#maybe they meant it humourously and in jest but damn that hurt a little

[dilfsuzanneyk]

if i knew my weird al poll was gonna blow up i would've thought through the options a little more 😭😭 fully expected it to just circle the same few people who are active on the weird al tag

[spacehologramcollection]

NSFW Alphabet with Fujin.

Oh god, we are back on the NSFW Alphabet bullshit. No one requested this, and I was meant to be writing Bi-Hans, but like, Fujin happened. NetherRealm really are redeeming themselves with this design. Short haired Fujin has ruined me. So here you go, 7 pages of poorly written smut. Most of which was written after a bottle of wine. Enjoy! Warnings: Smut, believe it or not, shocking I know. 18+ under the cut. Mentions of kinks, smut, oral sex and all that good stuff.  GIF doesn’t belong to me. 

• A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Fujin is so soft and caring after. To reiterate the point, you’ve fucked a god, you’re going to be exhausted and a little sore. He knows this. And almost feels a little guilty deep down, but when you reassure him everything’s fine and you just need some TLC he cheers back up. He’ll bring you whatever you desire. You want a bath? He’ asking what essential oils you want. You want a drink? Warm or cold is his question? Also, slight inappropriate use of his power but Elder Gods be damned, if you’re too warm, he may just magically summon a bit of a breeze to cool you down. He wants you to be comfortable and content. So that’s his end goal. • B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He like Raiden has elected to choose this form, but he unlike his brother, does have a preference for what he prefers. He loves his hair (He knows this isn’t really a body part but still) it’s a huge erogenous zone for him. He loves the soft caresses but also doesn’t mind the occasional tug. He also loves his arms. They are very, very defined, and extremely strong. He’s not entirely sure why you fawn over them, but who the hell is he to argue? Loves it when you run your hands up and down them. Trace those glowing tattoos and get him all riled up. Loves it. He’s built and there is no denying it. Run those hands up and down his taut muscles and await for sinful noises. If he had to choose one part of you, he would struggle. He thinks every part of you is amazing and would genuinely struggle. He’s not sure how to answer when you ask him ‘Chest, Ass or thighs?’ He’s really not sure. Kind of stares, has to ask Kung Lao for clarification. Raiden would be clueless and would have to consult the Elder Gods for an answer. And who said Big Brothers knew everything? When he finds out you’re referring to your body, he doesn’t blush, more just an affirming ‘Ohh’ before him letting you know his preference very casually, more than likely in an inappropriate situation. Queue him letting you know that he prefers your thighs and ass whilst you’re sparring. He will also run his hands up the back of your thighs when you’ve got him pinned, only for him to playfully, and as discreetly as possible, squeeze your ass, before pinning you back. • C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He’s far more open to experimentation than you would have first thought, but it comes with time (No pun intended there… maybe just a little one) At first, he’ll insist on cumming in you, it’s his preference. It’s just an all-round good way to finish, he loves been inside you and it spares mess. As his confidence grows, if you were to ask him to cum on your thighs, pull out and cum on your stomach, he would definitely indulge you. He’s very curious about Earthrealm customs, and that applies to ‘Mortal sexual customs and courtships’ as he puts it. Very sexy. He’s not overly bothered by cumming in you or on you, he’s sort of neutral to it in a sense and very laidback. If you want him to cum on your chest he will do. But he does like cumming in your mouth. The first time you sucked him off, his hand was knotted deep in your hair, you were on your knees whilst he was stood, hands gripping the back of his taut thighs like your life depended on it. You’re sure you left nail marks but that’s beside the point. When he warned you he was about to cum, you carried on and made a point to keep eye contact locked as you swallowed it all. He was shocked a little bit and you swore you saw a blush spread across his cheeks. A very faded one but you saw it, you’re sure of it. He’s open with how much he likes it, but he’s still very laidback about it all. As long as you’re both having fun and pleasured, then he doesn’t really care where he cares. • D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Dirty Secrets for The God of Wind? He has a few. Can Gods blush is another question? You swear they can, faintly and barely there, but you swear you’ve seen one creep of his face a few times. He’s far more open about his secrets and desires than his brother is. He won’t scream them from the top of Sky Temple, but he’s open with you about them. He’s so nonchalant about his desires and dirty secrets, which begs the question, if you know them, are they dirty secrets? You guess they are, because by god, if anyone in The White Lotus or his Brother found out, you’re sure they’d be a little shocked. Fucking you at The Sky Temple is definitely up there. It’s something he’s done before. Elder Gods be damned. He had to have a hand clamped round you mouth, the walls are paper thin, so you couldn’t make much noise. So, fucking in locations you really shouldn’t is up there. It’s the adrenaline and the way a blush would spread across your face. Slight adrenaline on his part, but he loves seeing you get worked up. Rough sex is on there too, but more on that later. • E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He’s got some experience under his belt. He’s an Eternal God who looks like he’s chiselled from Marble. He may be the younger of the two, but he’s still been around for a long time. That doesn’t mean he’s fucked a lot of people though. He’s got a bit of experience but not a lot to brag about. You’re his first Mortal though. So, he’s inexperienced on that front. He doesn’t want to break you or hurt you, so he’s very cautious with you at first. His sexual repertoire isn’t out there either, he knows the basics, but he wants to learn. And like I said, he’s in love with Earthrealm and wants to protect it something fierce. He also wants to learn everything about Mortals. He’s constantly remarking on how curious Mortals are with their sex acts. • F = Favourite position (this goes without saying) Has a penchant for wall sex, he’s not sure why he likes it so much. He understands it’s not overly comfortable for you, so he tends to get started with it. There’s just something about you both getting heated, him pressing you up against the wall, and showing off all that godly strength. It’s impressive, most people would cramp and couldn’t keep it going, but he, isn’t just any mere mortal, is he? He’s got the strength and stamina to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to stand after. He’s still on the cautious side though. He adores and loves you, so he’s still very cautious. He does like you on top too. He loves the feel of your legs at either side of his, splayed over his thighs so deliciously, the feel of your hips against his, and your hands clawing at his shoulders for leverage to help you fuck him. It also gives you prime access to his hair. He doesn’t care if it’s short or long at the time, he wants your nails raking through his locks and tugging them. It really gets him going. You can also do that whilst he’s fucking you up against the wall, it may be why he has a preference for it so much. His sex positions were very limited when you first got together. But throughout the months and years, he’s found a new array of positions that he likes. Doggy is also on there. He is very vocal the first time you fuck in this particular position. Commenting in bated whispers about how he loves watching your ass back up against his cock, hungrily craving more, he also can grip your thighs and hips for leverage. As well as slapping your ass if he’s feeling adventurous. He  has prime view of your thighs trembling as you cum too. So, all in all, 11/10 position. Who knew a god could be so sinful? • G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He can be serious in the moment, and he can also be a little humorous. It’s all to do with the context. He’s more laidback and a little bit goofy in his personality. And that carries over into how he is during sex. If the moment calls for seriousness and is very intimate, then he will be less humorous. He’s very in the moment during these moments. He finds humour to be a good coping mechanism if he’s ever ensure. When you’re experimenting, or trying something for the first time, he will breathily chuckle or make a slick joke. Nothing vulgar or anything to turn you off, more comments that have a light speckling of jest to them. His voice is so light and airy, that anything sounds good in it too. So, all in all, it will depend on the context of why you’re fucking. Intimate he’s serious, quickie and first time trying something, expect a light dash of humour. He’s charming so it works, he always has the right amount and it’s never too much. • H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) As laid back as he is, that does not translate into his grooming routine. He’s very neat and everything has to be neat. It’s trimmed and he’s very meticulous about his grooming routine. So, whilst that aspect doesn’t match his hair, you’re actually shocked to see that the carpet does match the drapes. He’s unsure why you’re staring at them, then back at his hair, then back down at his crotch. He kind of tilts his head, propping himself up on his elbows, and staring with you. You blush a lot when he catches you staring and asks you ‘Is something wrong?’ with a slight frown, worrying that he hasn’t been as precise and neat with everything. When you let him know, that most people you’ve been with, don’t have white fucking hair, he just chuckles. Relief is flooding over that intrigued and curious face of his. • I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Okay, so when it comes to intimacy, it once more will depend on context. He can very intimate, slow, passionate and romantic if the situation calls for it. It’s more reserved for special occasions, really reiterating that he cares for you and loves you. These occasions could be anniversaries for example. Or, if the moment just feels right. If it feels like one of those moments, in which you’re getting lost in each other’s touches, and every touch feels fuelled by the desire to be close to you. He will be more intimate and more romantic in the moment. He’s very intuitive of your needs and how the mood of the room is. Please don’t expect however, big romantic sexual gestures, such as rose petals on the bed etc. He doesn’t get them. Expect creative and tailored romantic sexual encounters. Extremely intimate shower sex has happened before. Sex with Fujin will always make you feel divine and loved though. He’ll always leave cool touches that seemingly set your body on fire with desire after. Touches that are laced with want, need and desire for you. And he’ll always give your body compliments that make you want to moan a bit too loudly. Lots of whispered words in your ear about how perfect you are too. • J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He may not have the time but he’s not one to ignore his desires. He knows he has a whole realm to protect. A realm that is always in trouble. But how the fuck is going to stop Quan-Chi or Shinnok if he’s distracted? Can’t fight The Lords of Evil with an erection. Okay, he didn’t say that or think that, but you get the gist. When you asked him if gods jerk it with a small smile on your face, laughing in your head about it, when he asks you what you mean by ‘Jerk it’ and you mention masturbation, he simply and very casually responded with he does. Because he can’t get distracted. You almost spit your drink out with how casual he is about everything sexual. He’s so unbothered about everything and so fucking casual it shocks you. He’s not constantly doing it, it’s more when the desire rises and the need, he’s going to take care of it. When he meets you, he finds himself doing it less and less. Your hands feel a million times better than his own do. • K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Okay, so I’m going to be real with you guys, he’s not entirely sure what you mean when you ask him what his kinks are. You will have to explain this slightly odd Earthrealm custom to him. He’s not overly sure if any of the things he likes falls into kinks, but he soon realises that he has a few. He loves hair pulling, he loves to have his hair pulled and raked through more specifically. The noises he makes are unbelievable and they are something else. So, hair pulling is definitely one of them. He’s also a big old switch. He’s so laidback and chilled, he’s into you been more dominant and him been dominant. Whatever the mood calls for. He can be dominant when he wants to be, but he can also let you take control. He does prefer to be a little more on the dominant side. He will never let you know how much he gets turned on when you call him ‘A God’ or tease him about his status. But his cock will always betray him and will twitch and get that ever so slightly bit harder. It’s not that he thinks he has power over you, it’s more the way your lips twitch into a smile, and the way you either moan or whisper it. He’s not overly into biting or marking, but if you ask him or beg him to bite you and mark you up, he’s not going to deny you. He can leave marks that seemingly will last an eternity. He may also have a slight temperature kink. His power is one that can sort of be incorporated into your sex life with great care and ease. But he does love lowering the temperature of the room, watching your body react, as a cool breeze sweeps over your naked form. The way you writhe, bonus points if he’s got your arms pinned above your head. • L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He’s very adventurous when it comes to locations. He has to be extremely careful at Sky Temple, because ahaha you shouldn’t be there. A blind eye can be turned when you’re both chilling on the balcony, faking meditation, to escape a slight lecture. But nothing intimate is supposed to happen there. So, if you’re going to fuck at Sky Temple, it’s his room and you have to be very quiet. But when he’s at your apartment or house, anywhere is fair game. You’ve had sex in your bed, the shower, the couch, on top of your desk, against the wall, countertops, anywhere that strikes your fancy. You once even fucked him in the back of your car, it was dark, and you’d been at the beach and had been driving back. Adrenaline fuelled wouldn’t even cover it. He’s so curious and intrigued by Earthrealmers and their sexual appetites. He’s down to try any location, as long as it doesn’t land either of you two in too much trouble. He has little shame because Gods don’t really know much of shame. But he understands, it can be quiet embarrassing if anyone was to walk in and catch him literally balls deep in you. So as long as it’s secluded enough, and you won’t get caught it’s all chilled. • M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Oho what would motivate a god and turn them on? A fair few things you find out. As mentioned throughout this sinful, smut filled essay, he loves having his hair pulled, tugged or played with. It doesn’t matter if he’s got his long flowing hair, or his short hair, just please play with it. It really gets him going, it can make him go from soft and gentle, to, I need to raw you, very quickly. Soft, fluttery touches get him going too. Especially on his inner thighs or his arms. If you grip his arms and tease, with some strayed fingers that are tickling any bare skin on show, it’ll make him hitch a breath. You also taking control really gets him going. If you were to push him down on your couch, straddle him, and start teasing his neck with your tongue. He’s going to be read to go. His cock slowly hardening underneath you. Anything that involves you two close together, will get him going and turned on. He’s also into having you run your nails up and down his back too. Though this is a more ‘in sex’ kind of moment. He loves also seeing your body, so if you were to undress in front of him, he’d love every second of it. Savouring it because fuck knows when you’ll get the time again. Those glimmering silver eyes, devouring your body, making you feel absolutely divine and making you feel flushed and warm all over. Who knew the God of Wind could make you feel so heated? • N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He’s not big on degrading your or been degrading. It’s definitely on his no list and one of his turn off. Also, anything that can or will hurt you, he’s not asking anything. He knows he’s stronger than mortals, and he is very careful with you. Any wince and he’s going to be asking if you’re okay. He cares for you deeply and he would hate himself if anything happened to you. He’s also still a God and he’s a very happy-go-lucky one too, so anything that’s said with malice or hatred is going to turn him off. He isn’t into that. He also holds you with such respect, he isn’t going to say anything that he deems to be untrue or degrading. He isn’t doing that. He loves and cares for you. It’s not happening. He isn’t into sharing either. When having a slightly awkward conversation, about threesomes, after watching a TV show. He decides that’s not for him. So that’s no on the cards either. Also, anything that creates a lot of mess is a no go for him. Barring him cumming on your face, because, you know, you clean it up ever so well. And he does love watching you clean it up, enough, that he’s ready to go again. So there’s another motivation. He also doesn’t do power play or dynamics majorly. He doesn’t mind been dominant and taking control, but he will not have you on your hands and knees begging for him. He’s not vain nor prideful, so anything that involves anything above teasing and you breathlessly uttering the phrase ‘Please’ is going to turn him off. He knows he’s a God, and whilst he doesn’t mind the odd teasing phrase and utterance of it, he’s not going to ram home the fact he’s a God and demand anything because of that status. He respects you too much for that shit, you’re his equal and it’s not his style. • Oral = (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He hates saying that he prefers receiving. He just loves it. From the first time you wrapped that tongue around his cock, he became enthralled by the act, and it can make him lose control very easily of his volume control. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t give, because he does give and will always offer to reciprocate the act. He does love having your legs spread either side of his head, splayed especially for him, god he loves it. He just loves receiving and it’s his preference. He had no idea that oral sex existed, so he’s pretty thrilled by it. He makes some sinful noises when his cocks down your throat, hands knotted deep in your hair, trying to keep control, powerful legs taunt as he stands before you. You can make the God of Wind come undone with your mouth, that’s a pretty impressive fete, but certainly not one that you can put on your CV/resume. His skills giving aren’t great to start with, he literally discovered he could pleasure you with his mouth a few hours ago, you cannot expect him to have skills magically. He does gain the skills though, because he’s determined, focused and wanting to master it. So, you know, makes up for it with enthusiasm. That, and his hands feel so good against your thighs, running little teasing circles. • P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Fujin’s pace will depend entirely on the context and mood. He can do slow and sensual when the time calls for intimacy and romance. But he can also do fast and rough, when you’re both worked up and needy for each other. If he had to pick a preference, he prefers to start off with a teasingly slow pace, before picking the speed up and intensity. He can also start intensely before winding it down to intimate. He often lets you pick the pace and roughness, as he wants you to be comfortable. But like I’ve said earlier, it depends on context and who’s feeling more dominant. He loves both equally as well. He loves soft, slow and sensual sex, when he can worship your body, and you can caress his body. He loves the feeling and sense of been entwined together, your bodies and hearts beating as one. But then again, he loves fucking you hard and rough against a wall, whilst you struggle to keep your grip on your words and they soon become incomprehensible, as he literally fucks you silly. Your hands are knotted in either his hair or running down his back, his volume control is turning to mush as well. He loves sex with you, because you show him that it can go either way. Sex isn’t like masturbation, it’s not a chore and something to be taken care of. Sex can be about intimacy and it can also be about pleasure and desire. So, he’s easy going with pace, but he does prefer a mix of soft and sensual and roughness. • Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He’s very laid back when it comes to quickies. He does prefer to explore and take his time, but sometimes, the need arises for quickies. So, he’s down for them. He’d never really experienced quick sex before you, but upon discovering them he’s not initially keen, but they grow on him. Sometimes you just need a good hard fuck and he can appreciate that. He does prefer taking his time though, so you only really have quickies when the need arises. • R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) For a God he sure does like taking some risks and does love to experiment. The experiment part comes from the desire to learn more about Earthrealm and his curious and inquisitive nature. As his confidence grows, so does his desire to experiment, he’s more worried about you, so he tends to restrain himself a little with experimenting till you reassure him you won’t break. As for risks, he’s into been risqué in terms of locations, but nothing that will endanger you. He’s down for that. He’s not into embarrassing you, so anything that may bring about shame or embarrassment he’s not about. He knows little shame, oh the folly of been a god, but he doesn’t want to upset you. So, risks with some locations yes and experimenting with positions yes. But nothing too dangerous. • S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Yeah, he’s a God, so he does have a lot of stamina to match that status. He can potentially last a really long time, and his recovery is ridiculously quick. He could have just finished in your mouth, watching as you lick off the escaped cum that’s escaped from your mouth, and his cock is already twitching and hardening again. How long he lasts however, depends entirely on how long you’ve been fucking and also how hard he’s going. To start with, he could last a fair bit, but your cunt always managed to make him cum far sooner than he anticipated. He does begin to last longer the more you fuck. But if you’re both fucking hard, and are both really turned on, he can cum quicker than normal. It all depends on the mood. And whilst he may  be able to go for multiple rounds, it all depends on how you’re feeling. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable and content, so if you want to go again, great hop on, if you don’t that’s fine you can cuddle. • T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Whilst he doesn’t own toys, big surprise there, and he has no idea about much of this stuff, he is intrigued upon finding one or two you own. He will outright ask you what it is. Not if people are around though. You hid them well, which means not everyone needs to know about them. He’s so open with you telling them about them and would honestly be open with using them. Some he’s not keen on but he wouldn’t mind using one or two on you. He’s not threatened by a lump of silicone and plastic. He’s made you orgasm multiple times with his hands, cock and tongue, he’s pretty sure with his skills, but not in a vain way, but he’s assured with his skills at making you come undone. Toys, to Fujin, are just something different and an odd Earthrealm custom that he wanted to indulge in and explore. Only to find he’s okay with occasionally busting them out. He knows you’re not going to run off with a dildo, so he’s really not envious of them. That, and he knows he can’t be around as much as he wants to be, so if you want to fuck that dildo and think it’s him when he’s away, you go ahead and do that. Very supportive in your pleasure. • U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Fujin does like to tease a little bit. Not a lot that it turns into edge play or edging to the point you’re screaming out and begging for him to make you cum. He’s not into that. A breathless ‘Please...’ or things along that line are okay. He’s more into teasing with his hands, running little circles round your bare skin, gripping your thighs when no one is looking that sort of thing. It really does get him going. He will also tease slightly with the temperature. One minute, a cool breeze is washing over your naked skin, making you ache for him… only for the breeze disappear before it can ghost over your erogenous zones. That kind of teasing is okay, because he will give into you easy. He doesn’t mind you also teasing him with his God status. As long as it’s not powerplay like. That does make him a little uncomfortable. ‘Show me how a god fucks a mortal’ is okay, but ‘I need to pleasure your godly cock’ is a no go. So, a little bit of teasing goes a long way with him. • V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The noises this man makes are unbelievable. They make you ache for him and are just sinful. Who knew someone so holy, divine and godly could sound so sinful? He can be very loud with his moans. He tends to have to keep quiet if there’s a chance of you getting caught, which always kills him on the inside. He has fairly decent control of his volume, unless you’re deepthroating his cock, whilst moaning, sending vibrations up his shaft and into his spine. Making him tense and lose control. He loves hearing your noises too, it’s his goal to make you moan loud in his ear, a smirk playing on his lips as he hears it. Literal music to his ears. He will also whisper things in your ear, his voice is so light and breezy, everything sounds fucking so good in it. It literally does make you weak at the knees, from his way of speaking, to his loud moans that rip from this throat. Moans that make you worried you’ll get a noise complaint, not that you care at the time. • W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) NSFW: He literally knows no shame and doesn’t always understand mortal shame. So, be prepared for inappropriate questions outside of the bedroom and the sanctity of your house. Queue him asking about a blowjob in the middle of the art gallery, after witnessing some erotic art. He can also kiss you with such intensity and be so blissfully unaware of what it does to you, that you’re left hot and flustered, after he catches your lips and playfully nips at your lip whilst you’re having a nighttime swim. He’s also so sinful for a god. So much so, you’re not sure people would believe you, not that you’d want to share your sinful secrets with everyone. SFW: He once got back early from a mission early. Only to have you mention that you were a little sad. Bippity boppity boo, the winds clapping, and you look up from your book, to see he’s stood on your balcony. Ready for a night in of just holding you and catching up. He secretly wants a slice of the quiet life. And would love to settle down with you. He loves you so much. He wishes he could spend the rest of eternity with you. He thinks you’re perfect for him and that you were destined to be together. He’s never been more devoted to finding a way you can be immortal, if you express a similar wish to spend eternity with. He keeps up hope of finding a way the extend your lifespan. But he knows deep in his heart, that he is glad to have spent and found you and shared a short amount of time with you; than to have never met you, and him to have spent his eternity without knowing you. No matter the pain it will cause him. Raiden would also be there to help him either extend your life, because you make his brother happy, and he is a supportive older brother. • X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) It’s impressive and is larger than average. He’s got a big dick guys, I’m not going to skirt around this. It’s not overly large but it does stretch you. Probably pushing past the 7” mark. It’s actually pretty thick as well. He’s so blissfully unaware of how big his dick actually is and is almost unphased when you remark how big it is. Good job he’s an expert at foreplay. His cock is in proportion to his body and it just looks right on him. • Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) It’s not overly high but it’s not low. It’s more in the middle. If you’re down for fucking, then he’s down for fucking. He’s also down if you both just want to do some mutual masturbation, or oral sex. Whatever you want. Sometimes though, he would just like to hold you and cherish the moment. He’s not all about the sex either. Your relationship is extremely important to him, sex is just a bonus. And as much as he loves learning about new things and experimenting, he does love just a chilled night in, where you’re wrapped up in each other’s arms. • Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He falls asleep after you. He loves falling asleep with you. After sex, you end up talking about anything and everything. Shit gets philosophical on a night. And you love listening to his stories about all the things that he’s lived with. He’s lived a long arse time too, so there’s a fuck ton of stories. The cool sheets entwined and covering your bodies, legs and limbs tangled. His hands manipulating a cool soothing breeze to cool you down. Your head on his chest, whilst you trace his tattoos as they glow in the dark of the room, his words lulling you to sleep. He’ll make sure you’re sleeping soundly before falling asleep, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, before whispering how you complete him. He’s a fucking giant softy.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[arthurjdrake]

A chance bonding experience over pie, tea and haunted tape recorders with @damn-fine-cup-of-tea

“February twenty-ninth, it is 9.30am. The air still reeks of fish although I could swear that it has gotten better since I first got here. I still haven’t managed to get the name for those beautiful pine trees they have here. I was told they had moose. I must see a moose before I leave this town. I’m going to the bakery. Carol, if you ever get up this way, the apple pie at the diner is to die for. I must find out if they make it themselves, or if it is the same as the one from the baker. They don’t have proper tea here, and I had to go to Bangor to get my hands on tea leaves. Remind me to tell you how much that was. The people here are quite lovely, although I will have to notify the ATF and possibly the NSA about some of the inhabitants.” The agent stood still in the office they had given him at the police station. A tape recorder in his hand, Javier glanced and nodded politely at a police officer passing by the door before he went on : “I had the strangest dream last night. One of the deceased, a woman called Catherine Brissaud visited me in my dreams and kissed me. She looked beautiful but there was something off about her voice, she spoke gibberish. Then, she opened her mouth and a man’s voice came out of it telling me that it would kill again. There was this music in the back I cannot get out of my head, Carol. This is all very upsetting. I still have no clue on who could possibly have done it, why, or how? None of the victims showed wounds, and still, their entrails are all missing. All of it. I might need to stay here a bit longer than we imagined.” Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, the man decided to head to the bakery by foot, his thermos of tea in his hand. At last, a good proper cup of tea. Pushing the door to the bakery, he waited in line, glancing around the shop, searching for something, anything that would possibly catch his eye. That man in the corner with a cockatiel pattern on his tie surely seemed interesting.

With the recent keying of his car, Arthur had taken to walking places. Better that than risk further damages to his property from Freyja’s vague and self-serving ire. The very thought of everything that had happened online was enough to send him stir crazy if he stayed inside any longer. No, he needed a trip out to one of the few places he found some peace in this mad place. There was also the current issue of sorting out Nadia’s identity and Adam’s current curse from that blasted chalice. Jobs and side-tasks were stacking up faster than he could keep up with but in a way he was thankful for the distractions. Explaining how he ended up joining the queue tapping out a couple of quick replies to several of the emails in his inbox. With those sent he tucked his phone away and he could turn his attention to a few of the other patrons of the quiet bakery and associated coffee shop. He looked at the display case and hummed in thought unsure what to get - he never had been very good at making decisions. “Sorry,” he said to the man in front of him hoping it wasn’t a real bother “excuse me, I’m rather stuck on what to go for… Do you think the apple or the passionfruit one is better?”

“No harm done,” Javier turned around and gave the man a thorough look, his eyes travelling all across him before he gave him a pat on the arm. “I think, and this is only my opinion, that there is nothing better than a good, old fashioned, properly made, apple pie,” he released the man’s arm to point his finger at the pie behind the glass. “And this, looks exactly like a good, old fashioned, properly made, apple pie.” The crust/filling ratio appeared to be nearing perfection, as did the cooking of the apple, or the color of the dough that covered it all. And, this was really the cherry on top of it all : the pie was decorated very tastefully. Maybe this would help him forget about the town’s apparent aversion for a proper cup of tea. “You are British, aren’t you?” Javier was sure of that, but it never hurt to ask. “What do you think of the tea situation in this town?”

Arthur was quite accustomed by now to being inspected by strangers, and in a town like this his accent tended to make him stick out like a sore thumb. He didn’t mind, so he waited and smiled politely taking in the other man’s appearance in kind, at a guess he seemed of an age to himself - at least physically. The greeting was friendly in kind, which settled any initial concerns that he might have bothered this stranger with his question. It was a nice change considering it seemed a majority of those he’d met significantly younger. At least beyond Carrington but that was another dynamic entirely and gave merit to the fact that you could hardly tell people’s actual ages from initial observation. “I think you might be right,” Arthur found himself agreeing tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully “especially with this wintery weather.” The cold hardly bothered him but it hardly meant a warm treat every now and then wouldn’t go amiss. “I feel like I haven’t had a good apple pie in ages,” baking hadn’t been the highest of priorities on his list lately but it was something he was keen to get back into. His smile grew a tad wry at the stranger’s next question, “damn, what gave it away?” he asked in light jest. “Definitely not the accent, was it my fondness for weather discussions and freshly baked goods?” His grin turned to a mournful look though the humour remained in his tone, “oh gods it’s atrocious. Don’t even get me started. I turned up for my first day and asked where the kettle was - they didn’t even have one. They microwave it.” He shook his head in mild disbelief over this “have to get people from back home to send me yorkshire brew or else I’d lose my mind.” He glanced at the thermos, “I’m guessing you feel the same?”

“The weather is quite something,” Javier commented, idly tapping his finger on top of his thermos, in tune with that song he had heard in his dreams. God, that thing was stuck in his head. “Talking of which,” it may have not smelled like fish in the shop, and in fact, the whole place smelled very nice, but the agent had to ask about that damn smell. “Does it always smell like fish in this town?” It seemed odd to him that people would ever decide to settle and live in such a place. He kept a stern look on his face, although there was always a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he spoke. “Then you must have a slice of apple pie. Maybe you can sit with me. I’ll share the tea,” he offered. It would be a great opportunity to discuss with the locals, who, even if they were not connected with his case, helped him draw a better picture of the town and what could possibly be insidiously corroding, gnawing it. “I will say, that the accent sold you out, and the talk of weather and pastries confirmed my doubts,” he politely replied, glancing over the man’s shoulder to have a look at someone who had just walked in. Their socks did not match. He wondered if this had been done on purpose or not. “Funny.” He said, turning his attention back on the British man. “Of course they would. I have had people tell me that tea in bags was not so bad. It’s atrocious !” He shook his head, clearly disapproving of that kind of affirmation. “You are the third person who tells me they have to order tea from across the sea. I’m sure there’s a lot more of upset tea lovers in town.” Something had to be done about this. As it was his turn to order, the agent turned toward the saleswoman with a bright smile. “I will have a slice of pie, please,” he glanced at the man. “And the man after me, will have another one of those.”

Arthur had become relatively accustomed to the smell, but at least it had stopped raining fish. Small mercies. Yet, as the other man asked after it he shrugged. “I have no idea honestly… There was some weird meteorological event… Raining fish. Whole town was covered. But it’s definitely been getting a damn lot better since that stopped.” He didn’t mention the chest, or the fact that since he’d heard through the grapevine that it’d been opened that the weirdness had stopped. “How can I deny an offer like that?” he smiled, genuinely grateful for the offer this stranger extended out. “Then at least let me buy you some of the apple pie to say thank you for the kindness of sharing the tea,” it was the least he could do. The laugh that was drawn from him was light, “ahhh, guilty as charged.” It wasn’t entirely true, but true enough for this lifetime that he’d subscribed to the general notion. “Heathens, the lot of them. I’m telling you.” The disapproving look the stranger got was rather amusing overall. “Oh, most definitely. We should start a club.” They moved up and Arthur let the other man order for them both, taking his card out to cover the payment “I’m Arthur by the way, I didn’t catch your name mister-?”

Raining fish. It must have been a local expression, a derivative of it’s raining cats and dogs. Although, Javier could imagine that a storm could cause fish to end up in the atmosphere and rain down on a coastal town such as White Crest. There was nothing too weird here. “That’s funny,” he let a thin smile tug the corner of his lips upward. The town seemed to be rather normal, but the people here were a bit odd. The man he was talking to seemed quite normal, compared to the rest of them, although it was a bit early to be certain about that. “That is a very kind offer,” he nodded politely and moved aside to let his new tea friend pay for the pie. Javier wondered whether he should be introducing himself as an agent or as a citizen. It was unlikely that this person would have anything to do with his case, or he was truly the luckiest investigator this town had ever seen. “Javier, I’m Javier Sterling,” he had made his choice. Little did he know that he would not be able to be just a citizen for long, or that his tape recorder had developed a mind of its own and decided to record his conversation with Arthur. Sitting at a table by the windows, Javier walked back to the counter to ask for cups. If he clearly disapproved of paper cups, he did not comment on it as the saleswoman handed him those, and he walked back to the table to pour them each a cup of tea. This one had been advised by one of the people he spoke to online, and he had high hopes and expectations about it.

“You think I’m joking?” he glanced at the man, and the look on his expression earned a momentary thought of ah, of course you do. A majority of the cod and salmon had been cleared away from the streets, but Arthur still noticed the occasional one dotted around down. One had even been on the spear of a statue in down, talk about being skewered. “Least I can do,” Arthur said pleasantly as Javier stepped aside and he could pay for the two slices of pie. With the introduction Arthur offered an extremely warm hand out for a polite greeting “Arthur Drake if you’re going for full formality.” Once they were cut and served on plates with a couple of forks, Arthur picked them up and carried them over to the table. “So, what brings you to White Crest?” he queried as he slid into one of the seats at the table pulling one of the two plates over as Javier sorted out the tea “I mean, beyond the picturesque scenery and excellent apple pie? Somehow you don’t strike me as the small town kinda guy.”

Javier looked at the man with a perplexed look on his face, trying to figure out if this was some sort of elaborate joke. The puzzled look on his face did not really fade away until Arthur held out his hand and Javier shook it firmly, hoping that this conversation about the falling fish would stop now. “Drake. El dragón,” he commented, before he turned his back on the man. Sitting at the table, he took some time looking outside, although there was nothing special that caught his eye this time. Getting his coat off of his shoulders, the agent unbuttoned his suit’s jacket to get more comfortable. Besides, nothing looked worse than a man sitting with a closed jacket. “What brings you to White Crest?” The question was repeated, with echo, the chatter of the bakery amplified. Javier had just opened his mouth to reply, but the sound did not come from his mouth, but rather from his coat. The agent frowned, glancing at the piece of clothing. Could he have both pushed the record and play buttons by accident? There was a sound of rewinding tape for a couple seconds before the tape recorder started saying : “ get out of my head, Carol. This is all very upsetting. I still have no clue on who could possibly have done it, why, or how? None of the victims showed wounds, and still, their entrails are all missing. All of it.” When Javier got his hands on the tape recorder, he realized that none of the buttons were pushed, and still the tape played. Great, the damn thing was broken. “Excuse me,” he said, ejecting the tape and putting it away in a case. “I’m here with the FBI,” he sighed.

Ah well, he would learn soon enough. Arthur was hardly here to blow the man’s mind, so left him to his ignorance for the time being. “Indeed,” the translation that Javier picked up on was just part of the irony of each name he picked. Though most tended to overlook the fact. Pulling the cup towards him he first took a sip and hummed quietly in appreciation. Just the right strength. He waited on Javier’s response to his question, but what happened next had Arthur furrowing his brows in confusion. Victims, wounds, entrails missing? He looked to the coat in question suspiciously and then at Javier frantically fiddling with it once he’d pulled out the apparent recorder. “Uh…” he blinked a little caught off guard while Javier dealt with his screwy technology “sure…” Though he couldn’t help but frown a little with the clarification that Javier was with the FBI, “I see…” he caught himself and sat up a little straighter already having a suspicion this man was here for more than just the apple pie “well, seems like something important brought you to town.” He tilted his head in mild curiosity, “a case?”

Javier pursed his lips. Putting the tape recorder next to his cup of tea, he grabbed the latter and took a sip of it before he answered Arthur's question. Judging by the look on the man’s face, it was necessary for Javier to explain himself. He idly snapped his fingers, staring at them as he focused on what he would tell him. “A case.” He repeated, grabbing his fork to take a bite of the apple pie. His eyes shut closed as a pleased expression erased any trace of worry the tape recorder had given him. Groaning happily, the agent snapped out of it after a few long seconds. Right, the case. “We have five people with their insides missing,” he added, having swallowed his bite. “That apple pie is, excuse me, fucking amazing,” he stared at his place with the most delighted look on his face. “What about you? Where do you work?”

Arthur couldn’t entirely help how his eyes flickered to the tape recorder, a paranoid part of his mind wondering whether their conversation had been recorded. Were there others in town like him? Did that mean that other people might’ve been recording and documenting things? It was a slight worry inducing thought and he couldn’t help the slight tap of his foot. He’d forgotten about the apple pie in his minor moment of paranoia, but as Javier began to explain why he was here he felt some of the knotted tension ease. Well, at least they weren’t here for other reasons… At least not yet. “Sounds rather suspicious…” he remarked as he thought on the roster of things that might be capable of such violence or potential feeding habits, though admittedly he didn’t know them off by rote “but… the recording said there were um-- no wounds did it say?” It was only at Javier’s remark that Arthur remembered that he too had some, picking up his fork he cut through the pie and had a bite pleasantly surprised at the explosion of cinnamon and sugary apple that hit his palate. “Damn… You’re right.” He took another bite, but at Javier’s question Arthur swallowed and took a sip of tea to clear his mouth. “Ah, just up at the college... I lecture in the history and mythology department.”

Javier pointed at his face, his round cheeks suggesting that he was in the middle of eating another bit of that superb pie. Chewing slowly, he took his time to finish his bite as it took more than a discussion about missing guts for the agent to lose his appetite. “No wounds, nothing in common between the victims, no traces of effraction. It’s as if a ghost murdered them all,” picking up the paper napkin to wipe at the corner of his mouth, he glanced again at the tape recorder. He could have sworn that he had seen it move. He did not recall pushing any of the buttons, and yet the pause button was pressed in. And now the stop button, without him touching it. “Well that is odd,” he took the machine in his hand, inspecting it closely. “I’ll have to order a new one,” he thought aloud, putting it away in his coat. "That sounds fantastic,” he gave the man a thumb up, picking up his cup to take a sip of tea. “I find both of those subjects to be absolutely fascinating,” he explained. Javier was delighted that he had had the chance to run into a teacher as he believed that this was one of the most generous professions one could have.

He didn’t particularly wish to rush the pie as it was exceptionally good, so he took to sipping on his tea mulling over the tidbits of the case this agent was working on. This was hardly the first time he’d discussed weird and gruesome things over food so he wasn’t particularly put off by it. “Strange, is there any sort of similarity between the victims? Gender, ethnicity, age?” Most killers had some sort of profile that they worked to, Arthur might not have been in the service in this lifetime but he knew the protocol. Had stuck to it himself in recent lifetimes. As Javier picked up the tape recorder that had seemingly pressed its own buttons, Arthur narrowed his eyes a little suspicious of the little device that seemed to have developed a mind of its own. “Can I have a look at that?” Javier had taken the tape out so Arthur hardly saw any harm in asking to have a closer look. The thumbs up earned a humbled smile, “ah, they certainly are that. Though the FBI seems like a fascinating job. Serving your country and keeping people safe, I’m sure there’s nothing else quite like it.”

Javier rubbed at his chin for a moment as he thought about the different victims. They had nothing, truly nothing in common, aside from being found dead, with nothing left inside their abdomen. Thinking about this reminded him of his dream and that woman he saw. Catherine Brissaud. Shaking her out of his mind, he sipped silently on his tea. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. Ethnicity, age, gender, hair color, fragrance, occupation, hobbies. I have been looking at their whole lives and nothing is similar so far,” he explained. He had not expected that Arthur would find his tape recorder to be so interesting, and now that there was no tape in it, what wrong could it do. He handed over the device, not sure what the man could probably do to fix it, although maybe Arthur had a few other skills up his sleeve. “It is an amazing job. I do not think I could really make a change any other way.” Javier had considered working as a police detective a long long time ago, but travelling and working on cases like this one was a lot more gratifying to him.

“Well… That sounds both horrifying and utterly perplexing,” Arthur couldn’t help but be equally fascinated and terrified by the thought of something like that. “And you’re certain it’s the same…” he caught himself from saying thing “person… doing this? What about location? No apparent circle theory?” Arthur knew a little about psychological models of criminal behaviour, having studied history of different eras it was pertinent to have some understanding of how criminals behaved and acted in their attempts to avoid capture. As Javier retrieved the tape recorder, Arthur slid it over and turned it over thoughtfully inspecting the buttons. Pressing one to let it play though no sound came out (as he expected) considering there was no tape. He tested each button individually, finding nothing out of the ordinary about it. Interesting. “I suppose most people think of the police or the army when they think about serving their country, but the FBI is pretty darn impressive.” As he spoke, Arthur ensured all buttons weren’t pressed or locked and set it back down on the table in front of him mostly to keep an eye on it. “How’d you come into that field? Not something you just walk into surely? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”

“The way of killing is too specific to be done by several people, unless we’re looking at a cult, of course.” Javier rubbed his fingers against his jawline for a moment. “Considering the murders have been taking place in the same town, there is not a lot we can do to establish a possible location for the culprit’s home.” Obviously whoever was doing this must have been from White Crest, but drawing a profile for them was nearly impossible. “I expect that they’ll make a mistake. They always do,” serial killers were not very original, but how long it took them to start being reckless, to start playing with the press, or law enforcement, was never a set number of days. If only it had been so simple. Javier watched Arthur inspect his tape recorder. He remained quiet, although he still wondered what it was the man was trying to achieve, pushing buttons and staring at them. There was no judgement in his eyes, and he looked at him with marvel in his eyes. “People tend to forget that we also serve our country and not just the Bureau. We have to thank television for this,” looking out the window, his eyebrows raised as he saw a familiar silhouette standing on the other side of the road. Once again, they disappeared the moment something blocked his view. “I’ve always wanted to work in law enforcement. Back when I was a child, we used to hear about the FBI a lot on television. I started sending letters to the FBI director that summer.”

“Not something you could rule out I suppose,” Arthur remarked as he mulled over the few bits and pieces that Javier had provided regarding his reasoning for being here. “I mean if it’s in the same town then surely the culprit has to be living within the vicinity of the town? So, it narrows it down at least in that regard…” He looked out the window towards the street, watching as a couple of people walked by unassuming. How many people could this case put at risk? Too many. Perhaps it was a good idea to offer assistance and simply observe this agent’s progress. Putting such a creature away would likely benefit everyone, but there was a small concern in the back of his mind that innocents could equally incriminate themselves considering the… special population variation that White Crest possessed. “Perhaps, but how long do you wait until that happens?” Arthur completed his inspection and frowned, turning his attention to Javier with his remark. “Yes, television provides a great many unhelpful stereotypes. Perhaps success will make some think differently at least?” He could understand the draw of law enforcement. It was a noble profession. “That’s quite a direct approach, I guess you made quite an impression if that’s how you got into the business,” Arthur grinned wryly at the thought of a young boy writing to the FBI asking to join them one day. It was rather endearing in a sense. “And you’ve been with them ever since? That’s rather impressive.”

“It has not been ruled out.” Javier had, over the years, specialized in working on crime related to those sort of organizations. All these grotesque deaths, however… Those didn’t happen all too often. Usually with them, it was rituals that ended up in an accident, or, a human sacrifice. This seemed different. There seemed to be nothing that indicated a freak accident or a sacrifice. There were no signs, sigils, drawings, books. He took out his notebook and wrote himself a memo to have a look at all the books in the victims’ homes. A chore, but one that he would do anyway. “Maybe they’ve already done it,” he looked up from his notebook as he closed it, putting it away. He probably had missed something, a detail, when he went to those crime scenes. He would have to be more thorough. “Well, I only joined when I finished training at the academy,” he scoffed. The thought of 11 years old him running around with a cardboard badge after his older brother came back to his mind and he laughed some more, shaking his head. Boy, did he bore his brother to death with his stories back then.

“How long has all this been going on for?” he asked curiously “no symmetry with calendar dates or lunar cycles?” There was always some sort of pattern that came with things like this, or at least there tended to be. It was simply a matter of finding it that was the issue. Arthur lightly drummed his fingers on the table in thought. “Are all the crime scenes in town? Perhaps there is something that might have been overlooked?” While he had no particular investment in assisting, a part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what might be responsible for these murders. “Perhaps you need another set of eyes aiding you with the case?” In a past life this had been the exact same sort of work he’d been employed to do. To locate and track moving targets and attempt to pinpoint their location, admittedly on a larger scale than a single murderer or cult potentially responsible for such things. “Was there any sign of forced entry at the properties?” Of course, he knew Javier had no particular reason to divulge any information regarding the case at all but it never hurt to ask. Did it?

“There is some sort of regularity to this,” it had nothing to do with the moon, or with a day of the month in particular, but there was indeed a pattern. More or less every three weeks, a person died. This comforted him in his idea that he was dealing with a cult. They killed when they needed to, no more, no less, taking only what was necessary. The agent finished his slice of pie and wiped his mouth with a lot of attention before he replied. “There is no doubt that we missed something. Either that, or we are dealing with a ghost,” he shook his head and sighed. Rubbing at his face, Javier looked at Arthur through his fingers for a moment, entirely still and silent. “We’ll see. We don’t usually ask our consultants to inspect crime scenes. But if you find something interesting, I might have to make you tag along,” his hands dropped down onto his lap. He shook his head at Arthur’s next question, a thin smile appearing on his face. He could tell that the man was interested, but Javier wondered if his interest would falter as he found out that there was, so far, no way to identify the killer, or even start drawing a loose portrait of them.

“Oh? And what’s that?” considering they were already discussing this at length he didn’t see any harm in asking. It was only in the interim of discussion that Arthur chose to look down at the tape recorder and frowned a little at how a couple of the buttons he’d unpressed earlier were now pressed and the little cogs turning inside of the machine. Interesting. “You know, in this town I wouldn’t say that too loudly… Some people might really believe you if you said you were dealing with a ghost… Lots of folks believe in that around here, maybe it’s why your killer is getting away with things so freely hm?” he smiled a touch wryly at the agent, more in good humour the man sat opposite him was painfully human in his limited mindset. It was unfortunate really, he wouldn’t catch anything with that sort of mindframe. Arthur reached for a napkin which he unfolded and set on the table on top of which the recorder was placed. Next, he took one of the salt shakers and carefully unscrewed the lid and made a ring of salt around the device. A rite was spoken under his breath, and a grey cloud of something intangible shot out of the little speaker of the device. With this done, he picked up the recorder and inspected it once more. “I know you don’t,” Arthur said in simple understanding, he knew the protocols perhaps not the modern day ones but things hadn’t changed all that much in a century. The objective was still the same, gather the relevant evidence and hunt down the killer in question. “But, and correct me if I’m overstating - but I’m not sure the typical means of case operation will solve this mystery and I think you might’ve already begun to realise that… Plus, if I find something - it gives you a lead. If not…” he tilted his shoulder a little “no harm done. So, what do you say detective?” The question was posed with the offering of his tape recorder back - likely in fully functioning condition now if what Arthur suspected had been inhabiting it was right.

“I think it will happen again. In a week or so,” Javier replied, picking up his cup of tea and frowning at it. Lukewarm. Wrinkling his nose, he looked away from Arthur as he emptied a salt shaker on the table, too busy pouring himself a new cup of tea. If could see what he was doing from the corner of his eyes, it was not until he had put his thermos away that Javier looked at the state of the table then up at Arthur’s face. If he remained completely silent, you could tell from the look on his face that he disapproved of this. Picking up the napkin carefully, he wrinkled it in his hand so as not to make a mess, and put it in his plate, making sure that not one bit of salt would fall to the floor or on the table. “There was no need to pour out the salt shaker. I better not start mentioning folklore monsters that require being stabbed to you,” not that they had cutlery that could cause a problem, but Javier had already been stabbed with a fork in the past, and knew that this was far from pleasant. “So, people think ghosts are real then. What else?” Vampires, fairies, Big Foot, el Cuco? Having spent quite some time near New Orleans, Javier was used to people believing in weird stories, or telling them to their children to traumatize them (which was a custom Javier did not understand). Having taken care of this salty mess, the agent took his tea cup and listened to the professor’s explanation. It was not an unexpected offer, and on other occasions, he had been given the same one by other men and women before. All he needed to know was whether or not Arthur would pose a problem in the future. He did not seem like someone who would get in his way, or do dangerous things for the sake of helping him. First taking the recorder back from Arthur’s hand, he nodded quietly before explicitly replying : “Alright. I suppose we have an agreement here.”

His point made and task completed, Arthur looked slightly amused at the disapproving look Javier fixed him with. “Just trying to make a point at the strange thing people will do if you mention stuff like that around here.” The act was both meticulous in its layout and answered certainly enough what he’d suspected about Javier having no clue about the truth of this town. “Actually, most folklore indicates that beheading is usually the best course of action against most of those tall-tale beasties.” But he tipped a shoulder as Javier mentioned about ghosts, “I’ve actually found the people here believe in a lot more than just ghosts…. You’ll see soon enough.” He clasped his hands in front of him on the table waiting quite patiently, Javier didn’t have to take him up on the offer but it was there regardless and his interest was quite plain to see. “Very well,” he took out his wallet and fished out a simple black card embossed with his details in calligraphic silver script which he slid across the table with his index and middle finger. “Contact me a time that suits, I’ll be happy to come and offer any assistance I can that might be of any pertinent use.” He stacked the plates and cutlery, picking up the spare cup. “Thank you again - for the tea and the company. I look forward to hearing from you,” with a polite dip of his head Arthur delivered the plates to the counter to save the waitress from collecting them, collected his bag and made for the door.

[hcwkward]

hey! i basically just found your blog but from what i can see, you’re truly talented. can i please have prompt 10 w/ Peggy for the Pride Month Drabble? thank you in advance, keep up the great work! 🌟

Aw that’s so sweet of you! Thank you so much! You absolutely can have my queen! I may have completely lost the plot and made this far longer than a drabble is meant to be, but my love for Peggy can’t be contained!

“I don’t know whether I want to do her or be her”

Ship: Peggy Carter x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Triggers: Kidnapping, mentions of torture

Your hands clasped tightly behind you, cold metal cutting into your wrists as you struggled to pull at the restraints. A cramp had been slowly growing in your forearms over the past few hours, a mixture of the odd position and the repetitive tugging in your attempt to escape causing the muscles to ache dull and deep. Not that your legs were doing any better, folded beneath you in a kneel you couldn’t get out of with the joint restraints around your ankles. Exhaustion threatened to take over you, but the anger and bitterness towards your current situation drove you forwards.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking you’re going to achieve with that,” a somewhat amused drawl came from beside you, as if the dingy warehouse with it’s wallowing breezes hadn’t been bothering him for the many hours you had been stuck there. He had been surprisingly quiet for a while now, not that you could tell exactly how long, and you had begun to think, or rather hope, he had finally fallen asleep. But no, he was awake, and you had very little doubt he would return to the quiet you had begun to relish. Silence and Howard Stark were far too rare a treat, and you knew you wouldn’t be gifted it again so soon.

“I’m trying to get out of here,” you bit back harshly, eyes flashing with anger towards the man who, in your mind, was the very reason you were trapped there. If he had just kept his damn mouth shut maybe things could have gone differently, maybe you wouldn’t have been stuck in such a painful position with bruises forming from the senseless beating your captors had enforced upon you, maybe you wouldn’t have even been seen when they came for him and you could have raised the alarm instead of being trapped alongside your boss.

“And how’s that going for you?” he practically laughed, the jilt in his voice causing your scowl to only deepen in response. You could feel his gaze on you, that mischievous gleam to his eyes that you were far too used to seeing whenever he didn’t want to address any work you needed his approval on. At any other time you might have laughed, perhaps rolled your eyes at your boss’ sense of humour, but you were far from amused by this point.

“I have a better chance of escaping by actually trying than sitting here making stupid comments,” you snarked in return, your eyes flashing dangerously in his direction as if to almost dare him to continue with his jesting manner. But there was never a challenge that Howard Stark could ignore, it was what made him such a brilliant inventor, and such a pain in the ass of a friend.

“And yet here we both are,” he mused, his smile growing smug as you faced him properly. “Look, doll, I’m sure someone will get us out of here soon.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, he was probably right. Someone had to come for you at some point, there was no point simply leaving you chained alone in some freezing abandoned warehouse without wanting something from you, or rather your boss. And then there was that, Howard couldn’t simply go missing without someone being worried, alright, he could, but not without Mr Jarvis at the very least having some clue as to where he was. Surely he would raise the alarm at some point, maybe he already had. Didn’t Howard have all those connections with the SSR and whatnot? Surely people would find you at some point, the only question was who would get there first, your captors or your savours? “But the question is who?”

Silence fell over the large empty space, your words settling into your very bones as thoughts and images of saviors and enemies flitted across both of your minds, filling you with that unspoken dread that had been lingering in the air, threateningly before you had dared speak. 

This wasn’t your fight, if your captors came back they only really wanted Stark, you were hardly useful no matter what their intentions were. Would they use you as insurance against him? Torture you to give him insentive to help them? You were only his employee, his friend at best. Surely they wouldn’t try that. But if not, what was the purpose of keeping you there? Were you only there until someone higher up the food chain decided you were unimportant and killed you? There were no positive outcomes for you, at least Howard was useful, you were a nobody to these people. Your future was looking bleaker by the second.

A clattering of metal, drew you from your thoughts, your gaze quickly lifting from the ground to the doorway that sat ominously against the far wall. But no movement could be seen through the small glass window, only the same flickering light that had been slowly attempting to drive you insane over the hours. A shared glance with Howard told you that you hadn’t been imagining things, his jaw clenched tightly as he watched apprehensively, the first flickers of fear to show on his features since you had both been stolen from the sidewalk and shoved into the back of a car blindfolded and bound. Something was happening, and you had no idea whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but either way your stomach was clenching with anxiety.

A soft gulp from the man next to you, and you lifted yourself up as high as you could with your wrists and ankles still bound behind you, attempting to get a better view of the scene playing out in the other room. But even from your new slightly raised position, pulling yourself as high as your cuffs and aching thighs would let you, all you could make out was a rush of shadows. Whatever was happening wasn’t good, but whether it was not good for you or for your captors you couldn’t tell. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek in an anxious need to simply do something, you looked to Howard in silent question. Should you be trying to call out? To make your location known? Or should you be doing your damnedest to stay as far away from whatever was going on outside as possible? The dull sound of a body hitting a brick wall with a resounding ‘oof’ managed to echo its way towards you, and every inch of you felt on fire as your nerves went into overdrive. This was it, you were either about to be saved or killed, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The dull sounds came to a sudden stop, a hint of hope captivating you as you wondered whether that meant someone had come to save you. But you didn’t want to get your hopes up just yet. 

The sharp tapping of heels against concrete seemed to resonate towards you as the door to your makeshift cell was pulled open with force. You could barely make out the figure that stood there, the light streaming in from behind her, but from the stance, outline of a pencil skirt, and propped hip, you knew damn well she wasn’t there to hurt you. A small smile started to play on your lips as Howard sighed loudly in relief.

“‘Bout time Pegs!” he called out in faux irritation, a chuckle already making its way from his lips before he had even managed to get the words out. So this was her, the infamous Peggy Carter that Howard couldn’t speak highly enough of, well, in his own manner. You may not be able to see her well from your current position, but by the number of sprawled out men laying on the ground behind her, you could definitely understand where he was coming from.

A flick of a light switch and she was making her way towards you, no longer hidden by shadows. Perhaps it was the fact that she had come to save you, or the fact she had seemingly taken down your captors single handedly, but even from afar you were captivated. She wore a tired smile, as if she was used to this rubbish happening all the time, ready to retort to Howard’s words without hesitation.

Before you could even exclaim your shock, movement was coming up behind her. Your mouth fell open, wanting to warn her, but with a quick step to the side she missed the attack, already sweeping out a leg to take out the man who had attempted to blindside her and throwing him to the ground. He was barely on his knees, scrambling to get back up when her fist was thrown in his direction, knocking him out cold.

Your mouth hung open in shock, glancing between the woman who simply righted her jacket as she made sure the man was truly out, and the man next to you who was simply watching on with that irritatingly amused smirk of his. In a low voice you leaned ever so slightly towards your boss. “I don’t know whether I want to do her or be her,” you practically whispered.

A bark of laughter came from the man, but it was quickly swallowed as he properly took in your words, comprehension drawing his eyebrows impossibly high on his forehead as he turned his attention fully towards you now, finally unable to find any words to say.

Want a gay drabble? Check out my pride month prompts!

[aclamclriver]

let me call you sweetheart

summary:  arthur paterson is nephew to one of new york’s most ruthless crime bosses,  no matter how miserable it might be.  running illegal alcohol through a town that is on the brink of prohibition,  paterson is interested in only poetry and solitude, until he meets the charming daughter of new york’s upper class.   tagged:   @ochacaka​,  @oh-adam​,  @moonlightsolo,  @killakylo,  @say-my-name-assbut notes:  you know how sometimes you make a post that is 98% thirst 2% history and you end up getting carried away and you go ahead and plot out twenty one chapters because you have no control over your life?  this is one of those times.  

tommy scout tells him one day,  chewing on a toothpick with his usual nonchalant grace,  that there’s no way in hell they’ll ever ban booze in new york.

“it’s too much money,”  tommy said,  kicking his heel against the barrel that lies in half-ruined waste by his foot.  he’s an idle boy       hardly a man,  though he has half a foot on paterson,  and the beginnings of a fine mustache that’ll be the envy of every man in the bar.  paterson likes to think tommy comes and goes as he pleases,  drawn to the hubbub and chaos of new york because it presents something to see;  otherwise,  what else could he be doing?  he’d fit better in the south,  where the drawls run thick like molasses on words that slur into the next,  and tom sawyer paints a fence with a lazy idea in mind.  

paterson doesn’t fit in anywhere,  he supposes.  he’s 26 and he still has too many boyish features:  ears lopsided and prominent,  practically made to be pulled and snatched at whenever someone wants his attention.  he’s tall limbs and gangly appearance,  not quite at home in his own body,  built for tripping over and kicking over and generally making a mess when one is hoping for quiet.  he imagines himself as some kind of tragic background character in his own poems,  the one he scrawls on scraps of paper he can snatch away whenever the opportunity presents itself;  not a hero,  and certainly not a villain,  but doomed to observe and see and never find himself within.  

“those old loons have got the wrong idea,”  tommy remarked,  and paterson pulled his attention away from the barrel to follow tommy’s gaze,  falling on the women holding up signs and calling up all sorts of questionable decrees he couldn’t care less about outside the magistrate’s office.  “they wanna ban the booze,  they’re just gonna make it harder to find husbands.  half of ‘em will only get married if their man has his goggles on.”

paterson didn’t answer,  but tommy never seeks one from him,  anyways;  he seems utterly at ease in quiet,  and more often that not,  laughs at his own jokes harder than anyone else.  he is a caricature of comedy,  a mimicry of the jest,  and paterson thinks that one day,  tommy will have turned out to be some kind of imp that wanders from town to town,  no goal in mind but to keep himself vaguely entertained,  and no one will at all be surprised.

“they’ve been protesting nonstop,”  paterson commented,  and tommy shrugged,  a half-hearted gesture that shows nothing but disinterest in the whole affair.

“governor makes too much money from the drinkers to throw ‘em out.  hell,  governor drinks himself quiet every evening.  not to mention the mayor and all the judges.”  he snorted,  pulling his toothpick from his mouth and flicking it into the busy street;  paterson watched as it disappeared under the rickety tires of one of the new automobiles careening by.  “these birds think the drink is to blame for everything.  most be the most boring households in the city!  even the puritans had a sense of humour.”

paterson said nothing.  under his arm,  in crates stacked two by three,  were bottles and bottles of wine and rum that were stamped from halfway around the world,  touring through europe on the back of an assassination that took them all by surprise.  they’re earmarked for the mayor himself,  and he paid an arm and a leg to get them,  right around the same time that he let one of the drys come in and make a stirring speech about the morality of the drink and how the world would be better off without it.

uncle dean was real chuffed to get the order,  but uncle dean was in one of those strange moods where the wind could blow him one direction or another.  some days,  he was happy to throw his arm around paterson’s shoulder,  and offer him friendly advice about life,  and love,  and all the rest of the business;  other days,  paterson was ducking under that same arm,  moving faster than his limbs allowed to get him out of the way of whatever uncle dean happened to be hurling.  there was no real middle ground with dean,  and there was certainly no pleasing him with bad news       paterson had learned to keep his mouth shut when the times were bad,  and keep it shut when things perked up.

they’d been doing this a lot,  lately       grabbing goods from the docks late at night,  when the guard was persuaded to look the other way,  and selling it for a profit out the back,  so to speak.  alcohol might not be prohibited,  but new york was tense,  real tense:  just the other week,  the dryers had managed to get a bar shut down on serving german beer,  and there was a lot of talk about europe,  europe this and that,  europe and the duke who was killed,  and the duke and his country,  and where that all fit into the greater picture.  no one had any real clue what was going on,  but it seemed like germany was on the wrong side of it,  and austria-hungary,  and suddenly things from overseas was very expensive,  and worth more than paterson could imagine earning in his life.

“more than those damn scribbles could earn you,”  uncle dean was sure to remind him,  and paterson had simply pretended that it was a good point,  and he wasn’t working on a poem at that moment,  anyways.

he was always working on a poem.  he had been writing since before he could remember,  watching the world and turning it into prose through eyes that always saw more than he let on.  it was difficult to write when his uncle was always pressing him to run errands,  and it was difficult to run errands because uncle dean was mixed up with crowds that veered towards the unsavoury.  paterson was a good kid,  and he had looked it;  no one took notice of him now,  because how could anyone imagine arthur paterson smuggling booze and goods around in his little beat-up cart,  with his scruffed hat and his dozens of little papers that always seemed to have something scratched across?

he was thinking of that now,  crossing the lane across central to bring a new shipment in that uncle dean had said was more than his head’s worth,  and he better not forget it.  he had a good idea of what was inside,  but hadn’t really bothered to take a good look       the less he knew,  the better.  his head was stuck on his latest verse,  stuck on trying to get it to work;  all the words fit right,  but he had nothing behind it,  no spark,  no jolt.  no muse,  really.  and he was still pondering that when someone in front of him gave a loud cry,  and paterson realized he had been about to hit someone who had accidentally crossed in front of his rickety auto.

he swerved,  hard,  nearly upending the whole thing as he sought to avoid hitting what was evidently a woman in a blue jacket and dress;  he didn’t see much more,  as his wheel hit the curb and gave a tremendous screech of annoyance,  causing passerby to jump out of the way,  or snicker openly at the whole affair.  there were a few honks behind him as other cars witnessed the mess,  but other than nearly jolting himself out of his seat,  the damage didn’t seem too bad.  

shit.  the booze.

he leapt from his seat,  ignoring the door entirely,  and as he did,  he realized the dame was still in front of the car,  probably frozen in shock.  despite his worry over the cargo in the trunk,  he couldn’t just leave her there to come to her senses       what if he had grazed her,  or she had twisted an ankle,  or something?  better to make sure she was okay.  so he turned,  opened his mouth,  and  ...  found himself speechless.

you hadn’t meant to cross the street just then       you had gotten distracted by something,  found yourself a little too close to the road,  and only realized your predicament when a car came barreling down at you.  luckily your mouth knew better than to freeze like the rest of you had,  and you had let out an unladylike shriek as you came close to being flattened like a pancake on easter sunday.  you had just caught your breath when paterson came out to check on you,  and something about the way you looked       your hair in the sunlight,  maybe,  or how the blue of your dress showed off the high colour in your cheeks       seized his attention and choked all the words right out of him.  

“oh,  my goodness!”  you had said,  highly distressed,  flapping your arms in hopeless anxiety.  “are you alright?  i didn’t mean to step in front of you,  it was an accident and i       and your car!  i am so sorry,  is it very damaged?  does it need any repairs?  are you alright?”

you asked that all in one breath,  your eyes blinking up at him from thick lashes that swept out like a brush of ashes on the hearth,  and paterson had opened his mouth to answer and closed it again when none of his words would surface.  

“are you alright?”  he managed to ask,  only after you had started to inquire at a higher pitch about needing to see a doctor;  you stopped mid-sentence to look at him in puzzlement.

“i  ...  oh,  yes,  of course,  you didn’t even hit me.  but are  you  alright?  you hit the curb awfully hard!”

“it’s fine,”  paterson said,  having not once looked at the car.  “i’m fine.  it’s fine.  you sure you’re not hurt,  miss  ...?”

“[y/n],”  you said,  and you had smiled up at him in such dazzling relief that paterson was immediately struck with the desire to repeat the entire process all over again,  just to see you smile once more.  “and you are mr  ...?”

“m’name is arthur,  but all my friends call me paterson,”  he replied,  and he was intimately aware of how silly he sounded,  how stretched out and inelegant he looked compared to your beauty       with a lose twist of hair bobbing on your neck,  and a flush high in your cheeks,  and a pretty white brooch on your chest,  accentuating the line of your throat and the curve of your chin.  

“well,  i am very sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances,  mr paterson,”  you said,  and the way your tongue rolled his name like a sweet had his knees shaking.  “are you very sure the car isn’t damaged?”

“absolutely,”  paterson answered,  quite firmly,  and he leaned one arm down on the door,  as if to prove a point;  it gave an ominous shake underhand.  “uh,  but if you need a ride anywhere  ...  you know,  to apologize for having almost run you down  ...”

“it was all my own fault,”  you declared,  and you shook your head firmly on the point.  “and i am meeting a friend just across the street,  but thank you very much for the offer.  mr paterson,  if you  do  find that the car has been damaged,  please,  please  give me a call and i will pay for the damages immediately.  i’m just       ”  you rummaged in your purse for a moment,  and emerged with a thick white card,  printed with fine black lettering.  “my father,  mr.  sullivan,  will pass along your message.  you can find us at this address.  please,  mr paterson, if there’s any damage at all,  it really is my fault,  and if you find there were any injuries!”  you pressed the card into his hand,  the fabric of your glove brushing along his skin like an electric shock.  

he had been struck dumb,  only able to offer a garbled  “thank you,”  before you had smiled that dazzling smile again,  and darted back across the street,  making sure to glance both ways before you made the crossing.  he watched after you for several minutes,  until you had disappeared from sight,  and then his gaze fell to the card you had closed in his hands.

fifth avenue,  beamed up at him in that elegant script,  barrister and business.  underneath was the name you had mentioned,  and an address that paterson knew spoke more money and manners than he had hairs on his head.

but god,  he thought,  slumping against the rickety old jalopy that was still parked up on the curb,  much to the annoyance of passerby.  but god,  oh god,  that smile.  if your smile was an arrow,  that he had been struck to the quick,  and was bleeding out in the most wondrous agony.  

that poem he had been irritated with was already forgotten,  replaced with one that emulated your eyes to starlight.  paterson smiled,  clasping your card to his heart.