impatiently along the hardwood. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, come look at my roo—oh! [ name ] is here too!” Bounding down the unfinished staircase was one of the orphans in Overhaul’s care; Shura, if you remembered correctly. 

“Just stopped by to see how the place was coming,” you offer in addition to a sheepish wave. Before you know it, Shura is grasping one of your hands with both of his while guiding you up the stairs. 

“Come see our rooms, [ name ]!” Overhaul watches with curious eyes at the way one of his sons is so overzealous to include you in their little world. The appeal makes no sense to him—you were just a stranger with skin like a Monet painting that had made little to no effort for these children outside of rescuing Eri and allowing them to shower you in their affection. 

Why did acknowledging that their enthusiasm to include you hurt Kai even more so, knowing you were afraid of him?

Trudging behind, Overhaul peers through the open doors upstairs to see each of his kids decorating their freshly painted walls. In Shura’s room, you were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees while the little boy explained to you that he wanted his room to be decorated with narwhals. The excitement he had, and the knowledge of even knowing such a creature existed, was quite charming. “[ name ], are you gonna join us for dinner this time? Dabi says you’re always working, but daddy always makes you a plate just in case!” Your eyes glance over to Overhaul and his leisurely pose as he rests one arm on the door jamb. For a moment, your mouth open and closes repeatedly as you try to stutter out some semblance of an answer. 

“Just in case,” the doctor adds, as if to add more pressure to his son’s convenient question. The golden orbs you normally deterred from swirled with an intensity that, much to your surprise, didn’t wrack your nerves like they normally did. It was as if they were filled with remorse rather their typical bitterness, maybe sympathy even, imploring you to consider Shura’s inquiry. 

“I should go finish my work for today then so I can be home for dinner,” pushing yourself off of the freshly carpeted floor to stand. At some point while Shura was giving you the grand tour of his room, your legs had fallen asleep, causing your first step to hobble and throw you off balance and trip. 

“Careful,” Overhaul chimes, bemused at the way you flail to recover from your stumble. To your surprise, he’s pushed himself off the door jamb, crossed through the threshold of Shura’s room, and has his arms locked underneath yours to keep you steady. “Drink some water before going back to work.”  

“R-right,” you stutter out, hyper aware that his hands are touching you. He feels the way your tendons bunch together in your arms at the contact, even more so when your pupils lock into his. It untangles one more thread in his theories, one he figures he’ll push on later because it’s a theory just as farfetched as his last one. “I’ll, um, see you at dinner,” the last syllable rises in intonation as you squeak, flitting away and ignoring your numbed legs and blood burned cheeks. Meanwhile, Overhaul chuckles as he watches you scurry away, the blush painting your cheeks burning into his mind just as well. The way you moved was reminiscent of when he had reset your bones and the way you recoiled thereafter. But through thorough observation, he knew that reaction wasn’t fear this time around, no. Fear made you quiet, not nervous or jittery or force your pupils to dilate. 

This was something else entirely.

Something else entirely to the point where Chisaki Kai is unsure if he even wants to entertain the possible theory that maybe, maybe, you’re the slightest bit infatuated with him. 

“How nice of you to join us,” Dabi sneers teasingly when you set foot into the private entryway of town hall’s attached home. The makeshift family of ten is already seated at the extended dining table, an empty seat awaiting you on Dabi’s left with Overhaul on his right. Each of the children that you had come to be familiar with over the last few weeks had lit up like your presence was a treat—a strange feeling, considering you’d done the most to avoid being in the temporary residence. 

“Go wash up, we’ll wait for you,” you had never seen Chisaki Kai without his mask, let alone heard his voice so clear. The angelic lilt rivaled expert fingers rimming crystal glasses, hypnotizing you to do as he said without so much as a fight. Entering your room, you immediately discard your dirty work clothes and shower hastily, scrubbing off flecks of dried paint and dust. In seven minutes and nineteen seconds, you’re out of your en suite bathroom and shucking on leggings and a long sleeve tee before joining everyone else at the dinner table. 

To your surprise it felt quite...normal. Was this how families had dinner together? You were unsure, considering your parents had never been one to have the three of you gather together for a meal—they were always too busy working until the day they were killed nearly a decade ago. 

It surprised you how natural the flow of conversation was, even with nine children ranging from ages four to seven. Even more to your shock, Dabi was more than willing to indulge the kids in their stories. But the creme de la creme was seeing maskless Overhaul smiling and laughing and attempting to get his kids to eat their vegetables. Was this the real Overhaul? Had his notoriety preceded him so greatly that you feared him for no reason at all? Your intuition tells you no and, perhaps, to some degree it’s right. There was still a dangerous air that encapsulated Chisaki Kai, but it wasn’t one that made you instantly retreat like touching a cake pan you’d recently pulled from the oven with a bare hand. If anything, it was alluring as opposed to intimidating. 

The kids were so happy you finally joined them all at dinner. Rapid fire questions from any one or even two of them made you hesitate to answer but you did your best to keep your face even and amused. Children may not have been your favorite, but however the heck Overhaul was raising these ones, especially all nine of them, was truly wonderful. Throughout conversation, Shura and even shy little Eri had scrambled into your lap with each one of them taking a leg while the three of you ate. Initially, Kai had scolded them both, saying they were being rude to which you only shook your head and allowed them to stay, much to his surprise. 

After dinner, the children cleared the table. Those that were able of the younger ones brought stacks of dishes to Eri and Shura whom were in the kitchen washing plates and silverware—their duties as the eldest of the nine. Dabi has pardoned himself after thanking the family for the meal to hole himself up in his office. According to the leader of the Underground, the investigative team was still working around the clock to unearth who was responsible for the fires. You had found yourself in the garden of Town Hall, tablet and digital pen in one hand with a cigarette in the other. Drawing was the only leisurely activity you indulged in when not working on rebuilding Tropium. 

Typically, Dabi would join on you on these evenings with stacks of papers and a cigar between his lips as he bounced ideas off of you to figure out potential perpetrators. Needless to say, it surprised you when Overhaul enters the makeshift garden that was really just a manmade pond with lily pads and rose bushes aligning the sinkhole. “Hi,” you offer meekly, averting his gaze by keeping your own glued to your tablet screen. 

“Hi,” he returns, twisting up a shapely brow at the cigarette between your index and middle finger. For a moment, he’s torn between asking what you’re working on or if you had any ideas to who burned down both of your homes or even how the rebuilding of Tropium was coming along. But he can tell by the way the filter of the cigarette squeezes between your fingers that you’re tense, that you can sense there’s a reason for his presence and decides to forego small talk. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” his voice is small and unsure and drastically different from the Overhaul you were used to. Nonetheless, his statement catches your attention and pulls it away from the screen of your tablet. 

“I’m more afraid of what you can do,” you admit quietly, “I don’t want people knowing about my quirk. Dabi was the only one who knew and now your entire family knows and—“ you pause for second, hesitating on whether or not you should continue. But Overhaul was brave enough to tell you had what been bothering him, even if only a minuscule issue, you figure you owe him the same. “And I don’t want you to take it away.” The broken syllables leave your lips bare above a whisper, reaffirming at least one of the theories the doctor had about you. Of all the conspiracies, it made sense that this one was the most likely to explain your reactions to his presence, no matter how much he had hoped it to be some strange, magnetic attraction. 

You had bought into the whispers of the Underground that said Chisaki Kai’s life mission was to overhaul the population and remove quirks. 

Dejection fills his chest as he lets out a sigh. Maybe this was being too honest, his inner voice argues as it debates on his next words cautiously, but he feels the need to burn clean. “[ name ], what do you know about me?” 

“That you were a Yakuza leader and you think quirks are a plague that need to be eradicated.” Overhaul closes his eyes languidly, peeling them back open at a snail’s pace while the warm, golden orbs stare off into the never-ending tunnels of the Underground. 

“I became the leader of the Shie Hassaikai when I married my wife at twenty-three and took over for her ill father. It was a quirk marriage, but a happy one, nonetheless. At twenty five, my wife had Eri and while most children’s genetic code didn’t activate the gene for a quirk until a few years later, Eri was born with her quirk activated,” you listen deeply, soaking in every word leaving Overhaul’s maskless lips. His eyes drop down to stare at his gloved hands before burying his face in them for a moment to swallow his guilt quietly. “Eri can rewind time on living things and the first person she used it on—“

“—was her mother,” your voice barely vibrated past your lips as you made the connection. Bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill the contents of your gut not out of disgust, but rather an overwhelming surge of sorrow. 

“I lost my wife when I was twenty-five. The rate that she was being rewound at was too much for her body to handle and I had to overhaul my own daughter at birth just to get her quirk to deactivate so she didn’t destroy everyone she touched,” had Chisaki Kai not come to terms with the truth a long time ago, he would have shed at least a single tear recounting these memories he had buried. Either that, or almost hurled recalling the way his wife’s body had imploded until chunks of skin and muscle tissue and blood ended up spewing all over his chest and face. There was a reason he constantly wore gloves and a mask—the smell of cooking carcass and burning meat never left him and the exaggerated mask stuffed with lavender was the only scent that eased him. “I was angry at the world for a long time.”

“I am so sorry, Over—“

“Kai,” he interrupts, “or Chisaki, at the very least. I don’t go by that name anymore.” After a bout of silence, Chisaki continues further. Eri never grew up with a mother or siblings and after things had gone south on the surface, he wanted to raise Eri in a place where people didn’t know the truth about her or the mother she never had the opportunity to meet. So he fled to the Underground with Dabi; he started helping tend to the ill and taking in quirkless children who had lost their parents on the Surface to Heroes. 

In a moment of vulnerability, you felt the need to offer the olive branch and share your own story with this man after he bared his soul to you. And so, you tell him about the accident. How, while in pursuit of a villain, the small mom and pop diner that your parents frequented on Friday afternoons was accidentally set on fire by Endeavor and trapped and killed of the patrons inside. You were in your first year of high school at the time—fourteen and preparing for university until you realized you would need to work full time in order to continue paying the bills until the settlement from Endeavor came. University was down the drain. It took years for the dividends to be decided and the lawyer managed to get you a considerably high amount thanks to emotional damages, but riches and wealth would never quell the resentment you held towards the then number two pro Hero for being so reckless. That was nine years ago. Somewhere along the way, you’d met Dabi and he granted you a home and space to continue to hone the craft of tattoo artistry that you had picked up from working part time in a parlor, as recompense for his father killing yours. Though, you’d left that last little tidbit out, unsure if Kai knew of Dabi’s lineage. “I’ve been in the Underground for the last three years, give or take.”

You had always been rather indifferent to the concept of heroism until that day. Even more so when you had met Dabi—a man who was wanted and was supposed to be a villain. Yet he extended warmth and welcoming to you, offering you refuge in a new city he had created for the exiled and wandering. 

The grey areas only widen with this conversation with Chisaki Kai. A notorious man, an infamous man, known for causing utter chaos on the Surface both as the leader of the Shie Hassaikai and as a super villain, was sitting across from you and sharing the most intimate moments of his life. 

Maybe the concept of heroism was skewed to begin with, you think to yourself as you put out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of you. Maybe Dabi and Overhaul weren’t the real villains—only designed that way because of the way some omniscient creature in the stars that you couldn’t see. 

“I remember when you first opened Tropium,” Chisaki hums bemusedly, “the children said you looked like a coloring book.” The only fitting response you have is laughter. Neither of you thought laughter would be something the two of you would indulge in together. But the way your cheeks cinch together at the corner of your eyes or the tufts of air leaving your nostrils in a short snort and the somehow smooth staccato of your chuckle sounds like holiday bells after the first snowfall. It was a peace that Chisaki Kai hadn’t known for some time now. It was a peace he didn’t know he needed, and it makes him wish that his magnetic attraction theory had some truth to it. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says finally after the laughter had died off. 

“Thank you, Chisaki,” 

 You started coming home for dinner every night, figuring the two contractors didn’t need you there to micromanage them, until you stopped dropping into the worksite all together. With a full house, Dabi was out more frequently, preferring to be in the field to investigate the fires as much as he could. This left you with Chisaki and the kids more often than not. On occasion, you would run to the local market with Eri and Shura or had even done arts and crafts with some of the younger ones. As a sort of inside joke, you had bought each of the nine coloring books. 

Currently, the kids were playing volleyball in the makeshift garden while you and Chisaki supervised. It was no longer tense between the two of you, a sort of bond forming since that one night. You should have seen the inevitable question coming. Though you more so imagined it would come from Dabi in the form of some snide comment with sexual implications regarding how close you and Overhaul had become. Never did you anticipate his oldest son asking, “[ name ], are you going to be adopting us? Are you going to be our new mom?” 

“I-I—“ you were a deer in headlights and the question was a freight truck gunning in at ninety. Looking over at Chisaki for help, who seemed almost unwilling or at the very least unsure on how to, you shake your head before staring back at Shura’s big blue eyes. These children had begun carving a special place in your heart due to how they came to be in Chisaki’s care, sure, but you still had your reservations about kids in general. Not that the doctor blamed you—maternal instincts didn’t necessarily apply to every female. “I-I don’t wanna take you away from daddy, he works so hard to take care of you all and he does such a good job,” for a second, Shura’s expression becomes crestfallen. 

“But we all like having you around, [ name ],”

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise,” the seven-year-old boy promptly wraps his arms around your neck, squeezing tightly as if you were going to dissipate into the air in front of his very eyes. Without hesitation, you hug back briefly before telling him his siblings were waiting for him to start the next set of volleyball. “Was that okay?” You ask quietly, looking over to the doctor. From underneath his mask, you can see the twists of pain coloring the dusty gold hues of his irises and the way his jaw tenses. When he remains quiet, you anxiously reach for an e-cigarette—a fruity one that wouldn’t alert the kids or burn Chisaki’s nostrils from the scent—and pull the tip to your lips. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to Shura, you think as you exhale a large cloud of smoke. 

But Overhaul’s stomach is twisting and churning, and he crosses his legs over the knee to squeeze his legs together tightly. He’s thankful for the black cloth mask that covers majority of his facial features as he bites his lip and his nostrils flair while he tries to control his breathing. Think of anything else, his mind snarls. Think of the days in the Shie Hassaikai, think of the children, think of literally anything but the way you called him “daddy” and how the blood rushed from his brain and straight to his dick at an alarming rate. It was so innocent—there was no reason Kai should even be thinking of it in any other way—but primal instincts were taking over, twisting into a delusion in his brain into hearing you repeatedly call him daddy while he fucked you from behind. 

“Can you watch the kids?” Chisaki chokes out, standing up abruptly and fleeing inside the temporary home. He doesn’t even have the chance to hear you ask if he’s alright as he’s rushing upstairs to his en suite bathroom. Entering his room, he rips off every shred of fabric covering his body before turning on the shower to the coldest temperature he could tolerate. But there wasn’t enough cold water in the Underground or gruesome thoughts of his wife’s sudden death that could stave off the erection he was currently sporting. “Fuck!” He snarls out viciously, mind running rampant with salacious daydreams. Out of sheer need, Overhaul wraps one hand around his cock, the other bracing himself on the shower wall while the cold water runs down his spine. 

Chisaki Kai is livid—raging over the fact that he is reduced to such actions over a simple word that he hears multiple times on a daily basis. It wasn’t that he was abhorrent at the thought of masturbation in the slightest—he was a human with natural human needs, after all—but this desperation that filled his gut and fueled his hard on was less than desirable. But he can’t stop the aching he feels to hold onto that blip of memory of you calling him daddy. He savors it like the first bite of a meal and indulges it in the same way he’s trying to coerce his own orgasm. 

Throaty groans and grumbles wrack in Overhaul’s throat as he fists his angry, weeping cock, twisting and turning it as he prays for reprieve. It’s not enough; it’s not your mouth or any other oriface he would rather be shoving into, but the friction rubbing against his veins would have to be enough. He’s far from gracious at this point. Cupping and massaging his balls with one hand while thrusting into his enclosed other at ferocious speeds was all in the name of merely getting off. “Fuck,” he hisses out once again as he feels the very start of his orgasm. As much as his natural instinct is just telling him to sit back and enjoy the ride, his common sense tells him otherwise, tells him that he’s filthy for doing this and he doesn’t deserve to indulge in these thoughts. 

But he needs that extra push to satiate his natural instinct. 

Succumbing to his deeper, carnal desires, his imagination wanders back to you. With golden eyes screwed shut, he pretends it’s you he thrusting into, that it’s you stringing together languid profanities between your lips; that it’s you begging for daddy to fuck you harder. 

That it’s you begging daddy to fill you up and make you into a mother. 

“Oh, shit,” Chisaki is gasping for breath as he cums on the shower walls—the last thought to flood his mind serving to break the dam. He licks his lips and swallows hard, his skin becoming dry despite standing in the cold shower. After his ragged, uneven breathing returns to some semblance of normal, he peels his heavy lids open and stares at the fluid coating the shower wall. For a moment, shame washes over him because he feels pathetic and small. But the moment is brief before it was replaced with a dull burn of hunger that may never be quelled. 

Pathetic, Kai thinks again as he scrubs his body clean, before exiting the arctic shower. Never before had he been in such a state, even at the ripe age of thirty-two, to masturbate to the mere thought of another person. Perhaps he was that touch-starved, all things considered. 

He can’t bring himself to gaze at his reflection as he gets dressed. Adorning grey joggers and a red zip up hoodie, in addition to his usual mask and gloves, he maneuvers his way back to the makeshift garden where the children are still playing with together. But rather than you sitting alone at the patio table as you were, Dabi had joined you in the seat directly across from you. 

Both of you were sporting matching cigarettes in your respective hands with matching distressed looks on your faces. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you say in an almost indifferent tone, a departure from the way Kai had heard you in his mind seconds ago. It was a sentence typically accompanied with some sass, but your eyes were devoid of emotion at the moment. Cautiously, Chisaki took a seat beside you at the patio table, propping an elbow on the armrest closest to you before resting his temple on the same closed fist he had just used to beat himself off. You pay it no mind, how close he is to you, but rather put out your cigarette on the ashtray on the table as a courtesy to him. “Dabi,” your tone is thoughtful as you say your best friend’s name, making a hand gesture that signifies him to speak. 

The leader of the Underground opens the manilla folder that was harboring the photos of both of your burnt down homes as well as the two other destroyed businesses. “It’s been a challenging investigation, but after eyewitness accounts and working with local law enforcement from the Surface, I’m pretty sure my bastard brother was behind this shit,” Dabi grits out. 

“Brother?” Kai asks, confirming your suspicions of him being unaware of Dabi’s genealogy and family tree. To this, the leader pulls out a mug shot of Todoroki Shouto. The face wasn’t entirely familiar to Kai, save for the small resemblances to Dabi. Same jaw shape, same blue eye with the same dead look. 

“Why us?” You ask, flipping the photo over. While it had been awhile since you had resided let alone visited the Surface, you knew that there was some rumors in the air about the start of a war, but what possible reason did Todoroki have for going after the Underground when everyone kept to themselves? For Chisaki, who ran a free clinic, and his children? What about you—why go after you?

Outside of Dabi, hadn’t the Todoroki family tortured you enough?

The city leader takes a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he extinguishes the dead cigarette on the ashtray. According to the patchwork man, Todoroki had confessed that he was selected for a covert mission from the Hero Association. The primary goal was to eradicate any and all quirk wielders within the Underground so they didn’t procreate further, so no overpowered quirks would mutate in the next generation of Underground born children. Overhaul lets out a scoff at the explanation—leave it to the Heroes to act so recklessly and selfishly. 

If quirk mutation was the concern, only him and Eri would have been targeted, maybe Dabi as well. Probably Dabi as well. But they burned down Tropium Tattoos, the home of you whom had the legally registered quirk Life Canvas up on the Surface. They burned down a farm whose owner had a quirk that could manipulate light and sunshine—whose farm fed the patrons of the Underground. They burned down the house of the guy who had a weird magnet quirk. It sounds more useless than he actually is—Dabi ended up capitalizing on his manipulation of magnets to create magnetic elevators up to the surface for supply runs and other necessities. 

This was about population control. 

It was a form of genocide that Overhaul himself was all too familiar with. 

“Well that’s fucked,” you sneer, reaching for one more cigarette, “the fuck is wrong with your family, dude, and why are they all trying to kill me and my family?” Chisaki turns his head in curiosity, no longer resting on his knuckles. The only time you had brought up your family, around him at least, was when Endeavor killed your parents—

Oh. 

He pretends he doesn’t feel disappointment when he realizes you weren’t implying he and the children were your family. 

“Why the hell do you think I left, [ name ]?” Chisaki almost feels as if he shouldn’t be present for this conversation; like it was meant to be private between the two of you. But he can’t bring himself to leave your side, not with the way anger is crinkling in the form of crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes. Dabi excuses himself after a long bout of silence, leaving you to stew in your bitterness while Overhaul directs the kids to wash up for dinner. You don’t realize all nine of them had left the garden until the doctor is standing over you, despite the small wisps of smoke billowing from your cigarette with a hand extended towards you to pull you from the patio chair. You’re sure to extinguish the stick, knowing how the smell often offended him before taking it. 

“Why don’t you go rest inside for a minute and wash up while I make dinner?” He offers quietly as he pulls you to your feet. The entire time, Chisaki maintains eye contact, his golden orbs unwilling to break their trance with your form. But thanks to the distress and the rapid pace that your brain is moving, you aren’t even aware of your surroundings or the way Chisaki is just standing in front of you until you’re running into his broad chest. Instinctually, you recoil away from him. Not out of disgust or fear like before, but rather respect, knowing how he is about touch and physical contact. 

“Sorry—“ his arms are nestling at your waist to keep you in close proximity and you’re suddenly reminded of the time your legs fell asleep at the orphanage and you had stumbled trying to walk. Chisaki had been there then too, holding you steady much like he was now. There was something drastically different to the scenario now compared to back then. The doctor didn’t shy away from the contact anymore, didn’t draw his hands back like he touched a freshly stoked lump of coal or break out into itchy hives. If anything, his gloved hands lingered just a little bit longer—too long even for Chisaki—before gingerly patting your head and retreating inside the home. 

And maybe if you weren’t trying to process the fact that the Surface was attempting to start a war with the Underground, you would have dwelled more on the warmth and security coming from Kai. The poise he held coupled with the fire and desire in his eye would have been enough to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

Dabi never came back that night. Rather than leaving his head seat at the dining table empty, Chisaki sat to your left with his daughter filling his space temporarily. You sat directly across from Eri, the girl who was once too timid to thank you now smiled brightly every time you looked at her. Other than your best friend’s absence, dinner was relatively average. Conversation went on as normal, sharing laughter and smiles between all of you—it was a nice delusion that for a moment, you were all a complete family and you weren’t so enrapt with the heartbreak of knowing these ten humans were targets to the surface. 

The children cleared the table as they always did, but rather than having the two oldest do the dishes, you offered to clean up instead. “Why don’t you kids gather up in the living room and have daddy put on a movie for you?” Clearly excited from the reprieve of duty, the orphans all head off, touting something along the lines of Frozen versus Tangled. But your back is already turned away from the family, getting started on putting away leftovers and scraping away scraps on plates and entirely missing the way Kai’s eyes drain from gold to a murky mustard. It misses the way his jaw clenches tightly as he settles the debate for his children, turning on Tangled—the clearly more superior film—before he returns to the kitchen. 

The sleeves of your ragline tee are pushed above your elbows as you hum an unknown hymn, unaware of Kai stepping cautiously toward you. Despite having just eaten, the doctor is filled with a renewed hunger entirely as his grip finds limp purchase on your hips much like they had before dinner. “You know, I think we need to have a talk about you calling me ‘daddy’ in front of the children,” he murmurs hotly against the shell of your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Your blood is torn between running cold from the predatory drawl in his words and boiling from the sudden close contact. 

“I-I’m sorry, should I stop?” Kai licks his lips before running his teeth behind your ear and down your neck, suckling on the flesh as he mumbles a response. 

“Do you want to?” You contemplate his question in full, though it proves to be a challenge with the way he’s pressing warm, open mouth kisses to your neck and shoulder and the way his hands are kneading at your hips. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?” He asks again, his voice a low grumble yet somehow is louder than thunder as it isn’t hidden behind a mask. Had this been months ago when he had asked you an identical question when you were perusing the reconstruction of the orphanage, you would have said yes again. But this wasn’t fear—fear wasn’t a word you associated with Chisaki Kai anymore. 

Warmth. Strength. Dedication. Resolve. 

Love. 

Those were the words you associated with him now. 

“No,” you finally respond, shutting off the water before turning to face him. It was a rare, momentous occasion when you got to gaze upon his bare face outside of having meals together. His golden eyes swirl with elation, even more so as your painted fingers brush stray locks that fallen just over his brows. Despite a rather simple appearance, especially in comparison to yours, there’s something elegantly charming about Chisaki Kai that had never gotten the full appreciation he deserved. 

Tentatively, you nudge him closer to you from the back of his neck until your lips are pressed against his. For you, it’s an experiment just to feel him in such a manner. For Kai, it’s torture in every sense of the word because it’s a tease after all of the salacious thoughts that have marred his imagination. Taking a leap of faith, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling your body flush against his because right now there isn’t enough contact in the world that would satisfy him. 

The once delicate, experimental kiss becomes hungrier at his hand as he’s exploring your mouth with tongue, groaning as he does so. The scent of smoke and fresh cotton wafts into his nostrils between his sharp intakes of breath as he refuses to break contact. It’s as if he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, to burn it into his brain. 

As if this was never going to happen ever again. 

“Kai,” you whimper out his name, his true name, between pants of breathlessness for the first time. Just as gingerly as before, your fingers are cradling the man before you by the temples. You’re gazing at him fully, unabashedly, as you run a thumb just below his distinct lower lashes. Chisaki’s head dips a bit further into your brief touch before you skip away from him. 

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”

“Come on, let’s go watch the movie with the kids,” you chime, holding a hand out to him as if he didn’t just have you all but pinned to the kitchen sink. 

“I was serious when I said we needed to have a talk.” Despite his verbal protest, he takes your hand in his, trailing behind as you saunter off towards the living room where the children are fully invested in the film. Plopping down on an empty space on the couch, you bring Kai with you until he’s nearly resting on top of you. For a moment, he releases your hand, opting to wrap an arm around you to pull you closer. “Back to avoiding me, angel?” The doctor grumbles into your ear, low enough so as not to alert the little ones. 

“Figured it would be better to not risk being interrupted,” you whisper back, smirk twisting your lips. Chisaki’s licks his own dry plains, tugging you even closer so that you’re sitting on one of his thighs instead. That predatory miasma that surrounds him on a day to day basis is seeping out of him tenfold, but intimidation when it came to Kai was now a foreign concept to you. It brought back that same seductively dangerous feeling you’d felt the first time you had dinner with the family or, thinking back further, to when you went to scope out the renovations. A part of you wonders if that fear you once had was displaced as soon as you knew he was going to keep your quirk a secret. Displaced with an attraction to him that was easily confused with fear. 

A part of you wonders if you ever really did fear him at all. 

Maybe you didn’t. 

Your mindless thoughts wander to anything other than the screen, casually leaning back so that your head settled on Kai’s clavicle. The doctor looks down at you with a curiosity that is replaced with a warmth that temporarily quelled his lust. As much as he had been fighting his day dreams of fucking you, having you in his arms surrounded by his kids stoked a different fire inside him. 

He didn’t want this domestic moment to end. 

He hopes that desire translates into the simple gesture of his lips pressing into your hair. 

Chisaki Kai was finally caving into his wants and being honest with himself. He doesn’t want this makeshift family to go back to normal when you finally returned to Tropium or when his family returns to the Underground clinic. There isn’t a single cell in his body that believes having you in his lap and curled into his chest feels anything other than right. He’s overwhelmed with the idea, the fantasy, of you moving in and being with the family. Your family—in the collective sense—with Kai by your side with your nine orphans. 

During the lantern scene of the film, he presses another kiss where the roots of your hair meet your forehead, lips lingering a little longer than normal. In response, you look up at him curiously to find his muted golden eyes staring right at you. There was a plethora of different things that Chisaki wanted to say to you, especially with the way you look so heavenly in his arms. But he settles with the murmur of, “I don’t want things to go back to normal.” 

“Neither do I,” you whisper, gracefully accepting the way Kai’s lips mould over yours almost lovingly. In a sense, it’s your way of finally admitting to yourself the feelings that worked and wriggled their way into your chest. The thought of returning to your lonely little two-bedroom apartment by yourself just seemed daunting now, despite the initial rush to get to work on the remodel. No more waking up to bright eyes at the table for breakfast or coloring with the kids; no more having Kai cook a delectable meal or having him accompany you in the garden for a smoke. It broke your heart just thinking about all you would be missing out on when life returned to somewhat normal, war aside. 

The doctor sucks gingerly on your lower lip, nipping slightly with his canines as his tongue wholeheartedly dances with yours. The kiss is full of longing and desire and it made his brain go fuzzy with strange thoughts. A part of him can’t remember ever feeling this recurring surge of wanton lust and infatuation when Kai would kiss his wife and, in regular circumstances, he would have felt guilt over it. But this warm, wet entanglement of your tongues is more loving than he was accustomed to and it excited him. Than you were even accustomed to. 

“So stay with me, sweetheart,” the nickname he’s given you sounds almost patronizing. But the admiration that seems to be laced in with it sends a shiver down your spine and leaves the hairs on your arms standing at full attention as the film comes to an end. “Time for bed, children. We’ll be by in a little bit to check on you,” Chisaki calls out to his protesting kids, though making no motion to move from his planted position on the sofa. When he’s certain that all nine of them are out of earshot, he adjusts you in his lap so that both of your legs are draped over his thighs. You call out his name, pulling him from his thoughts that take him far away from the present. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” you remind him. A part of you is afraid to start conversation because you aren’t sure what direction he wants to take this. Chisaki could have an entirely different meaning of returning to normal than you, but for you...

You didn’t want to wake up every morning without him being nearby. In the rawest form, that was the only way you could piece it together into a coherent thought. But even more than that, you felt as if there was so much more you wanted to see from Chisaki Kai. He was becoming more open with touch, no longer breaking out into hives when he touched others and even going so far as to hold you, albeit very languidly as he was now. Another part of you wanted to know if he would be beside you when it came to the impending war with the Surface. 

Mostly, you just wanted to know if he wanted to be by your side too, even if logic wanted to tell you this was a bad idea. 

“Will you stay? With me?” Kai implores quietly. His eyes are locked with yours, the gold shining brighter than ever. 

“You say this after I renovate our homes?” A short, lighthearted scoff leaves his lung in lieu of laughter at your attempt of a joke. Because, despite him echoing your own deeper, innermost thoughts, a part of you refused to believe this was reality. As if reality was actually playing a prank on you. 

Of course he had thought of that little fact. It was the longing desire he felt in his bones to have your presence that he hadn’t taken into account, but that need burning at the pit of his stomach had outweighed any semblance of logic that urged him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“The kids will grow up eventually and need their own space away from the orphanage. We could always save it for them.”

Answers you were expecting from Chisaki Kai: not that. 

Had he invested that much into the idea? To the point where he planned on you still being a part of the orphan’s lives until they were adults?

“‘We’?” You ask. “And what if “we” don’t work, have you considered that?”

“No,” Kai’s voice is clear and calm as ever, exuding the very confidence that once made you tremble, “I want you in every sense of the word. I’ve already said my vows and had my shot at forever. I want that sort of permanence with you and I know that some part of you wants me too.” At a loss for words, you opt to brush the backs of your nails along his cheeks endearingly, trailing them down until your hands find purchase around his neck to bring him close enough that you can feel his lashes tickle your cheekbones. The silence between the two of you was deafening and damning, yet welcoming as it’s broken with him pressing his lips fully against yours. 

For a moment, it feels as if the hunger stirring within his gut is satiated—satisfied with the even the tender, loving gesture of pulling you closer still until you’re straddling his lap. As if you were trying to fuse your bodies together because there was no such thing as too much physical contact right now. Kai encircles your waist with his arms, hoisting you up as he motions to stand and causing you to wrap your legs around his midsection. You don’t ask where you’re going; partially because your tongue is too busy just indulging in a private dance with his, partially because it doesn’t matter where he takes you. You’d go with him anywhere, no questions asked. 

It’s a challenge and a half maneuvering up the stairs with you anchored around him so tightly—even more so that with every step he took ended up grinding your pelvis along his ever-growing erection. Kai felt liberated this time around, shamelessly rubbing against you this time rather than scurrying off for a cold shower and a five-minute session with his hand. Your eyes open as he unceremoniously tosses you onto the plush blanket of your borrowed bed. Immediately, you’re greeted with the sight of Chisaki Kai hastily shredding off his tee shirt and lounge pants, leaving the doctor in strained boxer briefs. 

Briefly, you’re blown away by the sheer beauty of him—like a statue of Adonis come to fruition before your eyes. Even with the uncomfortable twinge in his golden orbs from your unnerving gaze. It was different, to say the least, to have you gawking at him with such adoration when he felt he was the only one doing so. “C’mere,” your voice comes out as a near broken whimper, a call to which Kai heeds graciously. The bed dips as he kneels at the edge, crawling closer until he’s hovering above you. Gingerly, your fingers trace over the smooth skin of his cheeks, tracing down his lips and neck until they ghost over his collarbones. 

“Sweetheart,” Kai groans out, snatching your hand in his as it continues to trail further down his bare skin. “As much as I want to bask in the romance of all of this, you called me ‘daddy’ earlier, and I think it’s time you suffer the consequences.”

“Yeah?” You sneer sardonically, pushing into your elbows until you’re both touching nose to nose. “Like it when I call you that?” His breath is hot as it fans over your features, the wanton lust tangled within the golden hues of his irises becoming overwhelmed with feral desire. Kai’s hand that isn’t supporting him over you grips tightly at your baggy tee, pulling harshly to tear at the fabric keeping your bare body from him. For a moment, his breath becomes caged in his chest upon seeing your semi-nude form for the first time. But the moment is flitting as he’s reminded of his aching, hard cock twitching underneath his undergarments. 

“Hands and knees, baby,” the slow, torturous movement you give in reply grates at Kai’s nerves, prompting a resounding smack to the ass of your joggers the moment your bottom is visible to him. “Daddy’s already impatient, dear,”

“And what’s Daddy going to do about that?” 

Similar to the treatment he gave your shirt earlier, Kai dug his fingers into the waistband of your joggers. Though he did not have nearly as much luck tearing off the thicker material, the gruff motion is enough to expose you, leaving your bare, pulsing core in plain sight while the cloth gathered at your knees. His chest presses against your back, his skin searing hotter than hellfire, as he places languid kisses along your shoulder. “I promise, I’ll spoil you with attention later. But right now, I need you,” his voice is something reminiscent of begging, only amplified by his suddenly bare cock dancing along your slit and smearing pre-cum along it before cautiously slipping the head in. 

Throaty groans leave both of your lungs simultaneously. Kai swears up and down that this was heaven manifested into reality. Part of him thinks this is all a dream, the way your walls are squeezing him to tightly as he pushes in centimeter by centimeter. “K-Kai,” you whimper. The calling of his name awakens something gutturally primal within him. 

“Uh uh,” the doctor tuts, ceasing his movements. “What’s my name, baby?” In lieu of a response, only pants of shortened breath escape your slackened jaw. There was no way Chisaki Kai was human, you decided. Not with the way his words sent every cell in your body into overdrive or the way his fat girth stretched you so deliciously without even entirely plunging his engorged cock. Not with how, despite his notoriety once proceeding him, he was often blatantly honest with you and certainly not with how utterly enamored he was with you and vice versa. “Say my name, baby, and I’ll give you a reward,”

“D-daddy, please,” you whisper in between breaths. Abiding by his word, Kai works his thick length into you, albeit still slowly, until your bones presses into his pubis and his whole cock carefully bottoms out inside you. His right hand trails up your tummy and dances along the skin of your sternum until his fingers encase your throat gingerly. Keeping still within you, the doctor tugs at your throat until you’re only resting on your spread knees as his lips ghost along the outer shell of your ear while he gives slow, deep, steady thrusts.  

“You like having daddy’s fat fucking cock in you, angel? Feel so fucking good around me, yes you do,”

A real poet, Kai was. 

Turning your head to face him, your fingers lace themselves in his messy locks and pull his lips to yours in a kiss that is entirely devoid of lust. He can bring the heat all he wants—it was your mission to make sure he understood that you wanted him in more than just sex. Even if the slow torturous withdrawing of his cock was absolutely divine. 

And he felt it too. Even with his hand delicately cupping your throat or the way his pelvis greets your plump ass with every thrust or the way your wet walls clench on him as if trying to expel his cock from inside of you. Kai can feel it in the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his arms or in the tufts of breath that leaves your nostrils because he leaves you absolutely breathless. He feels the love, and he wants to bask in it. 

Now that he’d quelled his hunger slightly, Chisaki pulls away from your endearing lip lock while simultaneously withdrawing his length from you. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss before Kai turns you over, pressing your back against the mattress and sliding home once again. The passion and intimacy he feels is overwhelming, boiling his skin through every pore as he bears weight on one arm while the other caresses your cheek. “I meant it, you know,” the murmur dances like air along your own lips, warm breath inviting. “I want you in every possible way. I want to wake up next to you in the morning, experience every season that doesn’t pass for us in the Underground with you.” 

“Kai...” in return, you seal you mouth along his, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer and coaxing him to move. Slow and steady, he withdraws himself from within you before snapping his hips once again until he’s fully sheathed. Each thrust feels like thunder. “M-more,” you choke out, breaking apart your kiss momentarily to beg. His focus shifts down to where you’re connected—where each vein of his throbbing erection greets and becomes acclimated for every crevice within your cavern. Angling his hips along with your own with the assistance of his hand, he manages to welcome that spongy weakness that makes your knees buckle and regurgitate a scream in response. 

“Right there, princess?”

“P-please!” The hand under the small of your back moves to hook around your knee, it’s twin mimicking the gesture and leaving you entirely at the mercy of Overhaul whose mission at the moment is to rearrange your insides in an entirely different sense. Pinning your knees to the bed, Kai is at the perfect angle to ram into your g-spot over and over at a rapid, even pace until you’re clenching around him deliciously, silently coercing his orgasm. “Oh my fucking god,”

“Mm, you’re so tight, baby. Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum nice and hard for me? Cum for daddy,” his words are almost enough—almost. And it was as if he knew the filthy, slopping sound of his cock reaming you wasn’t enough. Though whether enough for you or him remained a mystery, his thrusts are becoming erratic as he’s panting and grunting an unabashedly as he chases his release and oxygen. “I love you,” Kai’s voice is broken, “love you so much, just wanna fill you up over and over until your body only knows the taste of me.” And you aren’t sure if it’s his nasty, vile words or the way he is utterly knocking away at your g-spot that is causing you to convulse around him—that brings you over the final hurdle and over the dam. Screams rip past your lungs as your back arches as much as it can from it’s confines while your fingers twitch out of necessity to grip something—anything. 

You’re granted no reprieve in that regard, but it matters not with the way Kai is still smacking his hips into yours, dragging out your orgasm even longer while in pursuit for his own. There is no amount of physical contact in this moment that is enough for him, even as he slats his lips over yours and slides his tongue inside your mouth to greet yours. Hips beginning to stutter, Kai is fighting every fiber in his soul—torn between the dichotomy of wanting to cum and stave off his orgasm because he wants to feel the welcoming, convulsing walls of your pussy forever. And though you’d already came at least once, the pressure was building again rapidly from the stimulation of the uneven rhythm of Kai’s hips. Part of you is thankful his tongue is hungrily dancing with yours to keep your screams muted so as not to wake the children down the hall. But the rumbling in his chest from his own throaty groans become overwhelming, forcing him to break away to and let his grunts and slew of curses fly from his mouth freely. 

“I love you, Kai,” the moans are just as bad coming from you, but those four words coming from your lips are what do the aforementioned man in. And he can tell there is no lie dripping from a silver tongue here—you mean every ounce of these four little words. For everything that is Chisaki Kai—the former Yakuza leader, the former villain, the doctor, the father—you loved the man before you. 

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he wails, the rhythm of his cock head tamping against your womb matching the pacing of his broken speech, “daddy’s gonna cum so fucking deep in you, gonna make you mine forever, angel.” Another hissed out string of profanities pass through as his dick twitches almost violently, shooting out ropes of seed and painting your walls white. You can tell he meant what he said, even in his lustful spew, by the way he leaves his softening erection inside of your spasming cunt and sealing his emission inside until he was almost certain his claim held permanence. 

“I meant it too,” you mumble into Kai’s sweaty neck as he collapses on top of you. Though he’s boneless at the moment, having spent all of his energy, you feel the breath of his questioning grunt beside your ear before his face is attempting to look at you while half buried in your pillow. Gingerly, he removes his now flaccid member from you, adjusting himself so that his form molds around you and wraps his arm securely around your stomach. 

“You know,” Kai starts off slowly. The rich timber of his voice is thick with exhaust but is warm and welcoming all the same. “I was jealous before.”

“Jealous? Of what?” 

“My children love you—a woman who was nothing but a stranger who doesn’t even like kids. They warmed up to you so easily, much easier than they did with me,” there’s a brief pause between his statements, causing you to adjust under his grasp until you’re touching nose to nose with the doctor. His eyes are closed for a moment, his long and feathery lashes greeting the tops of his delicate cheekbones. “So I tried to understand. Tried to figure just why they gravitated towards you.”

“And what did you find?” Peeling back his eyelids, Kai’s rich amber eyes bore into your own. Irises swirling with admiration before the view is flooded with a sudden closeness and the press of his plush lips against yours in the most loving fashion.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

He had found determination and independence, qualities of a strong woman that his daughters looked up to. Free and proud and brave, he thinks, are the reasons his sons admired you. But there’s something more. There’s a love and warmth that you bring to the family, yet a sternness that doesn’t allow them to run rampant (not that they would under Overhaul’s upbringings) that spoke so motherly to each of his nine children. And somewhere along the way for the last six months that the Clinic had been under remodel, Kai found himself gravitating to all of those exact qualities in you, the envy transforming into an admiration of his own. It was an error in his initial magnetic attraction conspiracy theory; he thought that your fear had changed to attraction when it was his all along. 

But Kai’s not always the greatest with words, and the thought of spilling his deepest thoughts of you seems a daunting task that he’d rather replace with kissing you instead. Considering you asked a question, however, he did feel the need to respond with something—anything. 

“I found you.”

 “Honey, I can still help, you know,” you whine for the umpteenth time, folding your arms over your chest as you stand in the mayoral office of Dabi with your partner. It’s been a year since Todoroki Shouto had burned down Tropium Tattoos and the Underground Clinic and tonight was finally the night that the Underground had planned on mobilizing their forces. It had taken a full year of investigating, planning, building alliances with those on the Surface, and patience for the citizens to finally strike back. 

Enough was enough. 

All of you had been exiled at one point or another, but now the Surface was trying to exterminate all of you. 

“Angel, no,” Kai chides sternly, igniting the twitch on the leader’s face. Granted it had been six months since you and Kai had first declared this little relationship of yours and, as your best friend, Dabi was still slightly hesitant on the idea. Not that his opinion had much weight considering—

“Kai, I am only three months along. I can still fight!”

“Hell no,”

“Absolutely not,” both men snark simultaneously. Best friend or not, personal opinion aside, there was no way in the ninth circle of hell that Dabi was going to let you go to war while you were pregnant. And with Kai being the father, the chances of you getting your way in this moment with him were even slimmer. The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his black cloth mask with his thumb and middle finger before letting out an annoyed rift of air. “Dabi, I’m gonna take [ name ] home before we go over invasion plans. Do you mind?” 

“Nah,” the leader waves his purple and nude hands in dismissal, “besides, we should wait for Hawks to get here before we start all that.” With that, Kai grabs your wrist with his gloved hand and drags you away from the office. He knows you want to fight, and he knows you want to protect your family—all eleven with himself and the embryo included. But as a father with another—biological—one on the way, Chisaki Kai just can’t bring himself to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls out, stopping just outside of the currently closed Tropium. The grey and white building looked crisp and clean and everything you wanted it to be but you often found yourself closing up shop early and coming in late to spend more time with your nine children at home. At the very least, you were grateful that your parlor was only a block or two away from the clinic. “I need you here where you can keep our children safe in case anyone slips through the cracks.” Even with his mask on, you can tell that Kai is trembling ever so slightly. The thought of someone making their way into his home and hurting his kids, hurting you, was enough to unleash the beast within. 

“I know,” you respond quietly. Using his grip on you to your advantage, you pull the doctor towards you until he’s towering over you and looking down directly into your eyes. “But you know me, always ready to jump headfirst into the fire,” his amber eyes soften, thinking back to a year ago when you had saved Eri from the burning clinic. To think that a year later, you would be living with him and carrying his child and occupying nearly every cell in his brain. 

“It’s your turn to watch the kids,” he jokes pulling down his mask below his chin to slat his lips over yours lovingly. It’s only half a joke—he knows better than anyone you would do anything to protect them. He’s known that since day one. 

“You better come back to us,” your demand is quiet and breathless and laced more with concern than it is with threat. The thought of Kai dying while on the Surface has plagued you for the last six months, even more so when you found out you were pregnant. He knew it too, knew how much worry and panic had disturbed your sleep when the realization that war was an option had settled in. Despite the knowledge that he carried about different afflictions and ailments; Kai had been at a loss for how to quell your anxiety. He hopes that circumstances aside, him reaching into the right-side pocket of his heavy, army green coat and pulling out the small black velvet box is the correct move. Gingerly holding up said box until it’s in your line of sight, he takes a step back before peeling back the lid to showcase a single, solitaire diamond set in a simple gold band. 

“I promise you I will come back. And when this is all over, we can finally enjoy our life in peace, so long as you’ll have me.”

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Four: Tentative

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link)  |  Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

“We’ve completed the background check you asked for, Sir.” Bastien announced from the door of Liam’s study. Liam sighed, and looked up.

“And?”

Bastien held up a manila folder. The guilt and uncertainty he felt mixed with relief at how thin it was.

“There is nothing to suggest Miss Rice has any harmful intentions.” He entered the study and placed the folder carefully on Liam’s desk. “She is Cordonian, originally from Portavira, studied fine arts and theatre abroad, and works as a temp and freelance ghostwriter for—”

“That’s enough, Bastien,” Liam interrupted. “I didn’t ask for this to pry into her private life. I just want to know whether I can trust her.” He winced at the double standard he was presenting; this wasn’t just curiosity, he reminded himself, it was assurance he and Emily would be safe. Blind trust wasn’t something he could afford.

“I believe so,” his bodyguard said, more conversationally. “Her only criminal records are parking tickets.”

Liam smiled. That was common enough. There were a lot of questions he would have liked answers to; where she had studied and why, what kind of art did she pursue, where was her family…

“Does she…” Liam’s brow creased as he considered the question, then mentally apologised to Cassie for the invasion. “Are there are partners or ex partners that could provide some risks?”

“None.” Bastien said, and when Liam looked up at him, his bodyguard shrugged.

Deciding not to pry further, Liam ended the discussion.

“If you believe she can be trusted, then I believe you.” Liam lifted the folder, removed the clips, and opened a cupboard to retrieve his shredder.

Cassie

Cassandra screamed.

The lonely peak she stood upon absorbed it and the sky answered with a sheet of lightning and close crack of thunder. Beyond the waves below the peak there was rain coming, and not a day too soon. The electricity in the heavy air vibrated through her very bones. She stamped her foot down on the craggy outcrop, balled her fists tight, and screamed again.

When the front hit, it was with a rush of cold air that buffeted her face. White peaks of the restless ocean splayed before her. They became dotted with heavy rain; she stared hard to commit the feeling and energy to memory, to burn it into her mind. There was so much anger there, but she didn't know whether it was her or the vengeance of the skies that conspired to keep her darkness.

The rain crested the peak, and for a lightning filled moment Cassandra raised her face to the broken skies with eyes shut and arms flung wide. Then thunder cracked around her, rolling against her ears, and, heart pounding, she fled.

By the time the world was awake, Cassie was heaving long breaths in front of her easel. The echo of the storm outside resonated on the canvas, with a vast expanse of swirling masses that floated at the edge of being distinguishable things.

She grinned, stepping back from her new painting. It was a story she was trying to tell, she was sure, and this part was more darkness in form than of it.

---

Cassie

Above the main city were lines of terraces stacked up onside a low mountain. Parting the upper and lower levels was an open space more familiar to locals than tourists, overlooking the main city and the bay. Cassie stood at the edge of the cobbled space, lost to the world as she stared over her city. It wasn’t the pier or the outcrop, but the dark swirling storm was as beautiful here as it would be there. There were several perfect views here for painting, in fact. Lifting her hands to make a rough square with her thumbs and forefingers and squeezing one eye shut, she imagined the image captured from different angles. Too perfect. This might be a real place, but even the organic, eclectic mix of buildings with colourful rooves… set on a backdrop of a low grey sky… there wasn’t enough grit or imperfection to translate.

Leaning her elbows against the half wall, she tried to imagine the view with a fire or collapsed building, something to put more conflict in the image. That dream kept her occupied while she waited.

“Cassie!” A young voice she knew called out behind her, and she turned to see Emily running to meet her. The girl stopped a few feet away and Cassie stood to attention to salute her.

“Hey, Em,” she said as Emily saluted her in return, “I like your shirt.” She nodded at the image of an open ocean and a few clouds. Emily looked down, then up again.

“Thanks.” Emily turned back as Liam reached them, smiling when she saw that he was.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.” He smiled, but his posture was stiff. Cassie wondered what was going on behind it. Maybe she was reading too far into things.

“Not at all,” she replied, energy closer to that of Emily than of Liam. “I arrived early anyway.”

“Good.” Liam lifted an arm to point down the street. “There’s a really nice café down this way. I thought we could get lunch? If the weather holds, we might be able to sit outside.”

“Sounds perfect.” Cassie kept an eye on Emily as they walked. She looked back every so often at her father. Liam didn’t seem phased by the habit, instead walking with an absent half smile for the first part of their walk.

“How was your week?” Cassie asked after a time, not sure where else to start. Liam exhaled, and turned to her.

“Busy,” he said, still smiling, and didn’t give her much more than that.

At the café, which was more of a restaurant, Emily chose a table beneath an outdoor awning. She bee-lined for the tree-shaded playground adjacent with the decisiveness of a child who played on her own a lot. Liam watched her for a moment, and Cassie noted the dark crescents beneath his eyes.

“Thank you for meeting us,” Liam said after a time, looking over at her. His smile was tired but a little more relaxed. It was an interesting study to watch them, Cassie thought, seeing how they interacted in public, and she wondered if they were much less guarded behind closed doors.

“I seem to remember me asking you first.” She stretched, warm in the sun. “I should be thanking you for reaching out.”

Liam laughed, short and genuine, then nodded. “Why did you reach out?”

“I like your daughter, and you seem nice.” Cassie shrugged, then grinned. “Why did you?” Saved from having to answer by the arrival of their food, Liam thanked the server, and called Emily over. When the ball of energy arrived and they started eating, Cassie found herself plagued by questions from her about what she did and who she was and offered as many answers as she could. When Emily discovered she was an artist, she became more interested in that than her food.

“Would you like to see some of my work?” Cassie asked, already pulling the ever-present sketchbook from her bag and handing it over. Emily reached for it, nodding profusely.

“Yes please!”

“Fingers.” Liam reminded her, and Emily glanced at her hands, wiped the sauce from them with a napkin, then took the sketchbook and started flipping through.

“I wish I could draw…” she commented absentmindedly as she flipped through the pages. Liam looked surprised, and Cassie wondered whether she had expressed that wish before.

“I could teach you, if you like,” she said, and Emily looked up, grinning.

“Thank you!” She glanced at her father, who nodded, smiling, then turned back to the pages. Liam began to speak but was cut off by Emily’s laugh.

“You drew Drake?” Emily looked up again, wide-eyed. Cassie shrugged. She had written the man’s name in the corner of the sketch.

“I met him at a bar the other day.”

“His face looks exactly right.” Emily lifted the page for Liam to see. “Doesn’t he?”

“Do you know him?” Cassie frowned as Liam inspected the page.

“Very well.”

“Are you dating him?” Emily’s innocent question caught her off-guard, and both of them sent her questioning looks, though Liam’s was tinged with amusement.

“Definitely not.” She reached for her coffee, then realised how forceful her answer had been, and added, “He seems like a nice guy, but no.”

Far from relaxing, Liam seemed even more surprised, and looked away from her when she caught his eye, which confused her. Had she given the wrong impression? If he was offended he would say something, she believed him frank enough for that. Maybe not in front of Emily.

As soon as the latter had finished her food and waited the several fidgety minutes that her father requested, she raced off to the playground again, scaling the climbing frame with ease and dancing across the top as if she’d been born there.

“Dating?” Cassie asked Liam for clarification.

“She gets some… interesting information from her school friends. And movies don’t help either.” He shrugged, but there was a little unease in his manner.

“Must bring up some interesting discussions.”

“Sometimes.” He smiled, then frowned, focused on something on Cassie’s shirt. “Your necklace.”

Cassie looked down to see that the small chain had come free from her shirt, and reached up to touch the smooth diamond shaped flag: black, grey, white and purple.

“Do you know it?”

“I do.” He smiled, nodded as if with some new understanding, and sat back.

Her orientation wasn’t something she had come prepared to openly discuss, so she was glad Liam was aware of the community. She tucked the flag back beneath her shirt and let the subject end there.

Left alone with Liam, it wasn’t lost on her that barely any of their conversation centred on him as a person. She had no trouble being open about most parts of herself, and they talked about general topics, but Liam only spoke of things she could discover easily enough in a newspaper, or seemed near inconsequential to disclose.

They parted in the middle of the afternoon, when Emily returned, exhausted, to bury her face in Liam’s side. Taking that as a queue to let the girl go home and rest, they walked back to where they had met up, Emily half leaning on Liam, though Cassie half suspected it was for dramatic effect.

Cassandra

Cassie spent the next few days busy and inspired, her confidence bolstered by her time with Liam and Emily. The large canvas was still blank, but she had moved it behind a couple of finished pieces and was focusing on the smaller ones, less daunted by it being empty. An overcast day had cast some more drama over the beach she frequented, and she had spent some time photographing it to paint at home and letting the salty wind and light rain sink into her to remember the feeling.

She didn’t see Liam at Emily’s training, but did see him at the game, and they had agreed to meet afterwards. Her team didn’t win, which left them a little downhearted after three straight victories but didn’t curb Cassie’s optimism. They left much less dejected, and while she packed up she ran through ways to help them in their next training session. Liam and Emily met her outside.

“Ready?” asked Liam, and the lower guard in his smile heightened Cassie’s spirits as she nodded in response. Emily dragged her feet, and Cassie knelt to face her.

“You tried your best, Em, right up till the end, and that takes a lot of courage.” She ducked her head a little to Emily’s tired, downcast face. “There will always be losses. What matters most is how we come back from them.”

Emily’s frown lifted into a tiny smile. “That’s what Dad said.”

Cassie looked up to Liam, whose eyes crinkled as he watched them. “That’s because your dad is a very wise man.” She stood. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” Emily turned back to Liam, smiling again.

“You too, Panda.” He turned toward the emptying car park. “Ready for that movie?”

Nodding, Emily started again toward the car.

“Wherever your mother is now, I’m sure she would be very proud.”

Cassie knew it was a mistake the moment she said it. Emily stopped, and though Cassie couldn’t see her face, she felt the shock. Liam schooled a patient expression, approached Emily and squeezed her hand. She looked up to him.

“Dad?”

“It’s okay, Emily.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, voice low and soothing. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.” Cassie clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting between the two as her heart dropped. “I shouldn’t have said… I’m sorry…”

Liam turned to her now. “Give us a few minutes?”

Cassie nodded, staying back from the two and wringing her hands. The mask of Emily’s father broke when they made eye contact and some of the pain seeped through. Familiar pain. Liam picked up his daughter and walked away.

The official story read that Emily was Liam’s god-daughter, and he had taken her in after her parents had died in an accident. It explained the hypersensitivity to loud noises Emily had displayed in the past and perhaps her need to keep Liam within her sight.

Around the time the media excitement had been dying down, Cassie arrived back from studying abroad. She had followed the attempt on Liam’s life, the ensuing turmoil, and a bit about Emily’s sudden appearance, but hadn’t realised how much Cordonia had been obsessed with it until she landed. It had seemed disproportionate to the tragic circumstance, confirmed when Liam gave a public statement reaffirming some facts and refuting a few less accurate reports, and requesting privacy. Cassie’s friend had been disappointed, but it had been a long time since they had spoken.

——

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[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Daphne Featherington, Simon Hastings, Portia Featherington Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes". (#I’mHereToKillYouAllWithFeels)

While Anthony was absorbed in ensuring the women in their family were saw after, he’d asked Benedict to see to it that Penelope Featherington was returned safely home.

Penelope could scarcely speak much less utter how absolutely wrecked she was about the loss of their brother when she was left at her door step.  If they had allowed her, she probably wouldn’t have left. She was far better off useless there than alone with her own thoughts.

Her mother was waiting like the viper she was. Penelope wasn’t certain she had the strength to fight her off either.

“Since when do you get escorted home by Bridgertons?” her mother asked. There was something implied there like it would have been perfectly acceptable had it been one of her sisters.  “You could at least attempt to look happy about it.”

“Their brother just died,” Penelope found herself snapping.

“Not Anthony!  He would have been perfect for your sister,”  Portia dared to say, which only served to magnify the hurt and anger building up in Penelope. Penelope was used to bottling things up, taking everything on the chin but tonight wasn’t the night.

“No,” she argued, biting her lip enough to where it was close to drawing blood.  She didn’t want to be insolent but this was hardly a time to care about the next social season or making matches in the time between.

“Oh thank Heavens,” Portia said clearly not picking up on the fact that Penelope was actually quite distressed.

“It was Colin,” she said, voice shaking with force at the words.  She was one mere seconds from collapsing in on herself.

“Oh the one you have that silly little crush on. The fool who almost married Miss Thompson,” Portia said as if the first part was public information.  Penelope was in such shock that her mother had even  noticed such a thing that mouth hung open slightly.  She wasn’t prepared for the hurtful words that would come next. “You need not worry, Penelope darling.   He would have never married you anyways. Those books really have rotted your mind.”

It was an absolute slap in the face.  Her veins filled with ice and the slight from her own family. She was painfully aware that she wasn’t as pretty as the other eligible women of the Ton.  It was one thing to know and another to have it spelled out in front of her quite so ineloquently.  The fact that her mother could see her heart breaking and not even try to offer some sympathy was unacceptable.  She was almost grateful for the fact she’d never marry or have children, just so she didn’t have to worry about being as unfeeling as her own mother.

“You need not worry,” she uttered, storming away.

--

There was one thing that Benedict and Anthony agreed upon: the letter could never see the light of day. They couldn’t bring themselves to destroy it though so it was hide it away in a desk with other important paperwork.

The only real question that kept them up in the night was what they were to do about the problem reading it presented.

Colin was young and perhaps not as direct with his wishes as he might have been had he been a few years older but they could read between the lines.  The very wishes Colin expressed toward Penelope would never come to pass unless they saw it fit to carry them out.

They could not agree upon who would be the one to take it upon themselves to ensure she was protected, loved.  Neither fully desired to marry and certainly not a Featherington.  Neither particularly saw the things that their brother did in the girl but there was no denying she had a good heart.  As often as she had been at their home through the years, she might as well have been their sister.

When Daphne and Simon forced their way into the drawing room, the brothers were still arguing amongst themselves over who must do it when the proper mourning period was over.

“What exactly are you not going to allow him to do?” she couldn’t help but ask as she approached, her pregnant belly scarcely hidden by her dress.  She looked well even if it was clear that she hadn’t slept in order to hasten the journey home.  From the look on the Duke’s face, he hadn’t been on board but had been forced.

“Nothing,” the two brothers said almost in unison, greeting their sister with hugs.

“I don’t buy that.”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Anthony said, protective act in full force as he gazed over her before looking at the Duke as if to accuse him of not having a better grip on his own wife.

“Don’t look at me. You know Daphne is of her own mind,” he said with a shrug.

“I only obey when the order makes sense and I’m pregnant not an invalid. I insisted we come as soon as we received word.”

She seemed to have it together far better than anyone else in the family which was almost remarkable, considering she and Colin were close in age and had always been the best of friends.

Perhaps it was all an act though because the Duke had threatened to lock her up should even the slightest hint of distress appear after a lengthy meltdown demanding he order up the carriages ended in his compliance.

“We’re grateful to have you closer to home,” Anthony finally said. “I’m not sure that mother will be able to properly handle planning his rites. I contacted Francesca and she should be home soon as well. ”

There was not body to properly put on display but a coffin would be order and filled to brim with flowers.  It would sit in the drawing room where they might welcome mourners. Someone must be with it day and night though and that was a job fit for a woman.

With their mother crushed and Daphne’s delicate condition, it was likely Eloise and Francesca would be left with most of the watch. She knew there would be no stopping Daphne from taking up the watch some of the time though or helping to ensure Colin had a fitting wake.  Then there was the small matter of tokens for funeral goers.  All would have be completed.

There would be an actual funeral but it wouldn’t be acceptable for any of the women to attend.  That would fall on Anthony, Benedict and Gregory.  They would get through it though somehow.

“I’ll make a list,”  Daphne uttered, throwing herself head first into the work of it.  This was how she was going to survive this moment. She moved toward the desk, going into find unused parchment.  Without sleep Anthony wasn’t thinking properly enough to know that was where they’d hidden the ghastly letter.

It was only once she was in there and Benedict elbowed him hard that he saw fit to remember and he knew it was too late.

“What’s this?” she asked as she spotted the handwriting under the blank paper pulling it up.  Her brown eyes narrowed as she began to read it. She gazed up from the words, feeling she’d violated her deceased brother’s privacy for having even read them. She wanted to ask if the others had seen it but one look told her that she had two brothers who knew full well about this.  

The last time she’d spoken one on one with her brother, he’d been so besotted by Marina Thompson that she wasn’t sure that he would ever get over her betrayal.  Clearly, she had not known her brother as well as she thought that she had.  The words on the paper broke her heart.  Her brother had died not fully knowing just how deserving of love he was.

“What did they do?” the Duke couldn’t help but ask, reaching to grab the paper from his wife and glancing it over.   He could pick up on the distress on his wife’s face and he was fully prepared to give Anthony a black eye over it.  This was already an unacceptable situation but if they’d done anything to add to the situation, he was going to be furious. At the moment, he wasn’t quite connecting the dots though.

“How could you?” their sister berated. It was clear the distress they’d hoped to avoid had arrived.  “I sincerely hope that I am wrong about the fact you have hidden this letter from its intended recipient.”

“It would crush her,” Benedict argued.

“It’s not your place,” Daphne argued right back.

“It is our place. Her well-being is our problem now and we won’t have this on our conscious. What good would it do her?” Anthony argued right on back, knowing full-well Daphne would win this argument. She always did.

“She deserves to know,” she told them, fury clearly written on her face.

The Duke was pretty clear from looking at her that he wouldn’t have to be the one throwing the punches. Daphne would be the one doing it, if he didn’t stop her.  He moved a little closer just in case he had needed to hold her back.

“Tell who, what?” a voice asked from the door.

All eyes turned to the tired, somber face of Eloise who had heard the arguing and decided to see what exactly was going on.

Anthony and Benedict gave pleading looks to Daphne to not tell their younger sister.  They might be able to bury this letter with her knowing but not Eloise.

Daphne clearly didn’t heed the warning. She narrowed their eyes at them before grabbing the letter back from her husband, crossing the room and extending it to her younger sister.

“I’ll leave the massacre of our idiotic brothers to you,” Daphne uttered before moving out of the room just as quickly as she’d arrived.  The Duke offered a sympathetic look to Anthony and Benedict before following after his wife.

[the-fiction-witch]

I think I have a groupie

MOVIE LOVE ACTUALLY AGE UP

COUPLE SAM X READER

RATING SMUT AF

I sat fixing up my kit ready for our performance tonight, it was just a little show in a local pub but we where getting paid and honestly at nineteen we where lucky for a show at all.

"Sam? You ready man?" Luke asked as he plugged in his guitar

"Uhh yeah should be" I nodded, we started out set doing a song we wrote and then a couple of covers, people in the pub seemed to like it mostly factory work guys and a few college kids in tonight. As we where changing over from one song to another I spotted a girl, she looked my age, she was beautiful, her hair done, her make up done nice too in a rather sweet purple dress, she had clearly dressed up tonight, she smiled as she saw me looking at her and waved I nodded to her making her blush hard, as soon as we finished up we gathered our stuff and went for a drink

"Hi" a little voice smiled, I looked up and saw that girl

"Uhh hi,"

"Y/n" she says offering her hand

"Sam" I smiled taking it and giving her hand a kiss making her blush a little more

"What are you drinking?"

"Uhh cider, did you-"

"One cider and a blue please" she told the bar man and he nodded she paid and handed me the cider when it came

"Thanks, do you uhh come here alot I've not seen you before"

"Sometimes, I wanted to come see you boys tonight"

"You did?" I asked "really?"

"I like it, I think you guys are really good" she smiled moving a little closer

"Yeah? Well thanks very much, your sweet."

We sat and chatted for a good while until I finished my drink and had to load up luke's car with all our stuff I thanked her again and gave her hand another kiss before going to help load and pack everything away once we where done I told the guys to head off I was only a twenty minute walk home anyway, so I waved them goodbye as the car left

"Hi sam" I heard as the poor opened I looked and saw it was y/n with a little black moto jacket

"Ohh hi y/n, you heading home too?"

"Yeah,"

"If uhh if you wanted I'd happily walk you home? It's getting late"

"I'd like that" she smiled so we slowly walked together talking about this and that "I really wish you guys plaid more often I love coming to watch"

"You do? Well if uhh if you wanted I could always tell you about shows? I could uhh I could text you and stuff"

"I'd like that" she smiled so we traded numbers "guess I'm kinda you boys groupie now"

"Ohh, no no y/n, I wouldn't say it was like that."

"It's okay, I like being a groupie" she giggled as we walked past the park "but, isn't it usually that groupies get all this nice treatment and stuff because they...sleep with the band members"

"In some situations yeah, why do you ask?"

"Just curious" she giggled holding my hand I smiled squeezing her hand back a little and as I did she yanked me into the park and ran, I happily ran with her Into a dark part of the park with thick trees and a little river with a bridge and walk way, she pushed me up against the handrail of the bridge and kissed me, I happily kissed her back egar with excitement wrapping my arms around her waist as she pushed her body against me completely feeling her thin dress, her lack of bra, and her rubbing her hips against my own

"Ummmm y/n" I groaned as she kissed down my neck "you wanna head back to my place?"

"I'm good here" she smirked giving my neck a harsh love bite

"Ummmm y/n.... Umm baby" I groaned as we kissed gently feeling her up where I could as she had little on below her dress "Maybe I wanna take you home, so we can... Do other stuff" I suggested pulling her back to kissing me us heavily making out

"What could we do there that we can't do here" she smirked pulling me along the bridge with her until we found a close and thick tree she pushed me against it and undid my belt, I was nervous about someone seeing us but I didn't care I was beyond excited, I had only ever for a blow job like twice my whole life! And never when I was this excited and wound up, let alone from a girl this attractive, she moved to her knees and tugged my jeans down pulling my boxers with them letting my half hard cock jump into her hands, she giggled excitedly and I bit my lip as she rubbed all over me and peppered kisses up and down my shaft I gripped the tree trying not to moan too loud and draw attention to us. But as she took me in her mouth that idea went out the window, she was so good, so attentive, sucking me like she was an expert, I moaned and groaned like crazy but I didn't care it felt so good I knew I was gonna cum but she stopped pulling away and tugging my pants up

"Y/n" I whined pulling her to kiss me and groping her breasts thought her dress "come on baby, I'm so close"

"What's the magic word?" She giggled kissing my neck

"Ummmm y/n, please baby"

She giggled and grabbed my hand again dragging me somewhere else even if my feet didn't wanna move till we got to the picnic area of the park with a few wooden benches even in the dark I could see the smirk on her lips and the glint of excitement in her eyes she grabbed my shirt and leant against the table pulling me to kiss her, I grabbed her harshly almost Agressively making out with her grabbing her ass, her breasts, anything I could get my hands on as I grind my hard cock in her, she plaid with my hair as we kissed till she pulled back leaving me breathless "y/n! Come on baby please" I whined kissing down her neck not wanting to stop she giggled and reached a hand I to her jacket pocket and handing me a sensitive thin feel condom, "ummmm fuck baby" I groaned taking it from her and kissing her again "you get ready" I winked to her moving back to undo my jeans letting them drop to my knees as well as pushing down my boxers but not to much as even though we are in a empty park at one am doesn't mean we weren't in public still anyone could see us and I didn't want us to get in trouble, I slipped the condom on feeling the cold lube on me as she turned over to lay on the table on her stomach and she flicked up her dress showing she didn't have panties either, just looking at her bent over the picnic table with her ass complete exposed made me harder then ever "fuck. Come her baby" I groaned grabbing her ass squeezing it hard she was so squishy and soft, "ummmm your ass is so soft baby, I wanna fuck you so bad!" I groaned

"So then fuck me" she giggled running her foot up my inside leg

I bit my mouth hard as I moved and slipped inside her dripping pussy, I wanted to scream, but I was in another world, my hips moving in there own already called from her sucking I kept my hands grabbing her ass as I got faster and faster each time I did she would moan

"Uhh ughhh! Ughh! Uuuuh!" She moaned in pleasure with each thrust

"Fuck! Baby! Ummmm! Uhhh! Uughhh! Baby! Baby!" I moan back at every wave of pleasure often slapping her ass when she got to noisy I didn't wanna stop I didn't ever wanna stop and suddenly she tightened around me and screamed I kept going letting her ride it out and only a few thrusts more I hit my own rocketing into the state I had long missed going hilt deep inside her as I finished into the condom "fuck... That was amazing y/n."

"Your welcome" she giggled getting up and fixing her dress having to basically hold me up as I did my pants up "did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah, I did enjoy it, very very much baby. Did you?"

"Very much, maybe next time you guys do a show you'll have to text me and I'll come finish your night like that again" she winked

"Not sure I can wait that long for you baby. I'll text you later okay?"

"Okay" she smiled giving me a kiss "I best get home, talk soon sam" she smiled giving me another kiss and waving as she headed out of the park, I waved back and almost collapsed on the table gasping looking up at the night sky

"Fuck.... I think I have a groupie." I smirked I got up eventually and headed home and rushed up to my room collapsing in the bed just as I did I got a text so I grabbed my phone

Y/n :

Hope you got home safe sam, I hope you see you again soon X

And then a beautiful picture of her laid in her bed the skirt of her dress pulled up to reveal her sexy pussy, and her dress tugged down enough I completely reveal her breasts, I could tell already the picture had made me hard I smirked and texted back

Sam:

I did, hope you did too, I will definitely be seeing you again soon baby X

Then I pulled my jeans and boxers down looking as sexy as I could sending her a picture back and instantly she texted back

Y/n :

10:30 in the shopping center suit you sam?

So I smirked and texted her back,

Sam:

Perfect with me baby, I'll bring the condom this time ;)

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) it hungers, it eats you whole STAR WARS

Rating: M

Warnings: Major Character Death, Death and Violence, Sith Magic, DARK, Horror

“Whatever that is, it’s not Rex.” Fives’ voice is hushed, shaky and quivering, as he watches the thing in his ori’vod’s armour trail behind General Skywalker like a trained Akku pup, eyes empty of anything but a blind devotion to the Jedi in front of it. He doesn’t dare raise his voice any higher than a whisper, not wanting to draw the attention of the General or the empty thing that used to be his Captain.

Their yellow eyes send chills down his spine, their mere presence makes him feel cold. There’s a hunger about them, one that can never be sated and gnaws at everything around them, making the world seem dull and lifeless, and it makes every animal instinct in him scream from the wrongness even as the cold freezes him in place and hollows out his bones. He feels like he’ll never be warm again when they’re around, like all the energy and heat is being sucked out of him until it leaves only a husk in his place. A husk like Rex had become.

Fives remembers, as well as any trooper of the 501st, the sight of his brother’s bloody body in their General’s arms. He’s haunted by the sight of crimson blood and viscera spilling out into the sands around them and Rex’s empty empty eyes and blood stained lips pulled into a defensive snarl. He had gone down protecting the General’s back, the vibrosword of a commando droid slicing through his armour like warm butter, and General Skywalker’s ripping screams still tear at his chest and steal the breath from his lungs because it meant that Rex was dead . He remembers the vortex of pure power that had exploded out from their Jedi, it had disintegrated the army of droids that had separated the bulk of Torrent Company from their commanding officers, and had warped and shredded the ground under their feet, turning the sand to dangerously sharp shards of red-stained glass.

There had been a bloody handprint smeared across General Skywalker’s face when he’d stood, unnaturally smooth even with Rex’s heavy body in his arms, his eyes glowing a sickly yellow in the shadows of his face. He had snapped Coric’s neck with his mind when the CMO hadn’t been able to help Rex and had choked Kix until he was unconscious and Jesse had had to drag him to safety, even after Coric had told their General that there was nothing any of them could do for Rex, but he had tried anyways, because no one had wanted to accept that their Captain was dead so soon after Commander Tano had left them. General Skywalker had used the Force to throw them all out of the way when they’d tried to stop him, and he’d taken Rex’s body from the biobed it was laid out on. No one had dared to approach him, no one had dared to try and find him, not after Ridge had come stumbling back from his self-imposed mission to speak to the General missing an arm and dragging Vaughn’s body with him. The only reason why the Sergeant hadn’t bled out was because of the cauterized stump that ended above where his elbow used to be.

A lightsaber wound.

Then the shinies started going missing, their bodies found strewn about the halls like broken toys with no sign of wounds that could have caused their deaths. Some of them were found with chunks of flesh or entire limbs missing, some even disemboweled , like they had been eaten . The men were scared, and Fives didn’t blame them.

Stuck in dead space, they couldn’t call for help, couldn’t update anyone on their situation or the bodies that were steadily piling up. The Resolute’s power was low to conserve energy the longer they floated without orders or leadership, the halls dark and lit only by red emergency lights, and it didn’t help with the smothering atmosphere of fear that had fallen over the troopers. Moral was lower than it had ever been, even during campaigns like Umbara. With Rex dead and General Skywalker AWOL with his body, and something roaming the halls and killing men, Fives had tried to keep everyone together, to keep spirits up, but everything had only gotten worse.

General Skywalker had come out of his isolation, and the thing wearing Rex’s body had followed, wearing clean, undamaged armour like nothing had happened, but Fives had known immediately that something was wrong. The thing’s skin is greyed out with death, lips blue from the lack of oxygen even as it breathes, and veins under paper-thin skin growing darker as time continues to pass. The premature lines of stress that had been etched into Rex’s skin were gone, replaced with an artificially smooth and passive expression that his brother never would have worn. It doesn’t eat, it doesn’t sleep, and it doesn’t speak, all it does is follow General Skywalker like a droid, uncaring of the world around it and without a spark of life in its eyes. The smell that clings to it is stomach-churning; the stink of a rotting body that couldn’t be smothered had sunk into every crevice on the ship, and yet General Skywalker doesn’t seem to notice. Doesn’t seem to care that it’s wrong . He just continues to openly touch and kiss the thing in a perverted parody of how he used to treat Rex in the secret of their bunk, uncaring of the terrified troopers around him.

Troopers had stopped going missing, for now, but still no one dares to speak too loud, to draw attention to themselves, in fear that it would break the tense atmosphere of the star destroyed and make General Skywalker snap again. No one wants the Jedi to look at him with his yellow eyes, or risk breaking whatever spell that keeps the thing wearing their brother’s face enthralled with the General. They fear what it would do to them.

Next to him, Tup shakes with mute fear as General Skywalker and the thing sweep past them and onto the bridge, bringing with them an icy chill and the sickening smell of rot, and for a moment, Fives can swear he can see ice crystals on his breath and frost crawling over his armour as his energy suddenly flags. He needs to lock his knees to stop himself from collapsing completely.

They watch, silent and still, as General Skywalker steps up to the holotable, and the Jedi turns to the thing wearing Rex’s face and body like an ill-fitting suit of armour.

“I’ll fix this, my warrior.” General Skywalker promises, expression intense in the way that has fear crawling up Fives’ chest. He reaches forward, gripping the back of the thing’s neck, and drawing it closer. It stays passive and blank as the Jedi presses their lips together with eerie tenderness, cradling the thing’s face like it's something precious, and Fives mentally rails against the sight.

Rex would have never been comfortable with this public display of affection, and seeing General Skywalker, the man his brother had fallen in love with despite the problems their relationship faced, disregard this to kiss his brother’s rotting body in an insult against the dead Captain. Fives wishes desperately to step forward, to put a bolt in the thing’s head and finally give Rex peace , but Tup’s shaking hand on his belt stops him and pulls him back into line and the troopers around him shake their heads frantically.

They’re all afraid. Afraid of their General, of the thing that used to be their Captain, and staying unnoticed means staying safe.

“I’ll fix this.” Skywalker repeats, voice reverently hushed. “I’ll bring you back, I promise, Rex.” His yellow eyes are manic-bright, staring into the thing’s empty face and tracing his thumb under its matching sickly eyes, so far from Rex’s warm brown that it makes Fives shy back in animal fear. “We’ll be together again, a family - like you always dreamed of.” He kisses the thing again, fast and full of passion, before he turns away, stepping up to the holotable and dropping to his knees in a grovelling bow as a call connects, and a figure in heavy robes appears, a deep hood pulled over their face. “Master.” Skywalker greets, and Fives shares a nervous, fearful, look with a pale-faced Tup as the figure smiles, slow and pleased.

“Rise, Darth Vader.”

A birthday gift for @padawantam

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Six

Masterpost

“Oh. I see. Yes. Allow me to call you back momentarily.” Logan set the phone down.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“It was Emile. He wanted to know if we could house Remy, if only for a short time. His house is likely to be caught in the sweep this evening.”

“Who are they?” Roman asked.

“We met with them while considering what we ought to do with Virgil.” Logan explained. “Remy is a vampire, and is… at the very least, he will resort to violence to protect Emile.”

“Why would we keep him here? There’s plenty of room in the warehouse.” Roman asked.

“Roman, I am well aware of your stance on the matter, but please try to consider that others have differing positions. Emile wishes us to keep Remy and release him afterwards. To protect and hide him from the sweep.”

Roman frowned. “Why would he…?” His voice trailed off. “He wants us to keep a vampire alive, and let it go afterward. To go against the goal we’ve been working towards for years, and to do it behind the backs of the other hunters.”

“Yes. That is what he has requested. Though I am not certain that he is aware of our participation in the sweep.”

“No. I’m not doing it. It’s not—it’s just not right, Logan!”

“I am not in a position to make a moral judgement on this either way. However, I will say that I am inclined to allow him to stay.”

“Why?!”

“Because in all that I’ve seen of him, he acted to protect someone. And it is that person asking us to help him.”

“I just don’t understand. Just because Virgil is good at acting suddenly you both go and get all soft on vampires.”

“Surely you don’t entirely agree with the sweep. You seemed just as distraught as Patton the other night.”

“I don’t like how it’s playing out, but I still think that it’s the right idea. How could you not? Vampires have been hurting and killing for hundreds, probably thousands of years! If they were just gone, we could stop all that.”

“There. That is the point on which we differ.”

“What? That vampires hurt people?”

“No. I agree with you that vampires have caused pain and death, but I do not believe that it will stop if they are killed. It could just as easily be argued in the exact same way from their side. Humans have hurt and killed vampires for just as long as vampires have.”

“But if there’s a war from us to them, and from them to us, and it’s the war causing the problems, wouldn’t it be better for it to be over?”

“I do believe that there would be less pain if people didn’t hurt one another, but attempting to wipe out an entire subsection of people is not a cessation of fighting. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“But they aren’t people!” Roman insisted. “As long as there are vampires around they’ll hurt us.”

“I would have been inclined to agree with that sentiment a month or two ago, but since then I’ve opened myself to the possibility of vampires retaining their humanity. And I have found that at least 60% of them retain some aspect of the person they were before, and at least 20% of those are only marginally changed by the turning.”

Roman frowned.

“I still do not know what is the determining factor in the change,” Logan continued. “And I admit that my own experiences are much of what I can draw upon to support this hypothesis. Despite this, I intend to continue to explore this possibility and to seek out more data and obtain other people’s views on this.”

“And what is it that first made you think that vampires count as people?” Roman asked.

“It was Virgil. I believe I have recounted the result of the second test I put him through?”

Roman nodded. “So he’s a good actor. I can be a good actor. And at that point he was still under the threat of being put back in the coffin. He’d have done anything.”

“He was not under any kind of direct threat. While I could have done so, I did not, and certainly did not inform him of any consequences to failing the test. Neither did I inform him that it was a test. I believe that his decision, while possibly influenced by fear of retaliation, was mainly for the purpose of not harming another person.”

“And what, not wanting to hurt someone makes him a person? He’s dead. Or was.”

“Your position that vampires are not people seems to hinge on the fact that they invariably hurt people, so it is reasonable that a desire, and action supporting that desire, in the opposite direction would indicate the opposite.”

Patton came downstairs, walking heavily, and his eyes were red with bags underneath.

“Dad wants me to come to his house, and he wants me to bring Virgil.” Patton poured himself a coffee, something he rarely drank.

“I can come with you,” Roman offered.

“I’d appreciate that.” Patton came and sat down with his coffee. He hadn’t put anything in it other than creamer, which was even more unusual.

“Emile called,” Logan said. “He’d like if Remy can stay here for tonight.”

Patton shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Logan looked at Roman.

Roman grimaced. “Fine. But I’m not having some random vampire wandering around and trying to kill us. He has to be in the cell, and muzzled at least. Cuffed would be even better.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll remain here, and deal with that, then.”

•^*^••

Patton felt awful. If his dad hadn’t called he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. The scene from a few nights ago kept replaying in his mind. Over and over. The blood, and… and the scream. And the worst part was that it was all his fault. If he just hadn’t gone…

Virgil was following him quietly. Because they were going to be in public, and especially since they were going to his dad’s house, Virgil had on the leather muzzle and his hands were cuffed. Patton could see that Virgil was on the line between nervous and scared, but what else was he supposed to do? His dad had been very specific. He wanted Virgil there.

And both Patton and Roman would be there in case anything went wrong.

Patton walked up to the house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. After a minute he called his dad.

“Hello?”

“Hi, dad. Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m in the barn. Sorry about that, Pat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

It was fine, until they neared the barn. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away Virgil suddenly stopped, and pulled away from Roman when he tried to pull him forward.

“What’s wrong?” Patton asked.

Virgil couldn’t talk with the muzzle on, but he shook his head. His eyes were panicked, and he kept trying to pull away from Roman.

“Oh, come on. I’ve been in there loads of times. We aren’t handing you over or anything.” Roman said, pulling at Virgil’s arm again.

Patton laid a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll keep you safe.”

As soon as he opened the door Patton regretted not listening to Virgil. The sound of heavily muffled crying filled the air, not loudly at all, but all the more appalling for it. Patton looked around. Stacked five and six high, all around the barn, were coffins. His dad was standing in front of a row of cells, and in several of them were vampires, mostly laying on the ground.

“Dad. What-?”

“Patton!” His dad’s voice was far too loud, too cheerful. “Finally!”

His dad came and took him by the arm, pulling him towards the cells. The vampires inside were covered in burns.

Patton fought to breathe. His vision was swimming, and his legs threatened to buckle with every step.

“W-what..? Dad… what are you doing?” His voice only barely escaped his rapidly closing throat, and trembled the whole way out.

“Are you alright? You sound sick.”

Patton was shaking. He knew his face had to be deathly pale. The crying seemed to get louder, until it was all he could hear.

“Here, sit down, Pat.” His dad’s voice was all concern, but somehow that made it sound worse.

Patton collapsed into the cheap foldable chair. Soon Roman was there, kneeling in front of him.

“—on. Pat, come on. Talk to me.”

Patton suddenly realized that Roman had been trying to get his attention, his dad also there, but standing awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do.

Patton wasn’t sure that he could talk. He set a hand on Roman’s arm, and Roman smiled in a tight sort of way.

“Why don’t we go back to the house,” his dad suggested.

Roman picked Patton up, and Patton didn’t even have the strength to protest at all. Virgil followed, keeping himself where Roman was between him and Patton’s dad. He was shaking worse than Patton was.

It took several minutes of sitting on the couch with a cup of cold water for Patton to come back to himself. Roman was sitting next to him, and his dad was sitting in his chair just across the room. He looked around for Virgil, and found that he was sitting on the floor near the couch, his head bowed where Patton couldn’t see his face past his hair.

“Are you feeling better now?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “A bit, yeah.”

“What happened?” His dad asked. “If you were sick you could have told me. I’d never have wanted you to come all the way out here sick.”

“No, I-I’m not sick. Not that I know of.”

“Perhaps you should get checked out,” his dad suggested. “You nearly passed out back there.”

Patton nodded, still rather dizzy-feeling. “What did— what did you need me for?”

“It can wait, I have time.”

“No, I’m already out here, I can just…” Patton trailed off, but he knew his dad would understand anyway.

“Well, when I came to your house the other day, I unlocked your basement, but your vampire, instead of trying to ambush me, or trying to escape, just zipped back into the cell. I wanted you to show me how you did it. I’ve been trying on my own, but it hasn’t worked yet, and you always had a way with training vampires—“

Patton leaned over the arm of the couch, and Virgil had to scramble back to avoid getting puked on.

“Patton!” His dad came and felt his head. “You aren’t hot… I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

Roman left, and came back with a towel and a large bowl. Patton accepted the bowl and held it in his lap. He felt bad that Roman was cleaning up his puke, but he didn’t trust his legs to hold him if he tried to stand up.

“I’m gonna take him.” Roman said.

Patton’s dad nodded. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Call me when you figure out what’s wrong.” He leaned down and cupped Patton’s face. “Get better, honey, don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Patton nodded weakly, still not sure that he wasn’t going to throw up again. “Can I take the bowl with me?”

“Of course. I don’t need it.”

Roman carefully picked Patton up again. He made Virgil take the front seat to that Patton could have the whole back row of the car.

They’d been driving for several minutes before Patton spoke. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“You just threw up! And nearly passed out! What else is that supposed to be?”

“It’s just— I knew my dad didn’t like vampires, but I—I never would have thought—“ his words got cut off in a choked sob, and tears began pouring down his face. “And—and he wanted me to—“

Roman pulled over into a little side road, and stopped in an empty parking lot. He got out and came around into the back with Patton.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Roman hugged Patton as best he could with the awkward positioning.

“No, it-it isn’t! M-my dad tortures p-people!” Patton’s sobbing only got worse.

Roman just hugged him. He murmured soft things that didn’t mean anything, and stroked a hand through his hair.

•^*^••

When they got home, heh, he was thinking of it as home. Roman didn’t bother to really do anything with Virgil. Just opened the basement door, let him through, and closed and locked it.

Virgil went down the stairs, and was surprised to see a different vampire in the other cell. He was wearing the bar muzzle, but his hands were free. He only briefly glanced at Virgil before continuing his attempt at picking the lock, despite the burns he was getting.

Virgil sat down on the couch. His shoulders ached slightly from his hands being cuffed behind his back so long, but it paled in comparison to the sounds still running through his brain.

He sat there, partially drowning in his own thoughts, and partially trying desperately to escape from them.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and movement in front of him. He jerked his head up, and saw the muzzle, laying on the ground, and a dent on the coffee table from where it had hit before bouncing off.

“Hey, know where the key is?” The other vampire asked.

Virgil shook his head.

The vampire sighed, and sat down on the mattress. “Agh, Emile…”

Virgil was mildly curious, but it wasn’t like he could ask. And the vast majority of him was just tired. A bone deep tiredness he hadn’t felt in a while. He was really starting to get hungry, too, which didn’t make anything better.

The other vampire didn’t talk to him, which made sense seeing as he couldn’t answer, and after a little while, Virgil fell asleep.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Past still hurts me - Luke Hemmings x Reader**

Summary: There was someone who was a big part of his life during his teen years and a couple after. Three years after Sounds Good Feels Good came out, that figure left. Luke never thought he would see (Y/N) again, but fate would have it that he did. And it wasn’t just her...

You walked to the coffee shop. It was a ritual every month, on the 4th of each one. The instance caused pain, but your presence was demanded by a well known Australian.

As you entered, you saw him, sat there, glancing over his coffee mug that was held to his mouth. His hair was shorter than it had been when you were young, but he was still Calum Hood.

He put the mug down as you sat opposite him, holding his hands together as he looked intently at you.

“What?” You asked him, turning your gaze away from his stare. Usually there would be laughing and reminiscing, but the bassist was in deep thought, utterly compelled by it.

“I didn’t know it was a crime to look at my friend.” He spoke. Over the years his voice had changed, all of theirs had, and you hated it. But you only really spoken to Cal now. He was the only one who could keep you stable. Grounded would be another word to describe it.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.” You said, noticing the crease between his brows deepening. He was raking his pupils over you. Searching. Looking for any excuse. Finally he sighed, giving in to your demand.

“Have you been using again?” He cared. It was nice, but you didn’t need his concern. You were fine. Perfectly fine.

But you felt offended. He always had to see if you had been dosing yourself in drugs, but you weren’t that user anymore. He should have had more trust in you.

“Of course not! Why would you even ask that?” You tried not to raise your voice too much, you didn’t need any more attention drawn to the pair of you. He was already a celebrity, and you were his bandmate’s ex. It was sure to draw eyes eventually, hence why the two of you would usually stay here for an hour, or just over.

“I just wanted to make sure.” Calum spoke softly, leaning over and resting his hand upon yours. “I know what you’ve been through.” He really didn’t. He just thought he did.

“Yeah...” Three years ago he was there for you, but you couldn’t do it. A part of you had wanted to, but you just couldn’t.

….

The two of you were in a waiting room, you were shaking as Calum put his arm around your shoulder. This was the right thing to do, for all involved. But you felt like a monster. This was a big decision, and you were happy you had Calum here so that you weren’t alone.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Luke didn’t know that this was where either of you were. Michael and Ashton were becoming suspicious, and they wouldn’t find out, ever, if you went through with it.

“I have to do this Cal. I can’t go into rehab with a baby.” That’s right, you were in an abortion clinic. Waiting for your appointment, waiting to kill your own child.

“Just know that there’s nothing wrong with it (Y/N), you just have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

….

Rehab had been a long haul. You hadn’t seen Luke or had any form of contact with him since he practically forced you to go. And that meant he hadn’t known about the baby. You had broken up by then anyway, but guilt still riddled you.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Calum asked, watching your eyes flicker about in thought. What if there wasn’t anything to regret? What if you had also lied to him? What would he think of you?

“Not at all.” You regretted ever going to the clinic, thinking that could be a possible route. But you hadn’t gone through with it. You had the baby, when her cycle in your stomach was up. And she was at home right now, with her babysitter, probably scribbling on a bit of paper or balancing a crown on her blonde hair.

Calum’s phone began to ring from where it was laid on the table. His coffee stirred from the impact, and you looked away, suspecting it to be one of his band members.

“It's him.” That was code, although not a very good code, for Luke Hemmings. The father of the child no one knew that you had had. "Is it okay if I-"

"Answer it Cal." You smiled gently at him, before deciding to look down at you fingers. It's not like Luke could see you here, opposite Callum, but you still felt like he would judge you for it.

And so he did, grateful that you had allowed him to.

"What's up mate?" He asked casually, as if he wasn't with you. Neither of you were sure how Luke would react. And neither of you were too keen on finding out.

"Where are you?" You could hear Luke say. It had been so long since you had heard his voice, and you wished you could continue to listen to it. But you were interrupted from doing so.

Your own phone began to ring. It was the babysitter, you held your finger up to Callum, walking a bit away from the table the two of you were at.

"Is everything okay?" You asked immediately. Ever since you had (Y/D/N), you were concerned. You took as many procautions as you could, even to keep her a secret from the general public, including Luke and his friends.

You hadn't met with Callum after you grew a bump, but you still facetime his, only showing the neck up.

"She's been sick. She wants you." You had hired a good babysitter, but your daughter was ruthless when she didn't get her way.

She was only 2 and a bit, but for the entire time of her existence she had been your whole world. If she wanted you home, there was only thing you could do. Go home.

"I'll be there in 30 minutes. I'm on my way now." The call ended, and you went back to your table.

"I've got to go. It was good to see you." You said, leaning down to pick up your bag and hug Callum whilst he still had his phone against his ear.

"Okay be safe." He told you as he watched you rush out the door. It made him worry, there had to be some sort of an emergency that required your presence.

"That was a girl." Well done Luke. The statement made Callum freeze, as if Luke had caught them.

"Yeah it was." She wasn't his girl though, she had been Luke's.

....

You unlocked your door, rushing to get inside. Quickly shutting it behind you, you found the woman you hired and your daughter in the living room.

"Thankyou for calling me." She stood.

"No problem, I'm going to go home, but call me if you need anything." And that was one of the reasons you hired her. She was helpful, and a great support system.

"Will do." You smiled at her, watching her leave before going on your knees to reach your daughter who was chewing on her toys.

"Mummy." She cried, reaching to loop her arms around your neck.

"I'm here baby."

....

Callum entered Luke's apartment, hearing him and the other two boys in the living room.

"Hey." He said to them. Ashton only cheered at his arrival, coming over to pat his friend on the shoulder.

"Who's the lucky girl then Cal." Now this was awkward. That was to say the least. Callum reached his hadn behind him to run the back of his neck.

All three boys had their eyes trained on him. They were interested, but there was nothing to tell. Nothing he wanted to tell.

"There isn't one." It was the truth, even if it didn't seem like it.

"Bullshit." Luke announced. "I heard her, so what's her name."

It was so much easier when they were clueless to it all. When they had no interest in what he did with his free time outside of the band.

"She's just a friend." Michael laughed at that. But it was the truth, why couldn't they just accept that?

"Yeah right." Callum frowned, only for Michael to continue. "Don't act like we haven't noticed. You always have plans on the 4th of every month, clearly for a date."

"It's not a date."

"What is it then? Who is she?" Luke carelessly opened a beer. This was the moment that all would be revealed, but he didn't know what would be set out into the open.

"I check on (Y/N)." He answered, this time not steering around the elephant in the room.

"What?" Ashton was taken aback, and so were the others.

"She's out of rehab?" Luke asked. He was surprised, it had been 3 years, but they had informed him that you would probably be on there for around 5.

"Yeah, she is." Callum responded.

"How is she?" It was all that mattered to him. Luke set his drink down coming closer to Callum, needing to hear it all.

"Better." That was the only word he could think of. You looked healthier, even happy. He wasn't sure what had triggered the happiness, but for once it was neither drugs or Luke. It was something else, something you weren't informing him about.

"She hasn't called me." It was the first thing he had expected you to do when you got out. He hadn't been allowed to visit, but he had hoped at least you two could reconnect.

"I don't think she's going to." You looked like a deer in headlights when Luke had called him earlier.

"Give me your phone." Luke didn't ask, but he spoke gently. Callum struggled, he wanted to protect your privacy but he didn't want to see his friend suffer. "Please."

That was when the final straw broke. He couldn't refuse. Over the years you and Luke had been together, nothing had kept you two apart until the drugs came into the picture. And now that they were gone, Callum didn't want to be the obstacle that was in the way.

Instantly Luke scrolled and found your name, tapping on it so that he could hear it ring.

"What's up Cal?" You asked casually, not expecting to be speaking to anyone else.

"It's not Cal." Shit. It was Luke. "She hung up."

....

You walked through the park, your mini you holding your hand. It had grown colder, and you were wrapped up in layers of clothing, and so was (Y/D/N).

It was the 4th. Of the next month. Opposite the park was the cafe you met Callum at, and then you saw him looking out the window, seeing you.

He practically ran out the door when you attempted to walk out of his sight. "Wait (Y/N)."

There was no point in trying to flee now, he had already caught up to you. Defeated, you turned, holding your child's hand a little tighter.

"It's you this time then. No Luke?"

Callum looked down by your legs, seeing the creation of you and Luke.

"You lied, didn't you. You never went through with it."

"I couldn't." You argued back. At least now you could guide someone through life, teaching them better than you knew. "And I'd never go back if I could."

And then it clicked in his head. It wasn't a drug or Luke, as it once had been that gave you a sample of peace. It was this being that you had kept a secret.

"You didn't have to keep it to yourself. I could have been there for you. So could have Luke." You winced at the name. Your daughter looked strangely at the man, as if she was remembering his voice consoling you in the clinic before she was born.

"He forced me into rehab Callum. That hurt. I know I needed help, but he broke up with me and sent me away. A baby didn't need to be brought into that mess."

Callum sighed, running his palm against his buzzcut hair. This was complicated, and it wasn't his situation, but both you and Luke were his friends. You were both suffering, feeling the burn of the distance that had been wedged between the two of you over the years.

"There's no mess now, he deserves to know he has a kid (Y/N)."

And now you sighed, extending your hand expectedly. "Fine, give me your phone."

He did so immediately. He wasn't going to hesitate, it would only give you time to change your mind.

"Hey Cal." He sounded off, upset. It was probably your fault. Little did Luke know though that he was not talking to Callum.

"Luke."You spoke, looking down at the combination of you and him. She seemed confused, she was so young. She had no idea what was going on.

"(Y/N)?" His voice now sounded urgent, as if he needed confirmation that it was really you.

You told him your address. "Be there in an hour."

Cal smiled reassuringly. Perhaps things were on the mend. It would take time to reinstall the trust and all, but it'd be worth it. There was no point in throwing away all of those years when the two of you had a kid together, even if Luke didn't know about her yet.

....

The wall revelled in the attention of your eyes. What had you done all these years? You built up to a moment that was approaching.

Since (Y/D/N) was born, you never once doubted your decision in keeping her. When you had decided to secretly go through with the birth, you had been considering putting her up for adoption. You felt too young, and naiive and addicted.

But when you held your little girl in the arms for the first time, looking adoringly into her small chubby face, you realised you couldn't.

You couldn't give her away. Never in a million years. She gave you a reason to get better, not for Luke or yourself, for her. It gave you the purpose to be a mother, care for her each day, watch her grow and become a beautiful person.

Keeping it from Luke had never been your plan, at least not for that long. But you were scared, of him and what he might think.

Luke was the love of your life, up until you finished labor with your daughter. When you held her in your hands for the very first time, there was no weight attatched to her. She was we light as a feather and free of baggage, and from that, she helped you rid yourself of your own.

A knock interrupted your train of thought, making you look away from the plain, boring wall. It startled you, although you had been expecting it.

It could only be Luke Hemmings. If he were to angry when he discovered your large secret, he had every right to be. You had kept his child from him. Despite not wanting to face his anger ever again, you knew you had to.

She needed her father. It wasn't about you and Luke anymore, it was always about her, and always would be from now on.

Slowly, you walked to the door, imagining all the ways Luke would be pissed at you. It had been over 2 years since you had seen him, over 2 years since he had knocked you up.

Opening the door, you looked to see Luke. He was still tall obviously, but his hair was longer, he had lost the fringe and died it a little lighter. He looked good, other than the blossoming blue under his eyes.

"(Y/N)." It was nice to hear him say your name in person again, instead of through a phone.

A small smile crept up onto his face at seeing you wearing a large jumper that went down to your knees. You always wore that to bed, if you couldn't get your hands on one of his shirts. "Can I come in?"

You stepped aside, allowing him into your and (Y/D/N)'s home. He looked subtly around, tilting his head when he saw a child's drink bottle on the counter.

You bit your lip. "Do you want anything to drink?"

When he looked at you, it felt like he was looking through you, discovering all the little and big things you had kept from him.

"I'm okay." Luke smiled gently, keeping his blue eyes frozen on you. "Are you?"

You knew what he meant by that. He was wanting to know if rehab had actually helped. He wanted to know his reason for sending you away had actually worked.

"Callum probably told you that I'm better Luke. I didn't call you here to talk about me though. There's something else."

Something you had kept from him for years. Someone who meant the entire universe to you.

"What?" His voice remained gentle, as if he was afraid to lose you again.

"Just after we ended," he winced at the mention of it, "I found out I was pregnant."

His eyes widened, making them look even bluer. "Was it mine?"

Pursing your lips together you nodded your head. "Callum never said." He spoke.

"That's because he came with me when I went to get an abortion. I didn't want to go through rehab with a baby."

Luke's nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure, his arms flexing just a little. It was possible for him to understand, and he was trying to. You deserved to explain yourself, even if the truth hurt him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

That question broke your heart. Made it crack down the middle, all because of your own self protection.

"I was scared." It was the only thing you could think of.

"So was I when I found you overdosing, I can't even remember how many times I found you on the fucking bathroom floor."

It wasn't necessarily parts of your life you wanted to remember, but Luke clearly hadn't let them go. "I was bloody terrified. There was always the chance that you wouldn't wake up, that you'd stay under its influence. Being scared is no excuse for aborting our child (Y/N)! All parents are scared, and now I never had the chance to even know of their existence when they were alive! "

"She is alive Luke." You informed him, he wanted you to go. "I couldn't go through with it."

His laughed with his breath. "So Callum knew and I didn't?"

"He found out today Luke. In the park, when I called you." Callum didn't deserve any blame in this mess. He did nothing wrong, he was just a bystander, a supportive one. A friend, that only wanted to help.

"She?" He asked, catching up with the information. "We have a girl." He sat, giving up on arguing with you.

He should have remembered that arguments got the two of you nowhere. "Where is she?" His mind raced to you giving her up, although he didn't accuse you of doing such a thing this time.

"In her room. Asleep." You crossed your arms, looking at the man. "You can see her in the morning."

You sat at the table beside him. He looked forward, focusing on the wall that you had been before he had been welcomed inside. "Have you given it up?"

The drugs. That was what he meant.

"Since the day I found out I was pregnant." You reached your hand to his, letting your fingers run through his.

You wondered if he felt the spark. The running of blood. The pounding of his heart. You felt all of those things and more. You felt anger. Love.

"What's her name?" Back to your daughter.

"(Y/D/N)."

"It's a pretty name." He moved his hand away from yours, bringing it up to be positioned at the back of your neck, holding the hair beneath in his palm. "I still love you."

Your eyes met, it felt like two world colliding. "Then show me. Let me feel it. Let me feel you."

He didn't hesitate, he dragged the two of you up from your seats and pulled your mouth to his. It felt like nothing had changed.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his lanky body and discarding it on the floor.

"Bedroom?" He asked distractedly. You pulled him in the direction, losing the oversized jumper in the process.

You shut the door behind you, pushing the blonde man onto the bed. Straddling him, you felt his arm rub against your bare back. The contact elicited a moan from you which he devoured in his own mouth. He didn't want to wake your daughter up. That would be an awkward meeting.

As you sat on his lap, you felt his cock grow in his pants. Getting down on your knees, you unzipped them, even as Luke tried to drag you up to him.

"(Y/N), no teasing."It came out in a guttaral way. He was desperate for you, and so you pulled the layers on his legs down, pulling them from his ankles with his shoes and socks.

You grasped his shaft in your hand, pumping him, watching the head come out from the skin. You gave the tip a soft lip, making him throw his head back. "Stop."

"Fine." You sighed, rolling your (Y/E/C) eyes, you complied, climbing back onto his body.

Luke grasped his dick running it through your folds, gathering the moisture at his tip. "Now who's teasing?"

He shook his head, grasping one of your hips with his free hand, encouraging you to sink down on him.

It had been years since you had been this full, you had to adjust. "Fuck."

Your hands went to his chest when you felt ready to move, bringing yourself up his shaft and back down. You created a rhythm with your bodies, making the mattress squeak under the pressure.

Sweat began to gather upon Luke's forehead, he wiped it with the back of his hand, dismissing it from layering on top of his skin. And then he began to give hard thrusts up into you, making the pleasure almost unbearable.

"I'm not going to last if you keep doing that." You warned him through gasps of air. It was difficult not to squeeze your eyes closed, but you refused, wanting to seem him in a state of euphoria once more.

"That's the point." He responded, moaning at the end of his words.

And then it hit you, like headlights in the road. You came crashing down, your body molding closely to Luke's as you struggled to stay upright.

He gave a few more sharp thrusts from beneath you before letting go, cumming inside of you. "You didn't say it back."

Then you remembered. He had told you that he loved you. Your emotions were on overdrive right now, but you knew what you felt was real.

"I love you too."

....

Luke was still there when you awoke, his face mushed into a pillow and his arms around your waist. Luckily you were able to escape his grip without interrupting his slumber, and so you crept out of bed, going to the second bedroom in your apartment, picking up Luke's shirt from the kitchen floor and putting it on.

(Y/D/N) was still asleep in her crib. Soon she'd have a bigger bed, it felt like it was just yesterday when you had given birth to her.

You felt a presence behind you, and you turned defensively, only to be relieved upon seeing Luke.

"She's beautiful." He watched her with you, rubbing your shoulder contently.

You smiled at the comment. "I'm going to wake her up."

He took it as a hint to leave the room, deciding to turn the kettle on for the both of you.

It would be strange for your daughter to see a stranger as soon as she opened her eyes, and you were glad that he had considered that detail.

Going towards the bed, you picked her up, her eyes opening as you did so. "Come on baby, you're going to meet someone really special."

"Who?" She asked, looping her arms around your neck.

"You'll see." You entered the kitchen, finding Luke disposing of the tea bags, and then putting the tea spoon in the sink. "This is your daddy."

"Daddy?" She asked you, making Luke light up at hearing her voice. You continued walking slowly towards him.

"He's like mummy, but he's a man." You explained to her, as she had never known the term of a father up until now.

"Hi (Y/D/N)." He spoke to her watching as she mumbled a soft 'hi' back into your shoulder.

"She's shy." You told him.

"She's perfect."

....

As much as Luke loved his job, he didn't want to go to the studio. He wanted to stay with you and your daughter. Eventually you pushed him out the door, prompting him to leave.

"How did things go?" Callum asked him as they entered the building.

"I think we're back together." There wasn't confirmation, but it felt like the good old days, except with one difference. The addition that stole his heart.

"Mate, that's amazing." Callum stopped walking, Luke doing the same. "So you know about..."

"Her names (Y/D/N). She's perfect."

Callum couldn't help but smile at the twinkling in Luke's eyes. He was truly happy again.

"Hurry up." Michael pushed past them, Ashton stopping alongside the other two.

"Did something happen?" He noticed there was an unspoken tension. "Is this about (Y /N)?"

Ever since the other day since you had been mentioned, the boys noticed how quiet Luke was.

"It has everything to do with her. And (Y/D/N)." Luke smiled to himself. Michael came back over confused and wanting Intel.

"I know (Y/N), but who's the other one?" He asked.

"My daughter." That caused quite an uproar from the two boys. They were shocked, and obviously weren't expecting such a thing.

....

Luke got home, or at least what was your home. He had spoken to the boys and he wanted answers now. It had been a couple of weeks since he had spoken to them about it for the first time, and he was living the good life. But what were the two of you?

"Daddy." His daughter squealed, xlambering over to him.

"Hey princess." He picked her up in his arms, very easily may I say. "Where's mummy?"

"Potty." Bathroom then.

"Why don't you go draw while I check on mummy? I'll show it to all my friends and we can put it on the fridge, yeah ?"

She seemed to like that idea and scrambled off to her room.

Luke went and stood outside the bathroom. He could hear you emptying your guts, vomiting into the bowl. "You okay in there babe?"

"Fine." Clealry you weren't, so he twisted the door knob, finding you on your knees in from of the toilet, tears in your eyes from how much your throat burned.

"You're not fine." He came down beside you, pulling your hair back and stroking it out of your face.

"I'm pregnant." You groaned, passing him the test from where it was on the floor beside the bathroom counter.

You remembered how you felt when this all started for the first time. Callum was there for you, but now Luke was here.

"That's great." He pulled your body close to him, running his hand over the material that was ontop of your stomach.

And now he had to ask, for the sake of your second child together. "What are we?"

"Luke and (Y/N)." You answered. And that was confirmation enough to know that the two of you were more than an item. It was how you always used to describe the two of you.

The Past still hurt, but the present was bringing happiness, healing the old wounds, ceiling them up. They no longer needed to air out the truth, there were no more secrets.

[toothpastecanyon]

A Name From the Mailbox, Chapter 2

Dipper finds out the author's name before Not What He Seems. It's not the person he expected.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

The Gravity Falls Public Library. Dipper didn’t find himself going here as often as he’d thought he would. Sure, there were books, but whoever the librarian was they certainly weren’t stacking them in any kind of system; it was impossible to find anything you were looking for besides dusty magazines heaped up on coffee tables.

But for all the library’s shortcomings, it did have one thing the Shack didn’t. It had computers.

“Is that a dial up sound, Dipper?”

He shrugged at his sister. “Maybe? I dunno what that sounds like.” He sat back. “Wish it’d load faster. Ugh, I swear these things are cursed to be slow or something like that.”

“Oooo, curses!”

“Just need to wait for it to load…” Dipper took out a notebook. “If I can’t have the journal, fine. I don’t need that. I don’t need him. I’ll find it out myself.”

“You’re muttering, bro bro.” Mabel poked his face. “So what’re we looking up, anyway? I thought you said all the websites for magic stuff are ‘unnacurate’ and ‘disturbing’.”

“It’s innacurate actually, Mabel.” He pushed her hand away as the computer finally loaded. “And I’m not looking for Gravity Falls stuff. I’m looking for Stan.”

“What’s he doing on the internet? I don’t think he knows what it is.”

Dipper started typing. “No, but maybe we can find out something about him on there.”

“Ooo, like secrets!”

“Yeah, like secrets.” Dipper made a face as he put in ‘Mystery Shack Gravity Falls’ and got a few sites with mixed reviews. “Oh you gotta look at this, Mabel. Someone wrote, ‘A friend recommended I bring my family here. We spent five minutes inside, and in that time the owner charged an exorbitant entrance fee, scared my children with some horrific taxidermied duck-rat thing, and then made up some fake ‘early exit charge’ when we tried to leave! We are pretty sure he picked our pockets too, but the police in this town are useless. I’m out a wallet and a friend.”

Mabel giggled. “I’m pretty sure Stan has no idea about these! Oh, this one’s from when I was boss! Ahem, ‘The last time I was here an old man was giving the tour, but when we came by the manager appeared to be a young girl. Everything appeared to be slightly destroyed too? When I asked for a refund because part of the roof fell on me, she told me to shut my yap. Other than that, great as always. Love the money bag.” She gave a fist pump. “Aww yes, I got us a five out of five! Let’s read more, this is fun!”

“Actually, Mabel, we’ve gotta keep looking.”

“Awww.”

Dipper tapped on the keyboard. “Okay, I guess the Mystery Shack doesn’t turn up much. How about… just his name?”

He typed that in, and sat back as it loaded.

“Alright, Stan. Let’s see what you’re hiding…”

______________________________________________________________

It was late at night when Stan snuck his way back into the Shack. He opened the front door as quietly as he could, and shut it behind himself, making a face at every creek. He took off his black mask, his leather gloves, and stashed them under the register before moving to the blinds. He kept a close eye on the parking lot as he drew them closed; it didn’t look like he’d been followed.

Ugh. Stan didn’t like messing with the feds, but it wasn’t like anyone else had any radioactive waste handy. He’d scope out the place a few more times, just to be safe… but that was for another night.

With a big sigh, Stan headed over to the vending machine. He raised his arm to input the code, but something told him to look around first. His eye caught on a small darkness on the base of the staircase, and he paused a second before pressing the code for a candy bar. He picked it up, unwrapped it, and munched on it as he headed for the living room.

“Grunkle Stan.”

There it is. He turned on the light.

“Oh, hey Dipper. Having fun standing in the dark like that?”

Dipper had his arms crossed. “You’re out late.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m old and I do what I want.” He sank into the chair. “What’s up, kid? If you’re gonna ask for your journal back you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” He pointed to a large stack of papers on the side table. “I found this.”

“Huh? Oh, you didn’t use the copier, did you? Paper’s expensive, kid.”

“No, I printed it out at the library.” He made a face. “It was like twenty dollars. Now look!”

“Ugh, I already sat down, kid. Can’t we- Oof!” He grunted as the pile was dumped in his lap. “Watch it, that’s a lot of paper! You’re gonna have to summarise whatever this is, because I am not-”

“It’s your thesis, Grunkle Stan!”

Grunkle Stan paused, and looked up at Dipper. He looked very, very serious, and he came a step closer.

“Well?”

“Well… well what? Thesis?” Stan tried to stand up, but the papers kept him down. “I don’t know what you mean, Dipper. Seriously, I’ve never seen this before in my life-”

“You wrote it!”

“What?”

“Look!” He grabbed the top page and stabbed a finger at the author line. “Stanford Pines! All summer long you said you didn’t even go to college, but you’ve got a PhD! You wrote a thesis about anomalous sightings in the western United States! Admit it - you are the author!”

Stan found himself shrinking back; he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to be able to brush this off. “Wh-where’d you even get that from?”

“I found your college online. Apparently they’re still writing about your thesis since it’s the only nationally ranked one in their history.” Dipper clicked his pen. “You’re, you’re a genius, Grunkle Stan! I-I have so many questions, like why didn’t you tell us? Why’d you stop writing the journals? Where are the other two?”

“I… I…” He took a deep breath. He had to get control of this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ki-”

“Oh come on-”

“I don’t! Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mix up, it’s not like Stan Pines is a rare name-”

“Already thought of that.” Dipper held up an article. “I found this piece about how you used your grant money to build the Mystery Shack. It’s even got a photo - it’s you.”

It was a gutpunch to see Stanford’s college photo shoved in his face, but he tried to swallow it. “Kid-”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just admit it. I know you don’t want us messing with the supernatural, but all summer long I’ve been reading your journal, trying to solve the mysteries of this town. The author was a huge one - I-I was kind of worried I’d never find out, or I’d find out he was dead or something, but it’s you!” He grinned. “And now I know, we can work together! You don’t have to keep pretending! You can trust me with this!”

Stan looked down at his nephew’s face, and gave a deep sigh. There was no easy way out of this. With a bit of struggle, he hefted the thesis off his lap and onto the floor, then put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Dipper, listen. I’m not the author.” Stan saw him open his mouth and quickly continued. “I’m not, okay? I know you like your mysteries, but just this once, could you please just take my word on this one?” He made a face. “I don’t want you or your sister getting hurt. So just forget about it, okay?”

Dipper frowned at him, and for a moment Stan didn’t think that was gonna work - it was a long shot, anyway. But then something seemed to click in his mind, and he stepped back.

“Forget…” he said. “Grunkle Stan, do you know about the Society of the Blind Eye?”

“The what?”

“It’s-“ He reached under his arm and rolled his eyes when he realized there was no journal. “Ugh, I’ll draw it.”

He grabbed a paper from the pile and started sketching something out. Stan stood there, a little confused.

“Sounds like a cult. Did you join a cult? Ugh, your folks are gonna kill me.”

“It’s this!” Dipper shoved a paper in his face - a crossed out eye, a symbol Stan remembered seeing somewhere in the journals. “Have you seen this before?”

“Kid-”

“Ugh, that doesn’t prove anything, though. You might’ve forgotten that too.” He clicked his pen, and then took off for the stairs. “I’ll be back!”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stan called out, but he was already gone. He threw his hands up in the air. “Great. Perfect. Hey, can you come back down and explain what all that was? Dipper?”

No reply. Stan frowned; he made to follow, but his foot caught on the stack of papers. He caught himself on the wall, and turned back to look at the scattered pile. Each page was lit by TV static, stark white in the light, and pitch black in the shadows. He narrowed his eyes at that picture of Stanford, that stupid thesis.

“Fine.” He gave the mess a kick and stalked into the gift shop. “Fine.”

Dipper wasn’t going to stumble into this so close to the finish line. He’d worked too hard for too long. If the kid was so intent on figuring him out, he’d just have to work faster.

He gave a long look around before entering the code. The venting machine swung open with a puff of air, and he shut it quickly behind him before marching down the steps.

No more scoping out. It was time to finish the job.

[dastardlydandelion]

casus belli

ao3 link

obligatory irl inspo link

content warnings: referenced violence, implied abuse

Max strokes her mother’s hair as softly as she can, gingerly guiding her fingertips around the goose egg where Neil whacked her with the wrench, gash no less grisly to Max’s eyes even now sutured up. It’s been hours but Max still feels rattled even though she won’t cry, can’t cry because she needs to be strong and calm for Mom. Being this close to Mom helps marginally at least. Close enough to touch and feel and watch her breathe, know she is alive even though she’d been so terribly still on the floor, hadn’t let out any sound nor even twitched after the gun went off and Neil collapsed atop her.

Max’s eyes dart toward sudden movement in her peripheral. She expects a nurse or maybe another cop but it’s Billy in the doorway, denim jacket buttoned, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue jeans. He gives a nod, gaze flickering to her mother in the hospital bed. Max exhales softly as she draws her hand from Mom’s head and trots across the eggshell tile. She tried to call earlier but he didn’t answer. She deduces the authorities must’ve contacted him about Neil.

Max isn’t normally the hugging type but today has been an exceptionally scary day and in all truth, part of her wasn’t sure she’d ever see Billy again at all. Leaving Neil meant leaving so many things behind, her school, her friends, Hawkins. Billy too. She throws her arms around his middle and squeezes tight, tight, tight as a tourniquet.

Billy grunts, caught off guard, but then he breathes out and winds an arm around her.

“Hey, shitbird…”

Max thinks his voice sounds weird. She swallows and lets go, tugging at the drawstrings of her hoodie as she takes a step back.

“Hey,” she returns and it is the least of things there are to say. “The cops tell you everything?”

“I don’t know about everything.” Billy looks pale as his eyes dart between Max and her mother. “How’s Susan?”

“In and out. She might be in and out for awhile. Neil busted her head open and she’s still all doped up…I don’t think she remembers coming in or getting x-rays, or anything.”

Max uncertainly wiggles her hand as she glances back over her shoulder. Mom is dozing again, looks so fragile in the bed, legs swaddled so thick in their splints, toes just barely peeking out, chest tube as big around as a highlighter emerging from the slit in her gown and going into the drainage unit on the floor.

“My dad really did a number on her…”

“No shit, Billy, he was trying to kill her. He was yelling about how he wouldn’t let her run away again. ‘No more running!’ That’s what he was yelling that when I pulled the trigger.” Max rubs her forearms, swears in her soul she can still feel the recoil riddle thorough her bones.

She only fired once and Neil folded like a fancy dinner napkin right on top of Mom. Then Max couldn’t tell whose blood was whose.

“I’m sorry,” Billy grates out, grave and low.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her,” Max declares, soft but determined. “I have practice and Mom’s bound to be a way easier patient than you were, anyway.”

She’d had to help Mom out with Billy after the Mind Flayer. Neil was weirdly gentle with Billy for a little bit in the beginning, when it looked like he might die. But when he started getting stronger and turned around for the better, Neil could barely be bothered to lift a finger. Didn’t contribute much to her brother’s recovery beyond complaining about medical bills and making a bunch of negotiations over the phone with the insurance company.  

“No, Max, I’m apologizing because this is my fault,” Billy bows his head, eyes glued to the floor as his shoulders tense. “It’s my fault he found you, I’m sorry.”

A cold feeling creeps beneath her skin.

“What?”

“It was stupid, I was stupid,” he says, voice seeping shame. “I got you a new skateboard since I broke your other one. Decided I’d mail it to you, so I got it packaged up and all that, hid it under my bed. My dad trashed my room looking for some shit he thought I stole and he found that instead. With the address.”

Max clenches her teeth. In the recesses of her mind, she realizes it was an accident. Of course it was an accident. But. The way Mom screamed. Gunpowder scorching Max’s nostrils. Whose blood is whose. Mom not moving. Safety wasn’t safety even in Springwood, Ohio with different names and plate numbers, wasn’t safe in a million years because of the way Mom screamed and Max, who hadn’t been going by Max in public in Ohio, knew precisely who and what was ripping their new life to pieces in the way Mom screamed.

It was an accident but Max can still feel the recoil, Max is the recoil and Mom was one missed shot away from a coffin. Neil swung the wrench and Mom’s lung popped like a happy birthday balloon before Max’s hands could go steady enough to pop a cap. Mom’s courage has been rewarded with broken bones and blood and confusion, but well. It was an accident.

“I tried to stop him, Max.”

“Go away.”

“I tried to stop him, I swear—“

“Go away!” Max snaps, louder. “Get away from me! Get away from my mom!”

“Who’s fighting?” her mother groggily asks as she stirs behind her.

Billy relents under Max’s dark glare, shuffling a few steps back and turning away.

“Max?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Max retreats back to her mother’s bedside and smiles gently in assurance, placing a chary hand on her forearm.

“Was that Billy?” Mom blinks up at her, nose twitching as she gives a little sniff. “You smell like Billy.”

“Uh, yeah. Billy’s here. Neil’s here too but he can’t hurt us. Do you remember that?”

“Mhm.” Mom gives the slightest of nods and covers Max’s hand with her own. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you bring Billy back? I wanna fight with him too.”

“What?” Max gasps, bemused.

“I have a bone to pick with that boy,” Mom says, muzzy eyes half-lidded as she vaguely jabs a finger in the air. “He gave my sixteen year old a loaded gun and didn’t even tell me.”

“Uh, okay, I fully understand why that would bother you. And I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out—“

“You should’ve told me too,” her mother declares, almost petulant as her lips purse sternly.

“—but you realize I saved us both because I shot Neil, right?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Maxine,” Mom insists. “Neither of you asked me for permission, neither of you said a word. Billy got a loaded gun from the safe and gave it to you, so I’m upset…and I need to yell at him. Bring him back.”

Max splutters, dumbfounded. Her mother is definitely as high as a kite. Her voice is so weak Max doesn’t know how she expects to yell at all. But she can’t refuse her request when she’s somehow striking that tone of maternal authority Max suddenly feels compelled to obey, even as hurt and dopey as she is.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll go find him.”

“Thank you.”

Max tenderly brushes a kiss over her mother’s temple. When she gets to the doorway she hesitates for a few heartbeats, gaze lingering on Mom. She isn’t particularly keen on letting Mom out of her sight right now. Her stomach flip-flops the way it did a few hours ago, when they took her down for x-rays without Max in attendance.

She reminds herself it’s fine. The only person who wanted to hurt Mom is Neil. Neil is paralyzed from the waist down and handcuffed to his own hospital bed. He’s not lurking around the corner or hiding in the shadows. He's not belly-crawling the corridors like some vengeful serpent.

Neil’s room is eventually where Max locates Billy. The door is shut. The blinds are drawn. Max cannot see inside but it is Neil’s room nonetheless, an officer standing guard and munching on a sprinkled, pink frosted doughnut with such gusto it’s like he’s intentionally trying to be a cliché. Billy is a few lengths away, gnawing at his fingernails, one shoulder leaned against the wall.

“Found you,” Max greets.

Billy bites the corner of his thumbnail and stiffly lowers his hand to his side. “Found me? You’re the one who told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah, well…” Max crosses her arms as she leans against next to him, idly kicking her heel against the wall. “If you knew he was coming, why didn’t you call the cops?”

“I tried to stop him, Max. We got into it. He choked me out and locked me in the hall closet.”

“Holy shit. You got out?”

“With some splinters in my knuckles,” Billy huffs bitterly. “Yeah, wish I would’ve thought to feel up on the top shelf sooner. My old Little League bat was up there. That helped.”

“Damn…look, I’m sorry i jumped down your throat earlier, okay?” Max uncrosses her arms and glances down to Billy’s hand at his side, exhales through her nose as she notes the bloodied knuckles. “It’s been a fucking awful day and I’m trying to be brave and calm for Mom, but…”

“Don’t. I deserve it. It’s my fault.”

“You’re not the one who broke into our house with a goddamn wrench like some horror movie villain.”

Billy just shakes his head.

“Anyway, we’d better get a move on. Because my mom wants to see you but I don’t know how long she’s going to be awake.”

Billy blinks rapidly, squinting his eyes. “She wants to see me?”

“Yeah, come on.” Max grabs him by the arm and starts to pull, only to let go when his face crumples into discomfort. “Oh. Hey, how bad, um…are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just kinda stiff, long drive didn’t help.”

Max nods and leads him back to Mom’s room without any more grabbing. Billy plods beside her and now that she’s paying attention, she realizes how purposeful his steps are. He doesn’t do any of those restless little movements typical of him, no finger drumming or collar adjusting. He’s moving no more or less than he has to. Definitely sore.

Max pulls up the chair for him when they get to Mom’s room, right beside her bed so neither have to strain to reach for the other.

“There you are,” her mother announces, twirling her index finger at Billy.

“Here I am,” Billy agrees, flashes a sad smile as he slowly lowers into the seat. “Hey, Susan. How you feeling?”

“Upset,” she says decisively, narrowing her eyes as Max pointedly mouths ‘painkillers’ to Billy. “You and I need to have a talk, mister. What you did was very irresponsible and I am sorry to say I’m disappointed in you. I--"

"I'm sorry," Billy blurts, interrupting as he abruptly bows so low, like he would to dodge whenever Neil would throw shit at him. "I'm sorry, Susan. I'm so, so sorry."

Mom blinks rapidly, confused as Billy starts blubbering. His denim clad shoulders tremble as sobs quibble out of him one after the next. He keeps apologizing between them, grief stricken and fraught with guilt. She hasn't seen him cry like this since the sauna test.

"Oh my...I'm upset, yes, b-but not that upset, Billy..." Anxiety tweaks her mother's features, her fingers warily fluttering over the guardrail that separates them.

Max lays a hand on his back and leans in.

"Listen," she murmurs, gentle but firm. "If you need a minute, you need a minute but don't scare my mom."

"I'm sorry," Billy repeats, this time to Max as he visibly struggles to pull it together. "But it's my fault."

"Oh, it's not all your fault," Mom insists. "Maxine had ample opportunity to come to me about Neil's...Astral Tyrannosaur?"

"Astra Terminator," Max corrects.

"Mm, that then." Mom's lashes flutter sleepily.

"The gun," Billy echoes. "We're talking about the gun?"

"It really wasn't right to keep it from me," her mother says, adamant and perhaps a little sulky. "But I suppose I came on a little too strong. Max, could you pass me those tissues?"

"Sure." Max grabs the paperboard box on the beside table and passes it to her.

Mom pulls a few from the box and reaches up, dabbing at Billy's blotchy face. He doesn't say anything. He goes quiet, snuffling softly only a bit.

"There, there," Mom soothes. "We're all here. That's what matters most."

Max shifts her weight from foot to foot and takes the tissue box back.

"I'm okay," Mom says, sudden and hasty like she's not entirely confident. "You shouldn't worry so much...either of you."

"No one is worried, Mom," Max promises. She winds around to the opposite side of the bed and pulls up her own chair, warmly pressing her lips to her mother's cheek. "We know you're okay. Just a little banged up."

And that's an understatement, but at the very least, Mom will get better. And Neil won't. They're free.

Her mother leans in and briefly nuzzles Max's cheek in return until her face is nestled into the pillows again. Having said her piece and with Billy calmed down, she seems relaxed again. She curls toward Max as much as her upper body will allow and with a little more hair stroking, nods off again.

Billy gets up to leave. Max catches his eye and shakes her head. His mouth quirks at the corner and he resumes his seat.