#need to stop complaining about odd poses on couches because then I make things more complicated for myself for some reason

[pearl-kite]

Every time I see that wolf sleeping in the breakfast nook I think about Darlin sleeping in weird places in their wolf form (〜￣▽￣)〜

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

ooo ooo do you have any fics with groaning/moaning/complaining about being full? Bucky or Steve or Stucky or anyone else even non-Marvel? I LOVE your blog and how you always make your boys so loud and noisy 🤭

Thanks ❤️

I, unfortunately, can't think of any fics specifically like that. As you said, usually I make my boys pretty loud because... what can I say 🫣 I just like them that way 🥵🥴 so a lot of my fics have that as, like, a side thing but...

I can write you something like that 😏

Stucky belly kink, unbeta'd, under the cut. Warnings for belly kink, kink discovery, bloating, belly sounds (gurgles, burps, y'know), dirty talk, etc.

Steve and Bucky are chilling at home in their 21st-century apartment, somehow back where they started after seventy-odd years, and they're celebrating by... well, by doing nothing. After all they've been through, they don't need to do anything. So, they're just lazing on the couch, watching pop culture shit they missed. This afternoon the only reason they're getting up is to go to the bathroom, or, more interestingly, mill around the kitchen. Refilling their snacks.

Steve has to use the bathroom this time, which means it's his turn to go get something to eat. They're not intentionally stuffing themselves or anything (not yet 😏), they're just grazing. Mouth-to-hand while catching up to the current day, y'know? Besides, neither of them had lunch today. They're just snacking enough to keep themselves from feeling hungry. So, when Steve comes back from the kitchen with more drinks and some sweet candy instead of savory chips or whatever, he's not expecting to be told no.

"What do you mean we can't have these?" Steve hugs the 2-liter of coke to his chest like a little kid, pouting because he's an asshole when he's not posing as propaganda. As he squishes the bottle to his rock-hard chest, his fist tightens around the roll of mentos he grabbed with it. "Are you saving them for something?"

"What? No," Bucky furrows his brows, "you just can't have coke and mentos."

"Well, why not?" Steve relents, setting the coke down on the coffee table and keeping the mentos in hand as he sits. Apparently, he's really invested in having both, at the same time... or he's just investing in being an annoyance. Wouldn't be the first time in Bucky's stupidly long life.

"Clint told me your stomach will explode," Bucky huffs, no longer paying any attention to the film on screen, "those candies-" he points to the mentos in Steve's hand "-make the soda extra fizzy and it's, like, some chemical reaction. You can't."

Steve makes a face.

Bucky knows what he's thinking; Clint? Really? It's not that he's unreliable or unbelievable but... he's also not the first person Steve would trust.

"When did this come up?"

"Nat was trying to convince me to try pop rocks when I was at SHIELD last week, saying that they weren't actual bombs but they did explode in your mouth. She likes them for some fucking reason. Then, Clint walked in and said he hoped she wasn't going to make me drink soda afterward. Apparently pop rocks and soda or mentos and soda, especially coke, both make you explode."

"I don't believe that for a second," Steve smirks, leaning forward to grab the 2-liter again, unscrewing the cap and taking a few gulps straight from the bottle. When he starts unwrapping the little tube of candies, Bucky makes a squawking sound and smacks his hand.

"No!"

"Buck," Steve turns his big, blue eyes on him. Somehow making them even bigger. Even bluer. A fucking kicked puppy. "C'mon, I'll be fine." He's whining, because, well, he's Steve. "Future candy is weird, yeah, but... it's not gonna make me explode. If they did, they wouldn't sell 'em! And I've got the serum! Whatever chemical reaction happens I bet my iron stomach can handle it," Steve pats his flat, defined stomach.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, fine, he won't stop this bad idea. If Steve wants to explode, let him.

"I've had these before too," Steve finishes opening the package and pops a few into his palm, holding them out for Bucky to see.

They do look pretty harmless. But...

Bucky has also seen less than a few small, round candies and a few swallows of soda do massive damage. He looks at them with distrustful.

As he crunches them between his teeth, Steve says, "'ey taste good 'oo!"

Bucky wrinkles his nose. And-

Tries not to visibly react when the second after Steve finishes chewing, he opens the bottle of coke again. Drinking.

Ugh.

"Stupid-" Bucky mumbles under his breath without heat.

Steve just laughs.

...

Steve knocks back some more coke, somewhere, somebody told him that when you drink soda because it's not really hydrating your body, not like water does, so your brain keeps you drinking, wanting hydration. Soda makes you more thirsty than you'd be otherwise. Steve feels that now. Mouth wanting more. These days coke doesn't taste the same as it used to, but it's still good.

As Steve is swallowing his last sip, his belly gurgles. Carbonation shifting around in his stomach. Steve can feel it. It doesn't matter what it feels like though. It's mostly what it sounds like.

It's fucking loud.

In fact, his belly gurgles loud enough that it's louder than the movie they have going.

Sheesh.

Bucky turns to look at him, and he can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of his face. He can feel how Bucky's eyes immediately drop to his stomach, where the sound had come from. And where another gurgle, just as loud, comes from. Actually. The second might be even louder than the first.

But, before Bucky can say anything (probably I told you so, followed by more mother-henning, worrying about him actually exploding) Steve burps.

He doesn't mean to but, oh, jeez, whatever his stomach did to make that sound brought up the gas from the carbonation to the top of his gut and the pressure demands to be let out. Steve can't even try to swallow back the next burp building up in him. It just comes out. It's loud and surprisingly long.

Bucky is still looking at him.

Steve looks back, sheepish. Not because he's suddenly convinced he's gonna explode, but because, well, his Ma embedded manners somewhere deep in him. And they're still there.

Bucky's mouth is hanging open.

Steve shrugs, "soda fills you up with bubbles, y'know? I don't feel anything." He smiles. But... he's lying. He kinda does feel something... he felt that pressure but it's practically gone, it must've just been those burps! He's fine! So fine that he's going to have another mento. He likes the way they crunch between his teeth.

"St-" Bucky starts, never actually making words though. He just stutters over the start of a few more words.

Steve laughs at Bucky's reaction. But. Fuck. He swallows two of the three mentos he popped whole. Oops. Now, he can feel them in his throat. He coughs a little and gestures to his throat. Now he has to wash them down with coke.

Bucky mumbles something, probably something like, "serves you right."

Steve chuckles a little at the thought.

Finally, he feels the candies slide down his throat, into his belly. Then, as he sets the bottle down, he realizes just how much of it is gone. Woof. Has he really finished 3 quarters of the bottle? By himself? When?

Oh, well.

Thoughtless eating. It's fine. Everyone does it when they're not paying attention.

He's fine.

...

Steve may not be fine.

His gut sounds like a washing machine. It's gurgling and groaning and complaining. Steve is trying to not burp despite the pressure and sloshing happening. Yeah, Steve knows Bucky can hear his stomach, his gut is so loud he'd be able to hear it without his enhanced hearing, but... Steve doesn't want to admit, more than his uncontrollable body functions, that he's beginning to maybe have some problems. So. He's not burping. He's...

He's blowing up.

Steve sneaks a look down from the TV screen, playing a movie he's pretending to pay attention to, to his own body. His stomach. All that noise and...

Yup.

Uh-oh.

His stomach is bulging.

Steve's...

Steve's never seen it do that before- his stomach.

His stomach isn't flat anymore. It's rounding out. And. It feels tight. Steve feels tight. All that soda and snacks, it's pulling his abs taut. He wouldn't be surprised if when he pulled his t-shirt up (which is suddenly clinging to him ever more like a second skin than normal 🥴) his abs wouldn't be as defined as they normally are. He feels all stretched out.

Oh.

Steve... Steve is feeling it.

He doesn't... it doesn't hurt. It kinda,, it kinda feels good? Like. Like when he manages to work out hard enough to get his muscles to ache from use.

It's tight and Steve knows if this keeps going it's going to hurt but, for now, it's... heavy. Present. Steve feels... Steve feels his body.

Bucky clears his throat.

Steve realizes he's been spacing out, staring at his own stomach. His-

His growing stomach?

Yeah. His growing stomach. Because. His stomach is growing.

Bucky clears his throat again, "you believe Clint now?" He doesn't sound thrilled about being right. For once.

Steve shakes his head after a second of hesitation. He's finding it hard to pay attention to anything but the bubbles in his stomach. He can feel his stomach pulling tighter.

"What? You're not gonna admit defeat yet?"

"No." Steve taps his gut with his right hand, then tries to hide his gasp behind his left. He's so tight. It's like thumping a watermelon. "I'm fine."

"You're so fine." Bucky deadpans.

"I am."

"Fine. Suit yourself." Bucky says.

Silence spreads between them. Well. Silence other than the movie and then, of course, other than his gurgling, sloshing gut. It sounds angry.

...

Steve sits until he can't take it. He sits with one hand on his gut, feeling every added inch of swell in excruciating detail. Inching forward. Becoming rounder. Steve slowly realizes he's sweating. He's panting a little. He feels huge.

And he looks huge, staring down at his belly.

How much bigger can I possibly get? How far will the serum let me stretch?

A shiver goes down Steve's spine, but, he doesn't know if he's feeling pricks of fear or... arousal? His cheeks heat just thinking that- that this can possibly feel good. He feels like a shaken can of soda... just waiting to pop.

It's maybe another two seconds before he's opening his mouth and admitting, "Buck, Buck," he shifts under his swollen tummy, "I- wait... I'm getting so big," his voice is an embarrassing whimper.

Bucky is looking at the TV still.

"Okay," Steve whines even more, "maybe you were right. Maybe- maybe I am gonna explode." He can't help but rub his belly with both hands now, trying to soothe it but also... trying to feel it. Tighter and tighter. Hotter and hotter. Bigger and bigger. "You," Steve swallows, "can you look it up? On your phone? It's... it's like I can feel myself swelling up. Oh, God."

Bucky is now looking at him, pleased with finally hearing him call 'uncle'. But also, Bucky is looking at him. And Steve suddenly becomes aware that his tight shirt has rolled up to expose the bottom half of his gut. Pale, freckled skin pulled taut. His poor abs! Stretched. Trying their hardest to hold him together, holding the mass of soda and candy and snack food back.

"Oh, God," he whines, rubbing frantic circles on his gut, pulling his shirt up higher incidentally, "I'm so big."

Bucky frowns, then he bites his lip. Silently, quickly, reaching for his phone and typing as fast as he can.

A few moments pass between them.

Bucky murmurs out loud to himself as he reads. Steve makes uncontrollable noises. His gut gurgling as well as his mouth letting go of little moans and groans.

He still is swelling.

Bucky blows out a relieved breath, "fucking Clint," he says under his breath. Then, louder, "it's a myth. You're not gonna explode-" Bucky eyes his stomach heavily "-probably."

Steve whines. Petulantly adding, "probably not but... it doesn't feel-" that good. Was how he was going to finish that sentence. Except. It kinda does. Under the heft of his gut, his dick is swelling too. Something about the fullness. The pressure. It's. It's not the same as being full of Bucky's cock when he's being fuck but it is fullness and it is weirdly erotic.

"It's your own damn fault," Bucky teases. Now that it's apparent he's not in danger, Bucky is perfectly fine to take the piss out of him.

"Ngh," Steve puffs out a noise that he doesn't have control over. The bubbles are driving him insane. Fuzzy and fizzy inside him. Ticklish,, kinda.

It's a weird feeling. Weird good though.

Steve shifts this way, then that way, trying to get comfortable under the dome that his abs have suddenly turned into. It doesn't work. Moving only makes more bubbles appear. Bloating him more, making it harder to sit upright.

His gut doesn't have enough room!

"I," Steve can't swallow back a small moan. A moan! Because, somehow, despite all the gas building up in him, he can't burp. "I think I might have to go lay down. I- I'm so bloated I can't breathe."

It's true.

Steve isn't even being dramatic!

It's like there's no room for his lungs. His gut is taking up all the space in his body. He feels a bit like there's a watermelon attached to his front- his gut is just as hard as the outside of a melon would be. But. It's just the inside that's different. Sloshy liquid. Not soft fruit.

He wants to go lay down, go give himself room to grow (why does that thought make him shudder?), yet... the idea of trying to get to his feet by rocking, heaving, himself up. Oh, fuck. He doesn't think he can do that. Like, God - embarrassment stains his cheeks - like how a pregnant woman can't get up once she's sat down.

Swallowing another stupid noise, Steve finally bites the bullet and asks, "help me up, Buck? Please?"

Bucky jerks his eyes up from his belly to his face. He's also blushing. Huh. Interesting. "Yeah," he licks his lips, "yeah, sure."

He gets up. Even the shift of the sofa changing with Bucky's weight leaving makes Steve groan. He's so full. His belly is so sensitive.

"You, uh, ready?" Bucky asks, looking down at him, hands held out, watching with heavily lidded eyes.

Steve is just rubbing his exorbitantly swollen gut. Nothing, too exciting, unless...

Maybe.

Maybe Steve isn't totally weird for being into this 👀

Any teasing thoughts about testing the water instantly leave his mind as he stands up though. Bucky grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. Taking one arm and draping it over his shoulders like Steve is battle injured and not just enormously bloated.

Gravity... gravity is a thing.

Steve can't not moan loudly, obscenely at the change.

He quickly grabs his gut, hand slapping down onto the side unexpectedly. He's dizzy. He... he feels weird. All sensitive. He moans again.

"Dramatic," Bucky tells him, trying to be teasing but sounding... God. He sounds turned on. Voice rough.

Steve wants to tell him that it's not being dramatic when his whole center of gravity has shifted. His stomach is swollen. Bulging. Still swelling. Growing. And pulling him forward. Wanting him to crawl on all fours if he needs to go anywhere.

Oh.

Steve's knees feel weak at the idea of crawling like this. His gut pulling heavily on his spine, making it arch. His gut, full of liquid, swaying back and forth as he ponderously moves. All that swaying and jiggling and moving would make more bubbles. Steve would grow more.

More.

"I'mm so round," comes out of his mouth without him even meaning to say it. All breathy and weak, the wind taken out of his sails by how hard he is. So turned on.

It feels good to be so round. So full. It really does. Steve is reveling in it. Right now. Walking so slowly. Bucky warm against his side. Taking care of him, one of his arms around Steve's waist... so close to his gut. So close to touching.

Then-!

Yes!

Bucky pokes the side of his gut, voice matching his. They both have to be into this. It's not just Steve anymore. "And so tight. Your gut is all shiny, pal."

Steve wants to whine and tell him to shut up, cheeks flaming. But all that comes out is a burp. Long and low. His sore belly deflates probably half an inch. From being prodded.

Bucky chuckles, "well, maybe not so tight now."

Steve hisses out a few more baby burps. Gasping as it happens. His knees really are weak now. Its lucky that they've made it to the bedroom.

As Bucky is helping him onto their bed, his voice gets reeeal low and dark, mismatched hands coming up to pet his stomach, "I bet you could fit more soda now, huh?"

Steve shakes his head. But, he also, he moves from lying completely flat to putting his weight in his elbows, sitting up... looking up at Bucky, he bites his lip. "There- oh, boy," he pants, feeling all that added weight, "there was some soda left in the bottle?"

Bucky doesn't say anything. He turns tail and practically runs to go get it.

When he returns, he's got a dirty look on his face. He has the bottle in hand and he snatched the last few mentos from the roll.

"Buck-"

"You said you'd be fine. You can't pop. The serum." He flushes a dark red. Softly adding, "I wanna see how big you can get, sweetheart. I... I don't know what this is doing for me. It's just- doing something."

Steve nods, still precariously balanced on his elbows. He opens his mouth.

Bucky settles on the other side of him on the bed, resting a gentle hand on his tummy and using the other to feed him two mentos.

Steve swallows them whole. That seemed to speed things up last time.

"Jesus Christ, baby."

Steve whines.

Bucky brings the bottle to his lips.

Steve swallows until tears sting his eyes. He can't breath. He can feel the mentos like little volcanos in his gut. Fizzing. Adding pressure. So so much pressure. He. is. so. full.

Overfull. He's not even just full anymore.

Bucky stops funneling him soda, he pets his gut "you alright?"

Steve doesn't know the answer to that, he can't even see straight. He might be crying, he's so full. But. There's only a tiny bit left in the bottle. There's one single mento left. He... he wants to finish. He needs to finish. Just that little bit left. His shirt has rolled up to the bottom of his pecs. The waistband of his gym shorts has been pushed under the balloon of his gut. He's already so large. His body already pushed to the limits. He just...

Just wants a little more.

"The-" he can barely talk. He's so full. "-The last little, God, oh, God, bit. Please?"

Bucky swears. Eying him carefully.

Steve whimpers, afraid he'll say no. All he wants is that last mento and a few more swallows of coke.

But, he doesn't say no.

He gives it to him.

Tipping the bottle back and letting it pour into his hungry, gaping mouth.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

By the end of it Steve really really feels completely, entirely full. Impossibly bloated. So tight. So much pressure. So fucking hard. He can't breathe. He can't move. He is fucking round. Massive. All he can do is moan, "Jesus, 'm so full it hurts. Unnngh."

Bucky is trembling next to him with repressed, horny energy. Now empty-handed. No more mentos. No more coke. "What-" he huffs, "what can I do? I," he growls, "you're so big. I wanna. Christ. I want you like this so much." His metal hand is at the front of his sweatpants, squeezing himself. He's so hard.

Steve's mouth waters.

Fuck.

Steve shudders as much as he possibly can with a gut the size of an over-inflatdf beach ball attached to me. He whines. Overwhelmed. Overfull. He wants Bucky too. He wants-

"You can't fuck me like this," he pants desperately, "I'd actually pop. God. I want it but I fuckin' can't. If you were inside me. I'd burst! I... I don't care what other than th-that. Just get me off, Buck! I wanna come. I feel so big and full and hard. Please! It hurts and it feels good and I need you. I need to come. Cause. Ohh, I'm so full."

Bucky growls and lunges for him.

His hands press everywhere. Not too hard. But not as gentle as he would be if he weren't drunk on arousal.

He's pressing and squeezing and Steve can't stop saying "oh, oh, oh," with the way his hands are making pleasure shoot through him. He's so sensitive. All over. He also can't help but let out little hisses and burps and groans. He's too full. He feels too good. Bucky is climbing all over him. Worshipping his swollen gut and then taking half of a second to touch Steve's desperately hard cock.

It is no time at all before Steve is coming in his gym shorts with a high pitched scream.

He fucking swears he blacks out for a moment, his muscles tensing for an orgasm but being too heavy and stretched out to do anything. It's like he can't hold himself together.

Fuck.

He definitely blacks out.

But, at some point, Bucky rips down the waistband of his sweats and gets himself in his hand. Fisting his leaking cock for one, two, three- three and a half strokes before he's coming all over Steve's full, shiny gut.

The heat and claim of Bucky's come on his balloon of a belly makes Steve's still-hard cock twitch against the underside of his gut. Oh, fuck, yes, he is going to need to go again.

In conclusion:

I hope you enjoyed 😳

End note: yeah, I know mentos would've been around before WW2, so Steve and Bucky could have had them and coke-a-cola has been around Way longer than mentos BUT... since mentos were only recently released (1932) when stucky went to war... I have plausible deniability that they would not have actually had them (or been able to afford them, since, y’know, The Depression)

[iwadori]

are you going to do a 'when the haikyuu boys make you insecure' part with Iwaizumi / could I request that?

When they make you insecure part 6 (Iwaizumi,Matsukawa)

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

masterlist

AN: Did I embedd myself in this story? Yes, yes i did. :3 (it’s only a small part dw loool)

Iwaizumi

One day when you were walking to the gym to go see your boyfriend  

You overhear him and the team talking about some instagram girl

“She’s hot” you hear Boktuo yell doing a hoot as he fawns over a picture, with the rest of the guys agreeing.  

“What do you think Iwaizumi?” Hinata ask  

“She’s cute... I guess?” the rest of the guys, grunt in disagreement at Iwa’s lack of drooling over the girl.

“Well I see why you wouldn’t want her Haji-kun,” says Atsumu “you are into the more simple girls bro”

“Simple?” Iwaizumi questions, and the rest of the guys agree

“Yeah simple, you know Y/N... she’s simple” says one of the guys, with the word ‘simple’ rolling off their tounge with a tone of disgust.

“I guess your right guys...” Iwaizumi says “Y/N is pretty basic and simple but-”

You leave the gym before you hear what the rest of them had to say. When you got to your house you bolt straight to the mirror, you look at your outfit and frown. You never thought your style was ‘basic,’ to be fair you wouldn’t describe anybodys style as basic or simple. Of course, you weren’t like those instagram influencers, that wasn’t your thing. But Iwa has known that about you for years... but I guess that’s not what he truly likes.

You go to your closet and take out all the contents, just tossing all your clothes (even some of your favourite items ever) and dashing them in a black trash bag putting them to the side. You were already on a mission to buy a whole new wardrobe, going through all different stores and looking on pinterest for inspo.

You didn’t really talk to Iwa for the rest of the week, since you wanted him to see you in your ‘new form,’ you weren’t being radiosilent but you didn’t initiate any hang outs with him or face time calls (which he did find slightly odd, but didn’t think that much by it.)

Finally, the clothes came and you were kind of shocked at how much you ordered you spent over £200 on clothes from all different places. When you were trying them on, you liked some of them the ones that were kind of similar to your past style but not so ‘simple,’ the others you kind of frowned at since it definitely didn’t feel like ‘you’ at all. ‘This is for Iwa,’ you reminded yourself as your forced a smile on your face analysing yourself in the mirror.

You had everything sorted, your wardrobe was now changed and done the colours and styles you once wore before is now the complete opposite. You invited Iwa over, hesistantly waiting to see how would he react.  

When you hear your door knock, you rush over to open it and model a pose you saw one of those girl do trying to look as natural as possible.

“Hey babe ho-” he says, with his eyes widening seeing your new look “Woah Y/N!”

“Hey Haji..come in!” you exclaim with a beaming smile pulling him inside to the couch. “So, are we going to continue watching the crown, I watched the previous episode and god prince phillip is such a dick.”

You look over your shoulder and see Iwa still standing in your entranceway a bit awkwardly, looking a bit stunned. “Come sit down then, we’ve got an episode to watch.”

“uh oh yeah, sure” he says blinking, following you to the couch.

You got through atleast 4 episodes together, you barely talked as you were really engrossed in the show. Iwa was barely paying attention, he was too busy questioning how you were acting. This definitely wasn’t the girl he knew, even the way you were acting whilst watch the show was odd. The way you’d cutely giggle and ‘sublty’ look over to him whilst laughing at a funny part of the show instead of just doing your usual obnoxious laugh that he loved to hear.

“Oh Y/N, I’m going to go to the bathroom.” he says standing up, you don’t reply you just wave your hand in acknowledgement.

On his way to the bathroom, Iwa nearly trips on a black bag left outside your bedroom door. He opens it, and mildly gasped when he saw all your old stuff jumbled up in there. He picks up the back and goes straight back to the living room and stands in front of you.

“Haji, what are you doing you’re blocking the TV” you complaining trying to see what’s happening behind him.

He drops the black bag infront of you and you internally curse yourself for not moving. You stare at him waiting for him to say something.

“Well whats this then.” he says looking down at you, almost like a disapproving dad.

“Clothes.” you say smartly, knowing what he was asking.

“You know what I meant Y/N, why are all your clothes in a garbage bag.”  

“Because I wanted to put them there,” you wanted to seem as nochalant about it as possible as if putting all your clothes in a garbage bag doesn’t make you feel sad.

“Yeah but why?” he says sitting down next to you.

“Just because I wanted to” you reiterate “what else do you want me to say?”

“Well this isn’t like you, its just a bit random Y/N” he says

“I know this isnt like me you” you spat, standing up “Isn’t this what you wanted anyways.” You head to your bedroom picking up the bag with you, with Iwa hot on your heels.

“What do you mean this is what I wanted?” he says in disbelief “When did I ever say that?”

“It doesn’t matter” you mumble, you start to aggressively take our your old clothes and shove them back into your wardrobe whilst Iwa is just talking. You’re not really listening to him your just putting the clothes back.

“Y/N Stop!” he yells kind of knocking you out of your ‘trance,’ “what is going on with you?” he grabs you hands and pulls them down stopping you from what you were doing and he winced at seeing your tear stricken face.

He gently pulls you into his arms sitting you both on your bed, waiting for you to speak. “I don’t know what you want from me Iwa..” you start your voice slightly breaking “it’s just I did this all for you and you don’t even appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you mean Y/N?” he says sounding genuinely confused.

“Y/N is simple and basic.” you say repeating words that you heard your boyfriend say about you, you feel him tense as you say it and you slowly get out of his hug.

“Y/N I-”

“That really hurt Hajime, I know now that I'm not your ‘type’ but I-”

“No Y/N, you are my type of course you are!” he says gulping in nervousness “I love you, and your style. I’ve always being enamored by how you dress and present yourself and I don’t know why I even said you’re basic and simple I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Really?” you say sniffling looking down

“Yes really you idiot,” he says lifting your head up “To be fair I don’t care what you wear, since you look great in anthing I just want you to be happy Y/N and especially not dress for anyone including me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree slightly nodding your head.

“Good, so can we go and finish the crown and then burn all these clothes?” Iwa jokes as he stands up.

“Burn them!” you exclaim “These cost £200, you muppet.”

“£200! Gosh Y/N, next time you go shopping im definitely coming with you.” he says shaking his head “can’t have you blowing out your bank account for clothes you don’t even like that much.”

You spend the rest of the day finishing of The Crown and you and Iwa eventually both sort out your wardrobe. Your style and aethetic changes a lot more through the times you were together and Iwa was very supportive and helpful of every single change. Especially *insert your favourite dress aesthetic here.*

Matsukawa

You were walking with your friends; Iwa, Tooru, Maki and your boyfriend Matsun. Walking to school as you did every morning, today the topic of conversation was Tooru’s bad taste in women.

“Gosh yesterday was horrible, she didn’t want to talk to me at all,” he complained “all she wanted to do was to come straight to my place, I didn’t even have the chance to tell her my hair routine.”

“That’s why you don’t find dates off of Tinder shittykawa” grunted Iwaizumi

“Well I know that now!” he exclaimed.

“Y/N,” said Makki grasping your attention “Would you ever use Tinder?”

“Well I-”

“Of course she wouldn’t” your boyfriend interrupted wrapping his arm round your shoulder “she’s got me”

“Yeah, but if you two weren’t together, would you use it.”

“Well may-”  

“Y/N definitely wouldn’t” he said interrupting you AGAIN “she’s way to frigid for that shit”

Frigid? You thought to yourself, ouch. Their was a quick awkward silence and all you could hear was Matsukawa laughing with the others laughing after awkwardly in pursuit. After sensing your uncomfortability (is that a word?) Oikawa decides to change the subject to make things less awkward,

“I need a woman who understands me!” he rants “One that can listen to me and appreciate my awesome hair.”

“Goodluck with that Shittykawa.”  

Oikawa rambles on as you walk to school with the other guys chiming in. You on the other hand, were lost in thought. Your sex life wasn’t something you would want to publicly talk about let alone to you and your boyfriends' male friends. Also, with Matsun describing you as ‘frigid’ struck a nerve. You weren’t frigid, well at least to you, you weren’t.  

When you got to school you immediately rushed straight to your lesson claiming that you teacher really needed to talk to you. Which was odd to Matsukawa as you usually all hung around each other until the bell rang, the other boys gave each other knowing looks all assuming the reasons for your odd behaviour.

At lunch time, you stayed in your class instead of going up to the roof where you and your friends usually end up. In the class room you hear one of the girls in your class, Empress having one of her usual gossip conversations with her group of friends.

“Hajime is so hot!” she said, fanning her face being dramatic  

“Of course he is! You should totally go for him.” her friend said and the rest of the friends agreed.

“What do you think Y/N?” she says to you catching your attention “you’re close friends with him right?”

“Yeah, I am” you say a bit sadly “You should definitely go for him, I think you’d be perfect together.”

“Okay! I think I might later” she says smiling. Her and friends leave, but then Empress returns and walks straight to you.

“Are you alright doll?” she asks softly smiling

“I guess so..” you say hesitantly “It’s just something my boyfriend said to me this morning.”

“Matsun?” she asks and you nod in reply “What did he say?”

After you rehash the situation from this morning Empress scowls in annoyance, “Boys can be such pigs sometimes, such a dick thing to say.”

“I know right!” you respond “Even if I was frigid, which im totally not it’s not even a bad thing nor is it something to reveal to people in public in a ‘jokey’ way.”

“Yeah!” she agrees “I think you should go and give him a piece of your mind.”

“I mean...” your voice falters, when it comes to Matsun you’ve never really given him a ‘piece of your mind,’ even when he makes jokes that you’re not so fond of.

“Come on!” she encourages “I’ll come with you and cheer you on.”

“You just want to come to see Iwa Empress” you say pointedly “But fine let’s go.”

You both power walk to the roof where you see the four seijoh boys sitting down and eating. “Oh hi Y/N/-chan and look Iwa its Emp-chan... isn’t that a surprise!” Iwa blushes and the rest of the guys laugh.

You walk straight up to Matsun and stand right infront of him. “Matsukawa I need to talk to you,” you say folding your arms. “Why whats up babe?” he says, still sitting down with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Alone.” you say turning around walking to a secluded spot. Behind you, you hear Matsun get up and the rest of the boys saying “oooh Matsukawa your in trouble” as they laugh.

“What’s wrong with you today Y/N?” he asks slightly accusatorily.  

“I didn’t appreciate the comment you made today on the way to school,” you say with your arms folded.

“Oh that little comment about you being frigid, come on it was just a joke I wasn’t being serious.” he says lightly laughing but he stops once he sees the glare you give him ”you knew it was a joke right?”

“Matsun, some are your jokes just aren’t funny,” you say “especially when they're about me and our sex life in front of our friends too.”

“Y/N I didn’t mea-”

“You just come off as a huge dick sometimes, and I can’t do this anymore if you keep on making these comments anymore I don’t think I can do this.”

“Woah Y/N, are you threatening to break up with me?” he asks “Over a few little comments?”

“These aren’t a few little comments, sometimes what you say is just unnecessary and rude.”

“Okay well...”

“Well...” you repeat staring at him waiting for to apologise or atleast say something, “fuck you Matsukawa.”

You storm away and walk bout to the group saying “Empress lets go.” She jumps of Iwa’s lap and waves by to them following you back down to the school. You walk into the bathroom and just start to cry, “Y/N whats wrong?” Empress says pulling you into a hug  

“H-He doesn’t care,” you cry “He pretty much excused his stupid comments, passing them off as little ‘jokes,’ that didn’t apparently mean anything.”

“Oh dear,” Empress says consoling you “he’s not worth your time right now.”

“B-but but I love him.” you wail fat tears streaming down your face.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” she says letting go of the hug “so what do you wanna do about him?”

“I don’t know,” you say “I don’t want to break up with him or anything, but is there a point in staying if he’s just going to make these comments again.”

“I don’t know Y/N, but whatever you wanna do I’ll support. Wether it’s keying his car or reading shitty fanfiction and crying.” Empress says making you laugh.

The final bell rings and now it's time to go home, of course you don’t walk with the guys so you just enjoy your own company walking home.

“Y/N! Y/N!” you hear from behind you and of course the only person it can be is Matsukawa.

“What do you want?” you mumbled  

“I..I want too” he says heaving out of breath from the running he had to do “I want to apologise. I need do.”

“Okay...” you respond

“Im sorry, Im so so sorry,” he says “those jokes and comments were stupid and I agree I can be a dick sometimes. Well a lot of the time, but I never wanted to be a dick to you.”

“Well you were.”

“I know I was, and I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse what I said and what I have said before I just hope I can make it up to you.”

“Okay then.”

“So are we not broken up?”

“No we’re not broken up, but it’ll take a lot of making up to do for me to fully forgive you.”

“Great! And I'll spend every day to get you to forgive me.”

Which he did, he spent every day showering you with love and affection. He was way better than he was before, you even went on double dates with Oikawa and his flavour of the week and triple dates with Iwa and his girlfriend. Matsukawa, although he still made jokes, he never targeted them and centered them around you in an insulting way.

AN: I didn’t really like the matsukawa one since i couldn’t really write for him properyl sooo sorry bout that one kids.

[happyandticklish]

If You Love Me...

Summary: In an effort to win at game night, Rory ends up discovering a secret about Todd. 

“If you love me, baby, won’t you please give me a smile?”

The game had become a tradition of sorts between the two, a ritual-esque activity that they preformed dutifully each night. Rory was the best at it. She had an unflinching constitution that Todd was rarely able to break through. He did manage to win on occasion, however, usually in moments of embarrassment-inducing desperation. She seemed to find his humiliation highly humorous. When he pointed this out to her she merely shrugged and replied, “Maybe you shouldn’t be humiliated so easily.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Rory rarely gave answers—only snide remarks.

The two were playing the game once more, on a rainy summer evening. Outside, they could hear the gentle drip of the rain, which was putting Todd in a pleasant mood much to his annoyance. Pleasant moods could be difficult during the game, as a contented smile rested already at his lips. Even Rory had a small upturn to her lips, though she was not on trial per se, and was allowed.

Currently her head was twisted upwards in a dramatic reenactment of a ghost, her voice coming out in raspy whispers. Her arms twitched sporadically by her sides, as though she was possessed by some great spirit. It wasn’t really a funny pose and would more often terrify others than it would make them want to laugh. She knew Todd though, and knew that he would find the pose and the fact that she was being something so ridiculously fake amusing. It worked. A smile, then a chuckle, then a laugh broke through as he struggled through the words.

“Oh c’mon,” she complained, lowering her head back and glaring at him. “You always make it too easy; it hardly feels like a win anymore.”

“I can’t help it,” Todd insisted. “It’s more your fault than mine. Maybe you should stop being so funny.”

“Maybe you should learn self-discipline.”

“I have self-discipline.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“One round,” she determined, holding up a steady finger. “If you can last through at least one round without laughing than I’ll believe it.”

“It’s your turn though,” he pointed out. “You’re breaking the rules.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just chicken.”

“I’m clearly not a—oh.” He frowned. “You’re not funny, you know.”

“Agree to disagree. So you accept my challenge, then?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Todd deliberated for a moment. He had held out against her in the past before, so it was possible. Besides, there was something about that taunting smile of hers, the quick of her brow, the wrinkled eyes, that made him unable to resist her. “Alright. Fine, I suppose. Also, that is extraordinarily unfair, challenging my masculinity over every little challenge.”

“Quit letting me challenge your masculinity and I won’t do it,” she countered. It was an irrefutable argument and Todd closed his mouth on what would have been a snarky reply, instead sitting up and waiting for her to begin.

When they had first discovered the game, they had created their own ground rules to even out the odds. Frowning was forbidden, as it allowed you to force your reactions away from their natural course; straight face only. Eye contact must be kept at all times; Todd had cheated a great many times with that before the rule was put in place. And lastly, no touching.

Rory liked to play hooky with this rule. She was a great fan of the “almost-touch”, pressing her body so close to his at times that his hair stood on end. As a result of this, Todd was unsurprised when she crawled across the bed to him, kneeling directly before him. What he was not expecting was for her to raise her hands and hover them directly on either side of him, her fingers curled in just slightly. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart rate quickening.

“No touching,” he reminded her, his voice barely reaching above a whisper.

“I’m not,” she said, holding his gaze tantalizingly in hers. She wiggled her fingers in the air and he clenched his hands into fists. If he squirmed at all he would go right into her waiting hands.

This was wholly unfair.

“Baby,” she said, leaning in so her breath hit the shell of his ear. “If you love me, won’t you please give me a smile?”

His lips wobbled perilously, his mind unable to focus on anything but those fingers, so treacherously close to his skin. She couldn’t have known. She couldn’t have known he was ticklish, or that this specific method would have such an effect on him. Yet she did and it was and Todd was so very, very fucked.

“Baby,” he started, a smile almost, almost, slipping onto his lips. “I l-love you…”

“Yes?” Rory asked, raising an eyebrow and sending shudders down his spine. Despite his better judgement his gaze flickered down to her hands and a sudden, panicky euphoria filled him.

“B-But I just can’t smile!” he exclaimed, his words bursting out of him in a breathy giggle as he fell back away from her. “Okay, that is unfair!”

“What’s unfair?” she questioned, crawling towards him on the couch. “That you suck at this game?”

“Rory—” he protested as she swung a leg over him, effectively straddling him. “Wait—”

“Or could it be,” she continued, poking him repeatedly in the stomach. “That you’re so ticklish that you can’t even handle the thought of it happening without laughing?”

“Thihis ihis m-mean!” Todd yelped, squirming away from her. “A-Ahand cheheating!”

“That is bullshit, and you know it.” She grabbed both hands, raising them far above his head. “The rule is no touching, and I never touched you. How come I never knew you were ticklish, by the way? Because, and I mean this in the best way, it is absolutely fucking adorable. Are you ticklish everywhere?”

“I don’t know,” Todd responded honestly, attempting to bring his hands down before realizing that they were well and truly trapped. It seemed unfair that Rory was yet another person that was physically stronger than him, and yet here they were. “No one’s ever really tried.”

“Really?” she asked, curiosity lighting up her eyes in the way he loved. “No one? Not past lovers, or those friends of yours? Not even family members?”

“Well, I’ve been tickled before,” he corrected apprehensively; she didn’t have a hand free to tickle him, as they were both fairly preoccupied holding him down, yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had some trick up her sleeve. “Just not properly. Most people start and stop. Besides, I’ve never been a very physical person so most people simply assume I dislike it.”

“Do you dislike it?” Rory asked, not releasing him, but waiting cautiously for his reply. He knew she would respect whatever answer he gave her, which might have been why he said what he did next.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. He had considered denying her outright, as it seemed the easiest way out of the situation, but for some reason he hadn’t. He hadn’t been tickled in a while, and it hadn’t been wholly terrible when she had done it to him earlier. A curiosity gripped his mind, and he found himself just as eager to know the answer to her question. “I suppose you would have to find out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

“It’s not not an invitation.”

“I hate double negatives,” she declared. “They tend to complicate things.” She smiled. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.” Todd paused, hesitant to hear the answer, but decided to ask regardless. “I don’t mean to offend, but how exactly are you going to tickle me if your hands are—oh!”

The surprised gasp was ripped from him as she leaned down suddenly, pressing a soft kiss against his stomach. At first he was only startled, but when she started to press even more kisses along his stomach, each one light and fleeting across his skin, he began to squirm against his will. He tensed, inhaling sharply as the barest of smiles begun to tug at his lips.

“Rory.”

She didn’t answer, moving her kisses eastwards towards his sides, which somehow made everything much, much worse.

“R-Rory,” he stammered again, his fingers gripping onto the fabric of the couch. “Rory, wait, hold on.”

She paused, glancing up at him. “Is this okay?”

Strangely enough, it was. Though at the time the sensations had been entirely unbearable, Todd found that he missed their absence now. He flushed, diverting his gaze towards the cluster of bushes outside their window in an effort not to meet her eyes. “I—uh, yeah, it’s okay. It just, um, it really tickles.”

“Does it?” Rory confirmed, sounding almost surprised, though pleasantly so. “That’s good to know. I guess I’ll continue, then?”

Todd could only manage to nod.

Soft lips brushing like feathers against his skin, words murmured that formed vibrations rippling across his nerves. His laugh never rose above a stuttering giggle, sometimes a squeak if she hit a good spot. Still, there grew a kind of desperation in that simple tickling, so horridly soft that he thought he might implode from the inside. His eyes were closed as he drank in the sensations, his lips upturned in an eternal grin. He needed her to stop and yet he never wanted it to end.

Todd wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Rory whispered across the lines of his hips, and he huffed on an incredulous chuckle; whether this was from her comment or the way her breath brushed over such a sensitive spot was unknown. “Really, I mean it. You’re fucking beautiful.”

A blush spread like wildfire across his body, beginning at his cheeks and ending where her lips touched him. “I—uh, thank you. C-Cohould you maybe move to a new s-spot, thohough?” His body was tensed like a bowstring under her. “It, uh, hah, ihit r-really tihickles there.”

“What?” she teased, pressing a series of deathly light kisses along the area. He spluttered over a frantic giggle. “Here? Are you ticklish here, Todd?”

“Y-Yehehes!” he insisted, tugging at his arms but not trying, not really. “A-A lohot, a-ahactually!”

“Interesting,” she mused. “I wonder what would happen if I used my nails?”

His eyes widened in a panic. “W-What? Wait, Rory—”

Before he could protest, she had let go of his hands and was scribbling her fingers over the spot experimentally. Todd snorted, his torso flying forward and his arms shooting down. He managed to jerk his hands up right in time, however, just barely stopping himself from pushing her away. “O-Ohoho my gohohod! S-Shihihit, thahahat tihihickles!”

“I believe you’ve mentioned that, yeah.”

“R-Rohohory, Ihihi cahahan’t,” Todd protested. “Yohohou dohohon’t uhuhunderstand!”

“I don’t? Really? Then how come you’re not stopping me right now?”

Todd groaned, flailing his arms around wildly and finally settling on covering his face with his hands. “Yohohou’re sohoho mehehehean!”

Rory leaned forward suddenly, kissing his cheek. “You love it.”

Todd hated to admit that he did.

He managed to last for another thirty seconds, but when Rory found the spot on his hips that connected to his lower stomach, he found he couldn’t take it anymore. He sprung forward, quickly pulling her hands away. “Ohohokay, ohokay, enohough!”

Rory let up, smirking triumphantly at him. “I win.”

He dropped his forehead on her shoulder, still holding her hands. “I don’t remember it being a competition,” he muttered into her sweater.

“It’s always a competition.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, letting the rain patter softly outside. Slowly, his breathing calmed and the flush receded from his cheeks. He could feel the rhythmic thumping of her heart beating against her chest, and he allowed himself to fade into it, content in that moment.

Throughout the rest of their game, Rory remained the sole winner, as Todd found himself unable to stop smiling, no matter what he did. And though Rory bragged about her superior skills long after they had finished the game, Todd couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

[duskwitch]

Lorenz X Lysithea #2, I guess!

We left off with Lorenz being an even more doting husband than he already was before, if that was anyhow possible, paired with him feeling guilty over the artificial crest of Gloucester as if he had personally caused Lysithea's current condition.

With Lorenz feeling undeserving of even being in Lysithea’s presence, he tries to help her in the only way left for him: Throwing more money at the problem! He considers the feasibility of building an aqueduct to make sure she gets the cleanest water possible. Fortunately, he’s still a dutiful nobleman and abandons the plan when he realizes that he’d have to raise taxes to ludicrous heights to see it through. He settles for investing into orchards and sugar beets instead.

Lorenz doubles the army of servants that follow Lysithea around, making sure she’s well-fed, well-hydrated, well-clothed and generally cared for as best as humanly possible. There are even servants for more... aham... specific needs but Lysithea sends them away. Instead, she threatens to spend the night on the floor next to the couch in Lorenz’s study if he doesn’t come back to bed already!

Needless to say, she is very frustrated with the way Lorenz avoids her ever since she told him about her second crest. She eventually yells at him, telling him to stop wallowing in self-pity and if he really cared for her he’d man up and stay by her side instead of running away. Which makes Lorenz finally realize what he’s been doing and apologize profusely, to the point where she has to tell him to shut up or she’ll Luna his ass.

Now, let’s get to what most of you are probably here for after the previous post: Children!

Fyi, none of the endings in which Lysithea does not get healed from her two crests mentions children. Which can mean one of 3 things:

The double crest makes her sterile and “naturally“ prevents her from having children.

She does not trust her body to handle, let alone survive, pregnancy and actively decides against it because she doesn’t want to carry a child just to risk them dying with her before even being born.

She doesn’t like the idea of leaving her husband behind to care for their child on his own. Kinda understandable when we’re talking about Raphael, Cyril, Felix and Ignatz. I do not trust Lorenz to raise a child by himself either but he at least has the resources and is not as bad with the emotional aspect of it as, say, Felix.

For the purpose of this headcanon I’m going with the second one.

The fact stands that, as one of the last major houses of the old Alliance territory, House Gloucester needs an heir. Both Lorenz and Lysithea understand that. Lysithea could technically have a child but delivering it would likely kill her. That’s what the doctors predict, anyway.

They could adopt an orphan. Goddess knows, the war has produced too many of them. From a narrative standpoint, it would make sense if it was a child from Remire. Lysithea would definitely want to make up for their incompetence back when the tragedy occured. And since he didn’t marry a commoner in this timeline, raising one as his own child would be a great wrap for Lorenz’s character arc. It doesn’t matter that the Gloucester bloodline won’t live on. In a new, peaceful world Thyrsus wouldn’t be of much use anyway.

There is also the possibility that Lorenz has to find another woman to bear his child. Oh, he HATES it! But it is a compromise between saving his wife and saving his bloodline that he has to make. The lady in question is a widow of lesser noble birth who’s family isn’t important enough to ever pose a threat to House Gloucester politically. She already has children, so there is a smaller risk that she’d refuse to give up the child when the day comes. Obviously, she’s compensated quite well for her troubles. Lysithea only meets her a couple of times. Lorenz a couple more times, but he doesn’t talk about it. Despite the necessity, he feels great shame. In fact, all of it is kept secret and officially Lysithea bore the child and lived against all odds.

Last but not least there’s the timeline in which Lysithea insists that if she has to die early she at least wants to bear Lorenz’s child. There is A LOT of arguing involved in this one. He can’t do that! It’s as if she’s asking him to kill her himself! (*insert very dark and very inappropriate joke*) Eventually, though, Lorenz accepts Lysithea’s wishes. When she learns that she’s pregnant she looks like she couldn’t be happier. Lorenz smiles too, despite what feels like a dagger being driven through his heart. He has the child’s room built exactly like Lysithea wants it. A section in their library is dedicated to all the books she wants their child to read. Since she doesn’t know if it will be a boy or a girl, she picks out a bunch of adorable clothes that would suit both. They spend hours coming up with names. Lysithea eventually complains that Lorenz can’t just agree with all of her suggestions. How is she supposed to choose one?

She doesn’t get to.

Lysithea dies giving birth to her child, just as the physicians predicted. Lorenz does not cry upon being told that his wife passed away. Which is not saying he was prepared for this moment. His tears had simply run dry a while ago already. But he had sworn to raise their child with all the love he could give. And later in life his former classmates would tease him for being as doting a father as Seteth was as a brother.

... Nope, nope, NOPE! Too sad! We all know Lorenz would rather hunt down Hanneman and Linhardt and breathe down their necks for however long it takes them to cure Lysithea before any of this happens! Oh, you want to go fishing? Here, have one, freshly Ragnaroked this morning. Now, get back to work!

[nightamreb0y]

Do your thoughts make you a monster?

Since COVID started I found myself relatively unscathed by the Pandemic. Still allowed to work I enjoyed the luxury of a reason to leave the house that so many were denied. But these disadvantages didn’t sway too far from my household as even my partner was told one day to not come in again until the city was back up and running.

I think still in a position of relative normalcy you start to feel guilty...and then past the guilt you start to feel apathetic. This is something that’s more difficult to talk about openly with people so adversely affected by the virus. Now I’m not saying I’m worse off or even comparable to what others might experience, but there’s a certain tone of “well, stop complaining you can still do...” x y and z from people when you start talking about your lack of motivation or your general disdain for every day life. “Yeah you can leave the house though” “at least you’re still working!” “How can you be over it? Nothings changed”

Well the whole fucking world is shit right now. Everything is exhausting, I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted coming to work every day doing the same thing which I normally love. I’m exhausted sitting in the car by myself listening to the same music 1 hour a day. I’m exhausted at home. I’m exhausted in my own head. I’m just. Fucking. Exhausted.

The last few weeks I’ve been experiencing what the internet calls “intrusive thoughts.” These are unwanted thoughts that supposedly everyone gets but they don’t go away quickly. They’re disgusting thoughts that only monsters would want to have. I’m not going to share them here because I don’t want to give it more time in my head or in the ether than they already have. But so poses my question, Knowing you won’t act on them, do the thoughts in your head make you a monster? If these intrusive thoughts in my head persist for long enough will I give into them? Will they start to seem normal? Will I ever act on them?

I hope not.

I really hope not.

I’ve always been weary of what people think of me, I’m pretty narcissistic like that. Apart of me thinks that the reason I’m having these thoughts is because they’re so at odds with what’s right and what is acceptable to people.

I want people to like me.

I don’t want to be a monster.

These thoughts are intrusive. They make me sick and they make me question every single thing that goes on in my day.

They make me question who I am.

It’s probably no surprise to some that this sort of thing happens during a pandemic. There’s so much negativity in the air, why not add to it with some unbearable mental strain.

Prior to this I never had much experience in mental health, I was never great at comforting people because I always wanted to give a solution, but this, I’m starting to see the other side of it. I’m starting to, not understand, but to see that there feels like there isn’t a solution. Right now I’m this moment I feel like there is no solution. But tonight I might get home hug my boyfriend and there’s no thoughts. Or I might sit down on the couch and the thoughts are still there.

The doctor gave me some Valium the first time this happened thinking maybe I was just having a breakdown from months of pent up stress. It seemed to work the first time after a few days of sleep and crying it went away and I thought oh my god I just needed to cry it out.

But now it’s back, it’s back and it sucks. I don’t want to keep taking Valium, just another thing to feel guilty about.

The doctor told me “you’re not your thoughts” but sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

It’s scary.

I don’t want to be a monster.

These thoughts are intrusive and I’m exhausted...

Thanks for reading my ramblings, if you’re experiencing something similar let me know. Always happy to talk.

[takaraphoenix]

Hello! I'm a new fan so I haven't read all of your fics yet but I love the way you wright! I was wondering if you would do another Luke/Percy/Octavian fic. I was thinking maybe Luke and Tavy are really annoying everyone so matchmaker!Percy gets them together to make them more bearable but neither of them want to submit as they are both more dominant. Percy then has to find them a cute sub but he is oblivious to the fact that he is perfect for them. You don't have to do it but it would be great x

Percy grinned when he saw Annabeth and Rachel sprawled out on the couch in the praetors' house. That in itself wasn't too rare; the Greek people in power usually always stayed at the praetors' when visiting New Rome. It was all a part of improving relations between Greeks and Romans.

"What's with the long faces, Jay?", asked Percy curiously.

The praetors, Jason and Reyna, sat opposite Annabeth and Rachel, with equally irritated looks. That was also not too rare. It was a lot of work trying to make Greeks and Romans work together. Sure, they had, on a very small scale worked together during the Giant War – three Romans and four Greeks, while the other Romans and Greeks were nearly fighting an all-out war of their own.

So after the war, the leaders' priority was to work together, to find common ground so Greeks and Romans would be able to aid each other. And that was not easy, because the average demigods already had their reservations, the senate and the council of cabin heads respectively were even worse. The only ones who seemed to share one mindset were the actual leaders – Annabeth Chase and Luke Castellan on the Greek side and on the Roman side, Jason Grace and Reyna Don't-Say-Her-Full-Name (Percy had done that once and his lower back still hurt just thinking about it). While not actually leaders, the Oracle of Delphi and the augur were highly respected and high ranking in their own rights, so Rachel and Octavian usually were a part of the negotiations.

"It's Octavian", grunted Jason pointedly.

"And Luke", added Annabeth with her head tilted back.

"And the fact that they're not fucking", supplied Rachel.

"Rachel", groaned Reyna and made a face. "Why would you make me picture that."

"What? I'm just saying what everybody is thinking. They are so busy posing and growling at each other and puffing their chests", snorted Rachel. "It's hijacking most meetings at this point."

"Oh. You think they're... into each other?", asked Percy surprised.

And okay, the four identical pointed looks he received at that were nearly insulting. "You are literally the last person to learn. They're doing this annoying alpha-thing of showing off, only that it's not working because they're both alphas, which is highly unusual in our society."

"Yeah, Reyna's right", agreed Jason with a shrug. "Alpha-alpha relationships are... not common."

"They're rare even in our society", sighed Annabeth softly.

Percy tilted his head thoughtfully and okay, he couldn't think of any alpha-alpha couples either – Clarisse was an alpha while Chris was a beta, Beckendorf was an alpha and Silena an omega, Grover a beta and Juniper also a beta. Huh. He furrowed his brows before sitting down between Rachel and Annabeth. Rachel was a beta, while Annabeth was an omega just like Percy. Luke and Annabeth were the leaders of the Greeks, had been way before Percy had arrived at camp. When Kronos started rising, Luke as the Greek pack's Alpha had stood protectively at the front lines.

When the Giant War happened and Hera thought to memory-wipe and kidnap the Greeks and Romans' power-houses, leaving Jason very confused at Camp Half-Blood and an equally confused Percy at Camp Jupiter, meant to unite Romans and Greeks. How that made sense still beat Percy, because honestly kidnapping and memory-wiping one of the strongest heroes who saved the gods' asses seemed more like unnecessarily antagonizing both camps and only making them suspicious of each other since they didn't even know about each other. Taking the leaders and maybe like not memory-wiping them before putting them together to talk and get to know each other somehow seemed far more effective to Percy, but what did he know compared to an oh-so wise goddess.

"Wow. I can even feel when he is sassing in his head", whispered Jason amazed. "Who were you sassing, Percy? And stop getting distracted, we were in the middle of complaining to you."

Percy rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at the other omega. For the Romans, Jason was the omega in charge and Reyna the alpha. Percy liked them both, he thought they were doing a great job at leading the Romans, just like Luke and Annabeth did for the Greeks. Percy? He... wasn't much of a leader. That wasn't really his cup of tea. He liked recklessly running into danger, fighting monsters, being free of rules or breaking them, not being the ones to uphold them. Urgh.

"Well, I mean, we just have to make them hook up, right?", shrugged Percy casually.

"...Sure. Just", grunted Reyna pointedly.

"Leave that to me", chimed Percy mischievously. "You, concentrate on uniting Greeks and Romans at large. I'll... unite that Greek and that Roman in particular."

"This is going to be a disaster", muttered Rachel.

"...Are you saying that as the Oracle of Delphi?", asked Jason warily.

"I'm saying that as someone who has been friends with Percy Jackson for years", stated Rachel.

"I feel so personally offended", muttered Percy with a pout.

/break\

"...Percy, if you don't open the door, you're in a world of trouble", grunted Luke irritated.

"And why are there candles everywhere? This is a fire-hazard, Perseus", growled Octavian.

"It's a candle-light dinner, you idiot", huffed Percy from the other side of the door. "You two are driving everyone crazy with the UST so I have concocted the perfect plan to solve it."

Luke cocked one eyebrow and approached the table. "...Oysters with asparagus... a bowl of figs... strawberries and chili peppers covered in chocolate... This is a very odd meal."

"Perseus, did you simply google 'aphrodisiac food' and serve what you found?", asked Octavian.

"Shut up and eat. There is also red wine and...", grunted Percy, pausing to press play on the remote control for the music player inside. "...romantic music. Now enjoy your first date."

He had lured Luke and Octavian there with some lies about another leader meeting. Luke turned to grin amused at Octavian. He had to admit he had been flirting with the augur for weeks now. The taller blonde was hot, everything about him – the British accent did things to Luke, the dominance he displayed, the way his mind worked. Luke got some more comfortable.

"What do you say?", asked Luke. "After Percy went through the trouble of making us dinner?"

"I wouldn't call this a dinner. It looks like an indigestion to happen", snorted Octavian.

Luke chuckled, though his grin turned more mischievously as he bit into a strawberry. It took Octavian only another moment before he joined Luke at the table, filling the wine-glasses.

"It would be a waste of good wine", offered Octavian after a beat.

/break\

Percy was very proud of himself as he walked into the praetors' house. It had been two weeks now since he had gotten Octavian and Luke together. Today was the first big leaders meeting since they got together and Percy wanted to gloat that he had fixed the others' problem. However, when he walked into the living room, the scene looked eerily familiar. Rachel, Annabeth and Reyna were sitting on one couch, while Jason was dramatically draped over the other, all looking irritated.

"...I fixed your problem", pointed Percy out with a frown. "Why do you still look annoyed?"

"Because all you did was shift the problem", muttered Annabeth. "Sure, the sexual tension has now been... cut. What you didn't calculate for was that they're both alphas."

"...Yeah no I don't see it. What about that is a problem?", asked Percy.

"They're both very dominant personalities. So now they take their foreplay into the meetings", explained Rachel, making a vague gesture. "They growl even more, posing and fighting for dominance during every single argument. Even less willing to back off than before, because backing off means admitting defeat, means submitting. Neither is willing to submit."

"They seem happy about that... relationship", muttered Jason, trying to cheer Percy up. "But maybe they'd need, you know, an omega. This is why alpha-alpha relationships don't work."

"Rarely work", corrected Rachel pointedly. "But yeah."

"You tried your best, Percy. But maybe we're just... doomed", chuckled Reyna dryly.

"No. No, I'll fix this", declared Percy seriously. "And I already have an idea."

"...This is going to be a disaster", sighed Rachel, looking at Percy.

"Talking as someone who's been friends with Percy for years?", asked Jason teasingly.

"No. This time as the Oracle of Delphi", huffed Rachel, motioning at Percy.

/break\

"I am somehow expecting the worst when you stand in front of my home with a... clipboard in your hand, Perseus", noted Octavian unimpressed. "You're interrupting."

"I... I can... can see that", nodded Percy, distractedly staring at Octavian's bare chest.

"Are you checking my boyfriend out, Perce?", teased Luke amused. "What do you want?"

"I'm not checking Octavian out", huffed Percy with a glare and red cheeks. "And I'm here on official, important business. You two alphas with your chests puffed out are annoying everyone."

Luke and Octavian raised their eyebrows as they looked at each other before turning to Percy. Though the son of Poseidon simply pushed past them and went to the living room. He took in everything that was thrown over, the clothes lining the way to the couch.

"Yeah, see, this is what I'm talking about", stated Percy, motioning at the broken vase. "You're being unnecessarily destructive in your whole... you-ness."

"Our us-ness?", asked Luke amused as he and Octavian followed Percy.

"Yeah. You both have self-destructive tendencies and you're both used to being in charge. You're both dominant personalities", stated Percy, tapping his pen against his clipboard.

"That's... a fair assessment", admitted Octavian after a moment. "Very well. We'll hear you out."

"Ever heard of a triad before?", offered Percy mischievously. "Let's add an omega to your relationship, someone willing and happy to submit, to ease both of you."

Octavian drew his brows together even more at that. "...That is a rather... logical solution."

"If you could like stop acting so surprised that I'm not in fact a total idiot?", asked Percy dryly.

"And here I thought you'd be taking it as a compliment", said Octavian pointedly.

"Why would I? I know I'm clever. I'm like the only person who knows that", huffed Percy, giving Octavian a look. "Someone acting stunned that I'm not an idiot is not a compliment."

"You're not", stated Luke with a serious look on his face as he sat down next to Percy and laid an arm around his shoulders. "You're not an idiot and you're not the only person who knows that. I know how clever you are, Perce. I've been teaching you and mentoring you and seen you during your missions and the things you come up with."

"That's why you're my favorite", declared Percy with a smirk.

"Get on with your idea, less schmoozing", muttered Octavian and rolled his eyes.

Percy stuck his tongue out at Octavian. "So I made a list of potentially fitting omegas, both Roman and Greek. I figured you two could... just... try. Dating them, or hooking up with them."

"That's... You put a lot of thought into this", noted Luke with a small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're one of my best friends, Luke. I want you to be happy", shrugged Percy.

"Now, can you leave again so Luke and I can go back to what we were doing...?"

"You're such a horny bastard, I think you may actually need two lovers", snorted Percy. "Have fun."

/break\

"Okay seriously I am growing tired of everyone just looking absolutely miserable in the living room", grunted Percy annoyed as he entered Octavian's mansion.

He had learned lock-picking from Luke and when no one opened the door, he just entered. Only now did he consider that they could have had sex and not opened because of that. Huh.

"Your plan was a disaster", growled Octavian displeased.

"What? No. I found a perfect line-up of compatible omegas who'd be totally into you", huffed Percy and crossed his arms. "It anything, it's on you. Seriously. How did you fuck up?"

He sat down between Luke and Octavian and listened to their complaints about what went wrong with each and every single omega. Too submissive, not submissive enough, shallow, didn't give good comebacks, was too morally upstanding (which, actually came up twice, once by each of them), was too crooked, had an obnoxious laugh, was too tall (apparently, both did agree on wanting a short omega who could be nicely tucked under one's chin. That was... oddly specific but who was Percy to judge; he had been single for literally all his life now), too Greek, too Roman.

"Okay, okay, okay, I've had enough!", interrupted Percy exhausted after two hours.

He was laying between Luke's legs, leaning back against Luke's chest, with Luke resting his head on Percy's for comfort. Octavian was sitting opposite them with a thoughtful look on his face.

"So, any grand suggestions, Perseus?", inquired Octavian.

"Give me time. I'll come up with a better list. Now that I know what you want", declared Percy.

/break\

Over the following three weeks, Percy was a regular guest at the Simmons estate, mostly just to hear Octavian and Luke tell him how every single date they went on was a disaster. They ate while they talked, were sprawled out on the couches comfortably. Occasionally, they even cooked together. Luke and Percy had quite the good rhythm with each other. Sometimes, they'd even talk about other things, Luke and Octavian running official business by Percy to get his opinion. The thing was, not just Luke, who had kind of always done that even at Camp Half-Blood, but also Octavian. Octavian Simmons asking for Percy's opinion and actually listening to it. That was how far they had come. Percy even kind of moved in; what with summer ending, his stay at the fifth cohort ended – training was only during the summer, otherwise the kids and teens did have to attend school and such. So Percy got to stay at the fancy, large Simmons mansion.

So, naturally, Percy was really frustrated as he laid on the couch in the praetors' living room after the next meeting of the leaders. Because as much fun as he had, he was acutely aware that all his plans had backfired so far and thing worked out. He was invested, he wanted it to work out. He wanted Luke and Tavy to be happy – Luke always called Octavian 'Tav' but considering Octavian was constantly calling Percy 'Perseus', this was kind of his payback.

"Wait. Why are you looking miserable laying in our living room?", asked Reyna surprised.

Percy tilted his head up and looked at Reyna, Annabeth, Jason and Rachel walk in. All with... smiles and easy expressions on their faces. Wait. This was odd. Percy frowned at them in confusion.

"Why aren't you?", countered Percy slowly and sat up.

"Because your plan actually worked", offered Annabeth. "You were right. They are more at ease, they joke with each other and agree on things, instead of posing."

"But...", started Percy, his confusion growing. "...Never mind. I..."

He got up and walked out, aware that the others were looking at him funny. With determined steps did he head back to the Simmons mansion, where he was indeed greeted by Luke and Octavian laughing in the kitchen. When Percy walked in, even before he could open his mouth to interrogate them, Luke pulled him in to scent-mark him and nuzzle his chin into Percy's hair. Once he let go, Octavian offered Percy a blue cupcake, to which Percy reacted by purring softly in delight.

"We got pizza and on our way, I saw these in the bakery. I thought you may enjoy them."

"Aw. You big softy", teased Percy pleased and bit into his cupcake. "Okay so, who is it?"

"Who is what?", asked Luke as he set the table, handing Percy plates.

Without words, they easily worked with each other to set the table for three. "The omega with whom it worked out. The others said you finally stopped being super bossy alphas during the meeting. So, which one actually worked out? I thought you hadn't gone to any dates in like... a week at least. Is that because you met the right one before that...?"

At that, Luke paused and turned to look at Octavian. While Percy finished his cupcake, the two alphas had one of their no-words-needed conversations. Percy arched one eyebrow at them as he took a slice of pizza – with pineapples and peppers, just how he liked it. Well, okay, the first time he had ordered it was solely to mess with Octavian's head, but honestly, it was pretty damn good.

"Perce, the reason we stopped going on the dates you set up and... probably also why we are more at ease is because of you", stated Luke softly, reaching out to take Percy's hand.

"...I don't get it. I a mthe reason you went on those dates", pointed Percy out.

"Yes. And you're the reason we stopped", sighed Octavian. "You are the omega who fits perfectly to us. You're mouthy and cheeky, you give counter and your honest opinion, you're not shallow or dumb, you're powerful and strong, but... actually, with us, you've been submitting too."

"You're perfect for us", agreed Luke with a smile. "That's why we stopped looking. And you... over the past few weeks, you have already become a part of our relationship. You have already been balancing us out, even if we weren't really fully together."

"...Oh", grunted Percy stunned and sat fully down.

"That's why we didn't say anything", chuckled Luke, his smile turning kind of sad. "I expected, after everything – and with the age-difference – there is no way you'd want to... be with us. You have your fair pick of alphas to choose from, absolutely everyone."

"I...", started Percy and frowned at them. "Uh... don't know about that, but I... I think you are right that... I might have become... kind of a part of your relationship without noticing. And I think... I like that. I've been... really happy lately. So... if you'll have me, we could give this a try? Together?"

"We'd... like that, Perseus", agreed Octavian, his voice unusually soft.

"Huh. I told Rach and the others I could solve this. And I did", grinned Percy pleased before he pulled each alpha down and gave each a quick peck on the cheek. "Man, I'm good."

[junionigiri]

Peony Pink and Cherry Blossom Tea Ch 9: Still A Crybaby

Summary: Do they talk this time??? Eh.

Relationship(s): Todoroki Shouto/Uraraka Ochako; the Todoroki siblings

Rating: T (canon-typical violence)

Warnings/Notes: Hi to the 5 people still reading this! :)

Shouto remembers the night that Touya-nii ran away.

He doesn’t see his big brother a lot, so he doesn’t remember a lot about him. Shouto knows that he’s tall, and has red hair and blue eyes like the left part of himself. When they posed for a picture with Mom that one time, Shouto remembers his skin feeling cold, like his own right side.

He also knows that like him, Touya is always wrapped in bandages. But he’s always smiling when he plays with Fuyumi and Natsuo, like they don’t hurt. It makes him look cool, and Shouto wants to look cool like that one day.

It’s late, maybe past midnight when Shouto wakes up from another bad dream and feels very thirsty. Not wanting to wake anyone up, he decides to go down to the kitchen himself.

At first he’s scared because it’s dark and he might fall. But to his surprise there are lights near the front door. And voices.

“... are you sure about this, Touya?” That’s Fuyumi-nee, and her voice sounds weird. It sounds weak and froggy, like it does sometimes when she sees Shouto after a hard day of training with Dad.

“Yeah…” Touya-nii. He isn’t whispering, but his voice is really soft. “I can’t do what he wants anymore. I’d rather die.”

“Yeah, but… running away… where will you go? What if you get hurt? I mean, maybe we can try talking to Dad about you and...”

“Fuyumi-nee, there’s no other way if it’s Dad. You know that.” Natsu-nii is also there. Shouto peeks from the hallway and sees his silver hair and Touya’s Samurai Blue duffel bag in his hands. “But nii-san… you’ll try to keep in touch with us, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Touya is silent for some time as he ties his shoes. It’s weird that he’s putting on his shoes even though it’s dark outside. Shouto kind of wants to ask why, but he doesn’t know if it’s okay to talk with him. Or any of them.

(Dad was extra mad today, so maybe he shouldn’t.)

But before he can turn around and leave, he sees Touya stop and slowly turn to him. Bright blue eyes land on his, wide like he’s scared at first, before they change into something else. “Shouto.”

Fuyumi and Natsuo look at him too. They don’t move for a while, and Shouto is suddenly too afraid to move too.

Touya breaks the silence among them. He smiles and puts his arms out to Shouto. “Don’t just stand there, Shou. Wanna come here?”

He nods and quietly pads over the tatami and then next to his older brother. He doesn’t understand why he hugs him, but he does, and Touya does the same thing. When Shouto feels his arms with their messy bandages around them, he wonders why they feel like coals instead of ice.

“Where are you going, Touya-nii?”

Touya smirks. “Dunno. An adventure. An awesome one.”

“That sounds fun,” Shouto says in awe. Touya is so cool. He’s big and strong and he can do whatever he likes without feeling scared. “I wanna go too.”

Fuyumi bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “No… Shoucchan, come here, okay? It’s way past your bedtime, and… and Dad will be mad if he sees that you’re not sleeping.”

Natsuo starts to look weird too. “I dunno nee-san… Maybe Shou could go with him? Maybe--”

“No!” She whispers so that no-one will hear, but she sounds angry. She pulls Shouto from Touya’s arms and holds him close. “You can’t take him too… he’s too little, it’ll be too scary…”

“And what Dad does to him isn’t scary?” Natsuo’s whisper is louder and angrier. “I don’t like watching Shou go through the same thing as nii-san, you know?”

“But Touya doesn’t even know where he’s going,” Fuyumi hisses. Her grip on Shouto becomes tighter. “What if they get hurt out there?”

“They’re… already getting hurt here.”

They fall silent after that. Shouto doesn’t know why they’re worried about him and Touya-nii. Training hurts, but Dad says that once they’re the best, nothing will hurt anymore. So all they have to do is train more, until he and Touya-nii become the strongest heroes, and then everything will be okay, right?

“It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt that much.” Touya stands up and ruffles Shouto’s hair. “Anyways, Shou, crybabies aren’t allowed in adventures, so I can’t take you. You’re just gonna get in my way.”

“I’m not a crybaby,” he says with a pout. He hasn’t cried in a while, not even when Dad hit him in the tummy after breakfast.

“Yeah? Who cried when Natsuo blew out the candle on his birthday cake, huh?”

Shouto puffs his cheeks. “That was last year.”

A long time ago. Shouto doesn’t remember the last time someone had a birthday party at their house. Touya’s eyes suddenly look sad. “Yeah… last year, huh. Oh well.” He takes his bag from Natsuo and slings it over his shoulder. “Anyways, I’m outta this joint. You brats better take care of that crybaby, you hear? Or else I’m going back and takin’ him with me, no matter what you say.”

Natsuo nods and does a salute like they do in the Gundam animes they watch together. Shouto tries to do the same. “Yes, cap’n.” His voice sounds weird, like Fuyumi’s, but he smiles.

Touya salutes back, and goes for the door. It opens and it closes, as doors tend to do, and the house becomes unnaturally silent. Shouto remembers staring at it and wondering if he’ll see Touya again in the morning, playing football with Fuyumi and Natsuo like nothing happened.

By the time the weeping Fuyumi takes him upstairs with a cup of tea though, he suddenly understands that he’ll never see Touya outside his window again.

Shouto isn’t a crybaby anymore, but he sleeps with a saltwater-soaked pillowcase that night.

*

The weeks have been hard for Shouto.

He hasn’t been able to sleep well, eat well. Work had been terribly busy thanks to the upsurge in villain activity. He can’t complain; he doesn’t have the energy to. His days are spent in the OR, his nights spent collapsing on the bed or on the couch or on the floor, wherever his mood and energy levels take him.

People stare at him. At the empty space next to him. Then back at him, as if adding two and two together. It was only a matter of time before the rumors circulate. And they do, with a vengeance.

He doesn’t care, although it becomes extra troublesome when Endeavor catches wind of them and asks him questions about it. Leaving him on read is a simple matter, but it’s a little difficult when Fuyumi-nee starts to ask, and Natsu-nii.

Mom has been quiet about it, but her eyes look a little down when they do their video calls. She’s happy enough seeing him, she says, and she can’t wait for his next visit.

He doesn’t want Mom to be sad. She shouldn’t be, because Shouto’s been alone all this time. He isn’t technically any different from the time he went to see her and everyone else in Shizuoka.

(It’s just that now, he doesn’t have any of Ochako’s stories to listen to.)

But. He doesn’t recall being alone--truly alone this time, without the shield of a fake relationship to distract him--ever felt like this: a confusing state of too wide, too narrow. Too noisy, too quiet. Too much of himself, and too little at the same time.

He doesn’t enjoy it. But he doesn’t suffer in it either. He doesn’t know what to do with himself while in it.

There’s lots of space to take a good look at himself. All his scars and cracks and soft spots. Most days he doesn’t like what he sees, doesn’t like the stories that the sight of each blemish gives him.

Other times he doesn’t care. Those times are okay. He doesn’t have to hate Endeavor or himself as much. The past weeks aren’t any different from most of his life, in retrospect.

The short time with Ochako just made him believe that maybe a life other than that is possible. Even though it was pretend from the start.

Tonight is two weeks… three weeks? since they last spoke. He’s tired and alone and his hands are shaking and freezing and burning again. It’s not different from any other bad nights, but there’s a period of lucidity that makes him conclude:

This isn’t right. Being alone like this isn’t right.

He… needs help.

Real professional help.

Maybe… just this once, he can ask for it. Endeavor isn’t around to tell him that he can’t.

Fuyumi could help. Or Natsuo. Mom needed help, and was helped before, right? It wouldn’t be so bad. It would be logical to ask.

Maybe there’s someone in the psychiatry department that can help him. Shinsou works with them frequently because of his quirk. He’s a trustworthy guy, and quiet. Maybe he can ask him too.

He stares at into the emptiness of his apartment, and at his shaking hands. It’s silly, but just thinking of that feels like a breakthrough. That there’s a way out of this odd despondence that he has plunged head-first in.

Strange, that out of nowhere he wants to tell her. Maybe just to let her know that he doesn’t know if there’s a meaning to all of these things he’s feeling, but he found a way to find out, at least.

It’s way past midnight of a busy day. Shouto stares at his phone and begins to compose a message.

*

Ochako (0032H): hey, so about last time, im sorry. if ur not busy lets talk for real this time

Me (0032H): Can we see each other soon?

Me (0033H): …

Ochako (0033H): …

Ochako (0034H): haha

Ochako (0034H): at the same time… r u kidding me

Me (0035H): Yes.

Me (0035H): It’s pretty… amusing.

Me (0036H): I’m surprised that you’re still awake at this hour.

Ochako (0038H): ur not sleeping yet either

Me (0039H): No… I’m not. Not at all.

Ochako (0041H): so

Me (0041H): so

Ochako (0042H): again? Hahaha

Me (0043H): Yes, it’s uncanny.

Me (0045H): You said you wanted to talk?

Ochako (0046H): … yea, i do

Ochako (0047H): i mean,, i know we havent been… since that time

Ochako (0049H): i think i have things i want to say to you. And to myself too.

Me (0051H): I understand.

Me (0052H): It’s the same for me.

Me (0053H): Is tomorrow all right?

Me (0054H): I am free in the morning. But we don’t have to meet that soon, if you’re not ready.

Me (0056H): I understand if you aren’t comfortable yet.

Ochako (0059H): no, it’s okay.

Ochako (0100H): tomorrow’s perfect.

Me (0103H): …

Ochako (0105H): i’m not kidding. It is.

Ochako (0106H): my shift is in the afternoon, so… we can just see each other early?

Me (0109H): All right.

Me (0110H): We can have coffee, if you like.

Ochako (0111H): that would be cool, im ok with just 7-11 hehe

Me (0112H): No. The coffee there is terrible.

Me (0113H): You aren’t drinking any of those awful drinks if I can help it.

Ochako (0114H): omg lol i figured,,, u boujee

Me (0115H): … boujee?

Ochako (0117H): u rich kid. ur just like yaomomo

Ochako (0118H): haha but ok, we can maybe go to bakugous place if u want good coffee

Me (0119H): Oh. Will that place be okay for you?

Ochako (0120H): ah

Ochako (0121H): … yeah…. Bakugous scary, but… i mean he’s cool and his cafe is near the hosp, and if doesn’t matter if you, before… i mean, i rly dont mind going there

Me (0122H): All right. :) I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

Ochako (0125H): !!!!!!!

Ochako (0126H): is that smiley… real

Me (0127H): ? Did I use it correctly?

Ochako (0129H): oh! Yes. Yes you did

Ochako (0130H): lmao i must be dreaming its so late

Me (0132H): It is, haha.

Ochako (0133H): and now ur goin haha

Ochako (0134H): i think ur brain is also shuttin down shouto

Me (0135H): I don’t know about that.

Me (0136H): I don’t feel as terrible as I have a few hours ago.

Ochako (0138H): thats great… hehe

Ochako (0140H): so… im getting sleepy…

Ochako (0141H): im dizzy too… kinda too drunk, maybe

Me (0142H): … all right.

Me (0145H): I’ll let you sleep it off.

Me (0146H): Good night, Ochako.

*

The sun has just risen when Shouto sees her in the hospital lobby.

He sees her on most days, although he hasn’t looked her in the eye for a long time now. Ochako is in her scrub suit and a Hosu Gen jacket. Her hair is a little messy and is mostly up in a messy bun, exposing the back of her neck. Her eyes look a little tired, but they’re as bright and brown as he remembers them.

She smiles quietly. A little dizzily. Maybe she's hungover. It's not as off-putting as it should be.

“Hey,” he says.

The smile brightens and somehow reach her eyes. “Good morning, Doctoroki. It’s been a while.”

He nods and stares at her, instantly forgetting his script, not quite knowing what to do next.

“So… Bakugou or Jirou aren’t here yet to open the cafe, and we don’t have anywhere else to go,” she says with an awkward laugh. Maybe she notices how he doesn’t seem to know what to do next.

“It’s fine.” There are a few people walking by, with more important things to do. They don’t spare them a second glance. “We can start talking here.”

So they flop down on the worn lobby couch determinedly and stare each other down. Open their mouths, and close them again at the same time. It’s funny how they do that often.

“I’ll start,” Ochako says with an amused glow of her pink cheeks. They’re also as round as Shouto remembers them. A surge of nostalgia overwhelms him. “So… um, first of all… I’m sorry, I messed up. You didn’t deserve the things I said to you last time we saw each other.”

She pauses and assesses the look on his face. “I really am, okay? I was… am, insecure. I kinda got mad at you for things that I had no right to be mad at, and I didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself. I was too focused on myself, but even then I sucked at focusing on myself because I didn’t really understand what I wanted and what I was afraid of. Like… maybe it’s just a perpetual fear of being alone and discarded and unwanted, because I had a lot of that in the past, and maybe… maybe I need to know for myself how to deal with that first, before I even think about you, and...”

She stops for a breath and laughs humorlessly. “And… you’re just staring at me like that. I really don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh,” he says apologetically. “I didn’t want to distract you. I am listening, promise.”

She makes a cute little whining noise. “I know, just… urgh, I feel ridiculous, just monologuing like this. I’m beggin’ ya to stop me, ya know?!”

His mouth twists upward. “I kind of don’t want to. It’s nice listening to you talk.”

Her cheeks flush and puff and he realizes how long it’s been since he last saw that. How he missed it. How he missed her.

“You have to talk too, Doctoroki,” she says, jabbing him at the side with a finger. “I’m not the only one screwed in the head here, ya know?”

He catches her hand and forces it down on her side. She freezes at the feel of his hand on hers, and he does too, for a moment.

It’s nice, but he shouldn’t be distracted. “You’re right. I am… not okay.”

It’s a little hard to continue, with the look of warmth and concern on her face, like she’s ready to do anything for him again and he knows that’s what got them into trouble in the first place.

Well, he has to say words properly this time, so no misunderstanding occurs. “... I feel exactly the same way about myself. After thinking about it, I think the best thing for me to do is--”

Alarm spikes in his gut, so sharp he flinches.

Ochako stares at him with wide eyes. “Shouto? What’s wrong?”

He knows what this is. Even though it’s been years since the last time he was out on the field as a pro, his body remembers. All his nerves are alight, his muscles tense. His brain tells him to calm down, look around, find out what it is that’s wrong about this situation.

When the rumbling starts, he’s already pushing Ochako’s head down and facing the glass windows. An ice shield is already up before the floor in front of them collapses, and the people start to scream.

He hears a lot of things shattering beyond the wall, likely the glass and concrete. He hopes it isn’t his ice.

“Run,” he tells Ochako sternly, standing his ground. “Help everyone else get out of here.”

“But--wh-what is that, what’s going on?”

“Doesn’t matter. Evacuate.”

More shattering noises. A black shadow is on the other side, getting closer and closer. He wills fire to form on his hand, burning the sleeve of his coat.

Ochako, pale as a ghost, finally nods. With the people screaming around her, she starts to yell, “Everyone, please follow me, the fire exit is this way--”

The moment the ice shatters, Shouto’s hand bursts into flame. He targets the brunt of the heat onto the black thing’s face, not even bothering to see if it’s human or not. He can only target focus so much heat and smoke before the sprinklers come on, so he has to do as much damage with one blow.

He knows he applied enough heat to melt human flesh. But the thing that stares back at him--vacant, and only mildly offended by the fire--is obviously not.

A hand made of pure power starts to go down, fingers twitching as if to clutch him. It’s too close, he doesn’t have time to roll away or to fight back.

“Todoroki!”

Silver and black fill his vision, as do the sounds of metal hitting metal. When he opens his eyes, he’s up in the ceiling, and a person made of steel is in his place, holding back against a fist to the top of his head.

“Fuck, that hurts what the hell!” Tetsutetsu screams. Next to him, Shoji and Awase yell their expletives, a mass array of randomly fused bits of steel in their hands. “Let’s kill this thing you guys!”

Shouto stares at this bug-eyed before he realizes that he’s going down. In the next moment, he drops to the ground, the dark matter around him unraveling until it’s in the shape of a crow, floating next to Tokoyami Fumikage. “Todoroki, are you all right?"

“Yeah,” Shouto says, half in awe, half in panic. “What are you doing here? Everyone’s supposed to be evacuating.”

“Shouto!” Ochako yells from behind him. She is panting, along with Kendo, Honenuki, and Shiozaki, who are followed by a rather large group of pale-faced civilians. “There’s no way out. There’s more of them out there roaming the streets.”

“... a whole lot more of them,” Honenuki adds, with a swallow. “I saw at least five of them trying to break in here when we tried to evacuate just now. I made them sink to the ground, but it’s only a matter of time before they make their way out. They seem strong.”

Five more of these. He looks away from them briefly to form a wall between the fight and the civilians.

“We called the police, but I’m not sure how quickly they’ll respond,” says Kendo, as more shattering and rumbling noises emerge from around them. “And the pros too, but…”

Shiozaki sniffles. She’s a little paler than everyone else when she speaks. “I… called Emily. She’s responding to the call, but… it’s not just Hosu that’s suffering from the wrath of these beasts. Nomus, she called these abominations.” Her trembling hands are clasped in front of her, as if in deep prayer. “Who are these sinners who would dare play god like this, and terrorize so many innocents?”

The League of Villains, Shouto thinks in despair. Is this another stupid war against heroes? Another war against the number one hero?

Endeavor’s face flashes in his mind briefly, along with a concerning rush of emotions he cannot name. He shakes these off and stands up. “We have no time to waste, whatever this is,” he mutters, before running back to the fray, with fire and ice in his hands.

“Shouto!!!”

He noticed something while he was fighting the Nomu. There are people all around them, but it only seemed to target Shouto first. Its arms curl, as if in an effort to grab him. When Tokoyami caught him, its eyes went from Dark Shadow to Tokoyami, and were it not for Tetsutetsu distracting it with his steel skin, then it would have chased after the two of them…

This Nomu has targets, it seems. Shouto, Tokoyami, and Tetsutetsu are among some of them.

“Todoroki, watch out!” Shoji shouts, as he himself is thrown backwards with a blow to the stomach.

Is it because of their quirks? Is the League of Villains collecting innocent civilians with destructive quirks? What are they going to do with them?

The answers aren’t very important right now , Shouto reprimands himself as he throws more fire and ice against the Nomu.

“Todoroki! What the hell are you doing?!” Awase screams, as Shouto catches the Nomu’s eye with a small fireball to the face.

“Distracting it,” Shouto says evenly. “It comes after you if it sees you use a quirk. I’ll lead it away from everyone else--”

“No, don’t be stupid!” Tetsutetsu chokes, even as he bleeds from broken skin at his head. Ochako, who hears everything, pales more than ever and begins to move towards him. Kendo thankfully has the sense to hold her back with a normal-sized hand.

“--and when it’s far away, Shiozaki should form a barrier all around the lobby with her quirk. I’ll reinforce it with ice from outside.”

He doesn’t know why his voice is so calm and distant when he speaks. All eyes are on him as the Nomu blindly chases after him, seeking out his fire like a moth to a flame, too fast, too fast. He forms ice under his feet and slides out of the building on freezing waves.

In a matter of seconds, he’s outside of the building, the Nomu stumbling after him. As soon as they’re out in the sun, vines begin to emerge from the ground, forming a wall. To his relief, even though Tetsutetsu and Awase run to stop him, the vines seal them safely inside the lobby.

Now, he just has to deal with the Nomu by himself.

He hits the monster with fire and ice, but it’s difficult because his stance is unsteady, and it’s not doing his aim any favors. There are holes in the concrete, all manner of things falling around him as buildings crumble. There are screams and gunshots and blasts and rumbles of thunder from a distance.

He needs to fight. Fire, in his hand, now.

It doesn’t form. Something hits him at the back of his head.

It’s heavy and it comes from above, accompanied by a body falling somewhere close by. Debris, he realizes. He hopes that the person thrown is still alive. He hopes that it isn’t a civilian. Or a pro.

But there isn’t time to worry about someone else. His vision goes blurry, nausea filling his senses in waves. He tries to form ice when he can’t aim the fire anymore. The glaciers are hollow and weak, easily breaking when the monster moves.

The Nomu tilts its head at him curiously, hands going for his neck.

“Shouto!! Move!!”

Out of nowhere, the nausea at the pit of his stomach blooms into a complete weightlessness. Someone’s arms are around him. The Nomu misses and looks up at them, temporarily at a loss on what to do.

He looks at the owner of the voice. And the arms. And the reason why he’s floating. “Ochako.”

He means to sound angry, because he really is. He wants to tell her that she isn’t supposed to be here and why is she putting herself in danger for him when she was already safe inside? But his head still feels odd, and he only manages a slightly befuddled question aimed vaguely at all.

“We have to get you out of here,” she tells him in a voice that sounds too far away. They’re twenty feet in the air, and the higher they get the greener Ochako’s face becomes. “We can hide up the roof until the pros--”

She doesn’t even have the time to scream as the monster leaps from the ground and gets a hold of their legs. The tug jars them both, and despite zero gravity, they find themselves being pulled to the ground.

Ochako hisses in pain as her ankle is violently pulled down. “Shit! Get off me, you--”

He struggles and kicks and tries to burn and/or freeze the monster’s arms off. But he can only do so much without burning their own legs off. He can’t think straight, can’t aim well, can’t do anything--

When they sink, they’re suddenly engulfed in blue flame. It’s so hot he wonders if they’ve descended to hell.

The monster screeches like a pterodactyl and lets them go. Ochako appears beyond her limit of using her quirk and releases them as soon as they’re on concrete that’s not burning.

He crawls to her, coughing from the smoke and ashes billowing around them. He tries to form ice around them and then holds her with his right hand. “Ochako,” he calls out, weakly.

She stares at the flames in front of them, eyes as wide as saucers. “It’s… you,” she says weakly.

Amidst the chaos all around them, Shouto wonders why it’s the first thing that comes out of her mouth. And then he looks at the person she’s talking to: jet-black hair, burnt skin, stitches that make him look like a patchwork doll rather than a human. Flames are sprouting out of his hands, blue and hot that it stings his skin from a distance.

Blue eyes, cold with anger, stare down at the Nomu and then at the two of them. “Get outta here. Take Shouto with you.”

“Wh… who are you?” How does he know his name? Why does Ochako know who he is? How is this fire possible?

Does he know him?

The man glares at him for a split second before turning his attention back to the Nomu. The temperature is so high, the blasts so loud that the steel bars sticking out of broken concrete begin to wilt like flowers. His skin begins to burn, his ice quirk at his state can only do so much to counteract the heat.

“Shouto, let’s go,” Ochako says urgently, tugging at his sleeve. She’s burning up too, even though he’s trying to cover them in frost. “I can still make us float, just hold on to me, okay?”

He knows that leaving is the best thing to do right now, and that Ochako is their best bet. The Nomu looks like it’s in pain, its movements duller and slower. If they had to escape, it has to be now.

He knows that, but it’s then that something comes back to him. It’s trivial, but it’s when he sees how the blue of the man’s eyes matches the blue of the flames. It’s when he thinks of the way he says Shouto. It’s in the dark of his clothes, the fighting stance, the way his jaw clenches in excruciating pain when he incinerates the monster--

Kodai’s voice in his head: Todoroki-san… are you related to a vigilante named Dabi?

As powerful as it is, the man’s fire isn’t enough to hold the Nomu back. It hits him square in the jaw, making him fly in a smoking heap towards the wall of vines.

Shouto’s eyes snap open from the haze. “Touya-nii!”

His right hand moves without thinking. Another wave of ice emerges from the ground and in between him and the Nomu. There’s fire all around, the hissing heat enough to crack the shield, just enough to slow it down. Shouto moves to form another one, ignoring the dizziness of rapid temperature change around him, all efforts directed on saving him.

The next wave of ice from him is still weak. But the one after that is large and strong, and doesn’t come from him.

“Nii-san! Shou!” a familiar voice screams from behind them.

Shouto momentarily wonders if all he’s seeing is a mirage, because out of nowhere Natsu-nii is running in the scene, dressed in his physical therapist scrubs and bare arms white with frost. He brakes in front of Shouto, onyx eyes shining with worry. “Ochako-chan, go and float! I’ll take care of nii-san!”

“Okay!” Ochako yells, moving to touch Shouto, but he stops her.

“Shouto--”

It’s not the best place for confrontations. He knows that, but his brain’s too jumbled up to care. “Natsu-nii, you knew… you knew that Touya-nii was--”

“We’ll talk after we survive, okay? Just get outta here already!” Natsuo turns away and sends shards of ice careening towards the monster. He’s able to distract the monster enough to get to the dark-haired Touya’s side and to help him up.

“Shouto,” Ochako says, her voice edging at a sob. “Please, your… your brothers are letting us escape, we have to go now . ”

Shouto stares at the scene in front of him, hardly believing it. Natsuo touches Touya in practiced movements, cooling down very specific areas on his arms, face and chest hit the worst by the blue flame. After which, Touya becomes functional enough to shove him aside and throw another pillar of fire at the Nomu, and its friend--

Shit. There are two Nomus now.

Ochako sees this too, and tenses. She looks at him, opening her mouth to probably stop him from doing what he wants to do.

But he doesn’t stop. He stands up, ice and fire forming over both sides. His clothes are all but destroyed now, but he can’t care.

Running forward with a cry, he throws all that he has within him and directs them at the monsters threatening his brothers’ lives. At the same time, great pillars of ice and blue flame cover the two Nomus, leaving them screaming in an inferno of extremes.

It takes a while for the ice to completely shatter and the fire to die down. When they do eventually, one Nomu lies unmoving on the concrete. The other is still standing, but it twitches and trills, arms frozen in mid-air.

Shouto falls to his knees, suddenly too weak to move. Across from him, Touya does the same, steam rising from his skin. Natsuo also has to lean against the wall, his face covered in frost, breath coming out thick and white through chattering teeth.

It turns to Shouto. Blue flames begin to emerge from within--is this a copy quirk?--running at full speed, ready to burn him--

“RELEASE!!!”

A meteor shower falls over the Nomu, burying it under boulders and rubble. The pile shudders once, and remains still.

Silence falls over them. He hears Ochako gasp and fall next to him, feels her soft arms around him and her sigh of relief.

“Oh my god… I can’t believe that worked,” she says, voice cracking, eyes leaking with tears. “D-don’t ever do that again, Shouto, don’t you dare-- ”

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding her close. “It’s… it’s over now. We survived.”

“Really?” she sniffs.

“Yeah. Really. You saved us, Ochako-chan.” Natsuo and Touya stumble in their direction, looking like they’d fall over if they weren’t leaning on each other.

His… brothers.

Shouto is on his feet before he knows it, looking up into blue eyes and black hair and burning skin. His mouth opens and closes. He probably stares for too long, because he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

The man looks back at him, tired as hell, but still smirking.

“Don’t just stand there, Shou. Wanna come here?”

He nods, and embraces him. The smell of ash fills his nostrils and almost chokes him, pushing tears out of his eyes. He’s so weak and spent that his entire body starts to shake, and--

“Geez. Still a crybaby, huh, Shouto.”

“Stupid nii-san,” he grumbles. He has too many things to say, but he can’t think of anything else right now except how his older brother is alive and well and breathing in his arms.

Touya chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Okay, that’s enough, yeah? I think the pros are here, so I gotta get outta here before they catch me doing a better job of protecting the city than them.”

True enough, people in colorful suits suddenly rush the scene, falling down on the monsters littering the streets like arrows. The turn of the tide is visible and dramatic, with heroes of all shapes and sizes plucking civilians from the streets and/or pummeling Nomus to the ground.

“We gotta get you out of here, nii-san. It’ll be harder to keep you outta sight if we stay here,” Natsuo says, mustering up enough energy to lift him more decidedly by the shoulder.

Shouto looks up at them meaningfully.

Touya rolls his eyes. “Are ya really gonna throw a tantrum about me running away from home years and years ago? Right now? ”

Despite the situation, he hears Ochako snort behind him. Natsuo huffs, giving Shouto an amused smile. “We’ll talk later, promise. Right now, you and Ochako have to help out all the injured and--”

A flash of light cuts off his sentence.

“LOOK! Up in the sky!!!”

Simultaneously, they turn to the sky, the mess of people around them doing the same thing.

At the center of the Hosu skyline, the vision of an exploding star rises. Orange and green and blue flames as hot as the sun, expanding twenty meters in all directions. Shouto sees the gaudy blue and orange of his suit, the flashy flames of his face bursting with the rest of the flashfire.

“It’s Endeavor! We’re saved!” Someone screams in relief from below.

“The old man’s still at it, huh.” Touya’s voice is ragged and cold, his smile sardonic. Still, he’s looking up at the sky, watching the fight. Natsuo, too. His mouth is twisted as if he’s tasted something bitter, but he can’t take his eyes off the sky, the sun.

All of them are watching him.

People are screaming, cheering for him. He’s never heard such a strong approval of him. He wonders how he’s going to flaunt this after all this chaos is over…

And then, it happens. It probably lasts a second, but Shouto sees the moment stretched out, painful and slow.

Something gleams, pointed and silver, from the Nomu’s hand. It’s strong, and aims for the middle of Endeavor’s forehead. It misses.

It hits the side of his neck instead.

And as quickly as the brilliant sunfire comes, they disappear. Endeavor falls like a comet from the sky, a streak of crimson trailing from his neck as it does. He crashes into the side of an office building, the sound of crushed glass and steel and stone echoing across the sky, onto the street.

The silence that follows is deafening.

[garamonder]

Said and Done

Peter pays Pepper and Morgan a visit for the first time since the funeral. Set just before Far From Home.

.

“Of course, Peter,” she'd said over the phone, “we'd love to see you.”

Peter had to give her the benefit of the doubt and hope she meant it. He couldn't blame her if she didn't. He hadn't seen Ms. Potts since the funeral. Even then they had spoken only briefly, Peter almost afraid to look at Morgan as he mumbled his condolences, shoving down his own misery and forcing himself to smile at the four-year-old. Her big eyes stared back, unsure of this stranger who'd shown up to her father's memorial. He must have appeared an adult to her.

Ms. Potts seemed to know Peter better than he would have expected, having never actually interacted with her before that day. But she'd also had a five-year head start on getting to know him. Peter kind of wondered at that until Ms. Potts told him that Tony had often talked about Peter to her.

For some reason it surprised him. Maybe because he'd spent more time dead than as Mr. Stark's 'intern' and Tony was not such a stranger to tragedy that Peter would've assumed he'd take up the lion's share of Mr. Stark's grief.

Then again, he'd recognized the look on Tony's face when Peter began to stagger toward him on Titan. It was the same instant, deep dread Peter was sure he'd worn himself at the sight of police lights flashing red and blue one night, and the horrified crowd gathered near a car he recognized as Uncle Ben's.

Peter was used to being the one standing graveside. He felt robbed, of course. But it was nothing next to losing a husband and father.

Peter hadn't explained his reason for visiting Ms. Potts and Morgan. Holding his cell and nervously fiddling with some machinery on his desk, he'd called with the intention of explaining everything then, but once he began to try he remembered who he was talking to and got glue in his throat. He only got so far as saying there was something he thought Mr. Stark would want Morgan to have.

Truthfully, he'd stopped himself clarifying because he'd been afraid Ms. Potts would refuse. Everyone dealt with their grief differently. What might seem a ghastly reminder to a widow would mean something entirely different to a four-year-old.

So here he was again, at the house in the woods. May had to work so Peter took a bus, forgetting to wear his earbuds while gazing at the city turning into trees, and easily covered the remaining distance. Happy could probably have driven him but Peter didn't really want to explain this to anyone else, no matter how sympathetic the ear.

He looked around. This place must have felt like an escape after the Snap. A born-and-bred city kid, Peter never lost a kind of marvel at unfenced green spaces. Gravel crunched under his sneakers. He'd always liked the sound of gravel.

Peter kind of had trouble picturing the flashy billionaire abandoning the penthouse view for a forest. But anyone who'd known Tony longer might have said the same if asked to envision him with a wife and daughter after all the supermodels who'd cycled through his life in an endless parade back out the door.

Ms. Potts walked out on the porch to meet him, dressed in a casual sweater and long pants. She looked around for the car that had brought him and Peter realized he hadn't said how he was getting there.

“I took the bus,” he said lamely.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “you didn't need to do that. We could've come to the city.”

“No, it's fine. I don't mind,” Peter told her.

Mindlessly he'd stopped at the foot of the porch. Ms. Potts came forward and hugged him warmly. “How are you?” she asked.

“Okay,” he said, adjusting the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Um—you?”

“Okay,” she repeated, with a small smile and a shrug. “Sad. Making Morgan a lot of cheeseburgers.”

Despite himself Peter gave her a faint grin. He'd had occasion to witness Tony's fondness for them.

“Happy says you're going on a school trip soon,” said Ms. Potts, turning to invite him inside. “To Europe. Wow.”

“I don't think it's going to be that fancy,” Peter said. He'd looked up the hostels on the itinerary, and after seeing the foreboding Yelp reviews had updated his booster shots accordingly.

“Oh, but it's Europe,” Ms. Potts said fondly.

“Have you been?”

“Uh huh. I dragged Tony to the Louvre and he complained the whole time. I told him he needed to appreciate art outside of heavy metal album covers.”

Peter grinned again. He suspected she was trying to lighten the mood. “We're supposed to see Paris.”

“You'll have to find a cute girl to give a rose,” she teased.

He was hoping to do better than a rose. Besides, the cute girl preferred black dahlias.

Dishes sat in a drying rack. Though of fine quality, everything in the house exuded homey comfort. It was a funny mix of old-fashioned furnishings with evidence of high-tech gadgetry spotting bookshelves and side tables. If Peter ever retired, maybe he'd like a place like this. Provided it had good wifi. And a lab. And pizza within deliverable distance.

As though she'd read his mind, Ms. Potts said, “Pizza's in the oven. We're a little out of the delivery range. You like the works, right?”

Another one of the tiny things Mr. Stark must have remembered and told her. Peter Parker had liked pizza. He always got the works.

(Actually, what Tony had said to Pepper was: “I once watched Parker demolish a giant pizza in one sitting. Before wolfing down a bouquet of churros for dessert. It was like watching an anaconda devour a goat.”)

Touched, Peter said: “Yeah, but you didn't have to go to any trouble, Ms. Potts—”

“Pepper, please,” she corrected him. “And it's no trouble. Eat first?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Maybe it was better for Morgan to get her bearings around him anyway, before he started asking her odd questions.

The table was set already. When was the last time she'd set the table for three? Yikes, don't think about that. Peter was a little nervy being the only guest now, no strangers to act as a buffer between him and Mr. Stark's widow. He leaned his backpack carefully against a recliner.

“Morgan!” Pepper called down a hall. “Pizza!”

Moments later a bright-eyed girl emerged from the hall, carrying an action figure with her. “Morgan, this is Peter,” her mom told her, brushing aside a strand of fine dark hair from the girl's forehead. “You met him a few months ago.”

She remembered. “You're a friend of my dad's,” she declared with certainty.

Peter nodded. “That's right.”

He was glad she remembered, because it boded well for what he'd ask her soon.

Dinner ended up being a lot less awkward than he'd feared. Pepper had a knack for guiding the conversation without forcing small talk, and before he knew it Peter was chatting away almost comfortably. Morgan divided her attention between the guest, her pizza and her action figure, which she rearranged in different poses throughout the meal. Tony Stark was, conversationally speaking, the elephant in the room, and they skirted mention of him in their discussion with the delicacy of probing around a flesh wound.

Peter helped Pepper clear the dishes, wiping them off with a flowery towel. Once the drying rack was full again, Pepper sat on the couch with an arm around Morgan and watched Peter dig restlessly through his backpack.

Finally he withdrew a funny-looking contraption that comprised of a set of glasses, on which perched a recording device wired to a hard drive. The glasses were tiny, designed for a child. The device was a somewhat hodge-podge Frankenstein of tech cobbled from Mr. Stark's files with some additions of Peter's own.

“So, um,” he started, suddenly nervous again, “I borrowed from some of Mr. Stark's B.A.R.F. software. You know he's got it so it doesn't need an implanted chip anymore? It works on a proximity basis now. So when someone wears the glasses, it'll, like, recognize the user and act as a kind of Bluetooth for their brain.”

Pepper nodded, following along. Half-sunk into the cushy pillows, Morgan was gazing at the pink, child-sized glasses, which Peter had bought cheap in Flushing.

Peter turned the small headset around in his hands. “I thought Morgan could use it.”

Surprised, Pepper said: “Morgan? Why?” At the mention of her name, the little girl peered at Peter curiously.

“Have you heard of childhood amnesia?” Peter asked Ms. Potts. “You know how you just...forget stuff from when you were really little? Maybe there's flashes here and there, but it's hard to hold on to much.”

As if prompted, Pepper's eyes flicked to the side in an unconscious effort to recall early memories. She nodded again thoughtfully.

Peter went on, relaxing a little: “As we get older it's hard to retain memories from early childhood. Some stuff will stick out but the little things, the day-to-day stuff, gets lost. There's a lot of debate about how it happens, whether it's”—animatedly, he started waving a hand around— “developing cognitive behavior or because the GABA neurotransmitter acts as a gatekeeper for early memory retrieval—” He stopped as Pepper's eyes began to glaze over and started over with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Anyway, it happens.”

He held up the gadgetry. “Morgan's actually at a really good age for memory retrieval. She's old enough to form autobiographical memories and young enough that they haven't been rewritten yet. Even better, she's able to process memory without emotion acting like, I don't know, rose-colored glasses. It's kind of hard to separate long-term memory from emotion, and that can almost change, um, your whole recollection of something.”

“Okay,” said Pepper, who was probably used to Tony babbling at her about this. “Tony mentioned some of these things during the early stages of B.A.R.F.”

Morgan giggled at the word 'barf.'

Smiling at her, Pepper added: “He said even though the system hijacks the brain, what it pulls back out might not actually be what happened—it's just our impressions. Even the holograms in his demonstration at MIT had to be padded out retroactively by computer modeling. I'm pretty sure he tried to make his younger self a little taller in the demo.”

Peter stifled a grin. “Well, maybe I would too.”

Pepper's eyes fell on the glasses. “What do you want Morgan to remember?” she said quietly. Maybe she knew the answer already.

“Her dad,” said Peter.

Faltering before the sudden silence, Peter fumbled for the hard drive and kept talking. “I uh, I've got this hooked up to a drive. Instead of projecting a hologram, the memories she consciously processes will be recorded on this. So you can, um—play it back. Like a movie, I guess.”

Pepper stared at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. Morgan abandoned her action figure to gaze up at her mother, alert to the change in demeanor.

Would Pepper tell him no? Thanks, but I don't really know if that's the healthy way for a child to process her father's death. It's the thought that counts. We appreciate you visiting, and please have a wonderful time in Europe.

A little desperately, Peter said: “It's hard to know now what memories Morgan's going to hang on to. Pictures and YouTube clips are good but they aren't really a substitute.”

He was speaking from experience, of course, but he didn't mention that.

“I thought maybe she could try it out. And if it works OK, you can spend a few weeks adding memories to the drive. The code is kind of complicated so I'll have to convert the files myself.”

When he looked up he saw Pepper blinking quickly. There was a long moment.

She turned to the little girl. “What do you say, Morgan? Wanna make a photo album of Daddy?”

“OK,” Morgan replied, still a little uncertain but it seemed to be the answer expected of her.

Peter blew his breath out. “OK,” he repeated, relieved. “Here, um—why don't you try these on?”

He passed the glasses to Pepper, who, gingerly considering the delicate tech barnacled to the frames, perched them on Morgan's nose. Perhaps knowing it drew from Tony's tech, and wasn't totally derived from a high-schooler's notebook scribbling, gave her confidence. “Stylish,” she told her daughter. Morgan preened.

Meanwhile Peter withdrew a laptop from his bag and opened it, setting it aside on the coffee table and attaching a cord to the hard drive wired to the pink spectacles. He'd already pulled up the software he'd use for conversion. He rubbed his hands together, suddenly energized as he always was when beginning a lab experiment. “Let's give it a test. So um, Morgan, what's your favorite animal?”

“A hippogriff,” she said promptly.

Pepper mouthed silently, “Don't tell her.”

“Oh—good choice. OK, can you picture a hippogriff? The last time you, um, saw one? You can close your eyes if it helps.”

Obediently Morgan squeezed her eyes shut. “Concentrate and think about all the different parts of the animal,” said Peter, scooting his laptop closer. “Like, what color is it? How big is it? You can answer by thinking about it.”

Morgan thought for a few moments. “OK,” she announced when presumably a hippogriff filled her vision.

Peter watched his screen as live data collected on the drive and took shape. It did not process like a movie file so much as a rendered model writ in code. She evidently had a very good recollection of what she thought hippogriffs looked like. When the stream tapered off he said: “Okay, pause your brain.” Morgan giggled.

Pepper watched Peter as he tapped away at his computer. “I honestly think Tony lost the ability to type,” she informed him. “It'd been so long since he actually needed a keyboard.”

Peter snorted. Tony must have thought it very confining, typing out one line when his brain was leaping ten lines ahead already.

“Let's take a took,” he said once he'd converted the file. “They take a while to render totally so it's low res for now.”

He took a miniature hologram projector Tony had once tossed him and hooked it to the laptop, which now resembled a nerve cluster with so many cords branching out. Then he pressed a series of buttons and a second later the slightly shimmering image of a hippogriff spun slowly above the device. Morgan had surpassed expectations: not only was the image of the creature clear (and a near-perfect replica of the one from Harry Potter) but she'd even envisioned its environment in the form of a forested clearing.

Morgan was delighted. “That came out of my head!”

Peter was familiar with the tech but he still marveled at its ability to draw out subconscious detail. Brains weren't a bank; they didn't store everything, but the software was very good at rounding out the model.

“That's awesome, Morgan. Now, let's try something a little harder. Can you turn your brain on again?”

Like an astronaut conducting a pre-launch checklist, she nodded, straight-faced.

Normally he'd run tests gradually building in complexity but this time he jumped ahead.

“This time, I uh, want you to think about something your dad's said to you. You don't have to say it out loud.” He shot a glance at Pepper, who merely gave him a small smile. “Think about when this was. Where were you? What were you wearing? What did he say, and how did he say it? Can you put it in order? What else was in the room? Go around the memory like you're looking everywhere in a room and memorizing it.”

He was half-afraid he was pelting her with too many questions. While her memory skills were developed enough for the device, it was a lot for a not-yet-five-year-old to juggle at once. But she didn't say anything, just sat with a face comically scrunched up from shutting her eyes so tightly.

Data began flooding through the drive. Peter sat and watched it materialize into characters on his screen. He waited patiently so his typing wouldn't disrupt her concentration.

While she sat and thought, Peter couldn't help letting his eyes wander around the living room, across family mementos.

It was just so different. Had Tony relocated here to escape the city? Following the Snap, it would have been full of shell-shocked mourners. When blows were so sudden sometimes the pain came belatedly, like a thunderclap following the lightning flash. The horror must have been worst the day after, when it became clear the disappearances were, in fact, deaths. Every day he would have encountered so many people he must have felt he'd failed.

What would I have done? Peter thought suddenly, startling himself.

Well, he'd failed people before too, and probably wasn't done yet.

Eventually the data slowed to a trickle. Peter cut it off after it'd leveled. “Brain off,” he said, and Morgan opened her eyes.

Pepper watched him work quietly. Peter felt tense again for a reason he couldn't explain. The data was much more complicated this time and required longer to convert to a viewable format. In the meantime, Morgan toyed with her action figure again, though her interest in it seemed feigned.

Finally Peter looked up. “Um—it's more 2D than anything,” he said, “for now. But I can project it. Just to show you.”

He picked up the hologram projector again and toyed with it. Light emanated from a lens and Peter looked up to see Tony Stark's face loom above.

Morgan watched with rapt attention. Her mother's hands were tightly entwined in her lap.

In the memory, Mr. Stark was putting Morgan to bed. It must have been very recently. For a four-year-old's recollection the image was quite sharp, though it was imperfect, vague in some areas, unrefined and lacked true three-dimensional modeling. The color was muted. You could see what he looked like and how his voice sounded. That was important; Peter had wanted her to retain that herself rather than having to round it out with computer modeling from archived data.

“I love you 3000,” Peter heard her childish voice say, tinny coming from the small speakers.

Tony seemed impressed. 3000 was a high grade, apparently. After telling her to go to bed or he'd sell all her toys, he went out and closed her door behind him.

As memories do, the hologram faded into an obscure, indistinct image and Peter shut it off wordlessly.

The room was hushed. Peter was startled to see tears falling down Pepper's cheeks. He felt uncomfortably like he'd witnessed something private. It seemed a little like eavesdropping.

“Play it again,” Morgan commanded him, and Peter dutifully played it back.

After they watched it again Peter said to Morgan, “You can keep those glasses.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. When you think of something you want to remember, you can put them on and think really hard about it, the way you did just now. Then I'll get the drive back and make it so you can watch them later.”

“Okay,” said Morgan. She might have started right away to try and think of other pennies to put in the memory bank. Still silent, Pepper nudged her. “Thank you,” she added, remembering her manners.

Peter smiled. “Sure.”

There was a danger to this kind of technology, of course. Peter was never really sure about the therapeutic benefits of B.A.R.F. He was never tempted to use it himself. When you couldn't actually go back and change anything, what was the point to reliving it and pretending otherwise? It almost seemed another way to kick yourself for roads not taken.

It was easy to get lost in the past, but a child was less susceptible. He knew Pepper would never use the technology to recreate her husband. Once they'd collected a garden of Morgan's memories, she'd give him the glasses.

For the first time he realized how late it'd gotten. The summer evening had grown dark. “Oh geez, I should go,” he said quickly after glancing at his watch. The last bus would be leaving before long, and he had two miles to swing before he reached the stop. He disconnected the laptop and hologram projector, leaving the glasses and the drive they were attached to.

Pepper stood up with him, carefully removing Morgan's glasses and setting them on a shelf until they were ready for round two. “I'll walk you out,” she told him. Something in her voice was restrained. “Say goodnight to Peter, hon,” she said over her shoulder. “Then it's bedtime.”

“G'nite,” said Morgan, wiggling her little fingers goodbye.

“'Night,” he said back.

As he glanced back on his way to the door he saw that Morgan had not yet picked up her action figure, but sat instead concentrating on something they could not see.

The summer evening was pleasant out on the deck. A light breeze ruffled the tops of the trees. As a child Peter had found this sound ominous, but maybe it had meant something else to Tony and Pepper. He could hear an owl hooting.

They walked across the deck to the top of the stairs, where Pepper drifted to a stop. Peter stopped too.

“Um,” he said, words sounding flat in the dark air, “So in a few weeks I'll get the drive back—or you can send it, whatever you want—and I'll convert them to a better quality. I thought maybe I'd have to add some archival data to flesh it out, but her memory's pretty good and I might just leave it. It's not, you know, polished, but I think it's more authentic.”

Recorded memories were a distant second to the real deal, but repetition was instrumental to memory retention. If Morgan saw the recordings every once in a while, it'd bolster her real recall—he hoped.

Pepper nodded minutely. Her tears had gone and she seemed to study him a moment. Then, without speaking, she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“This is a gift,” she whispered over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

After a long moment she drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders like Aunt May sometimes did. “What made you think to do this?”

“Oh.” Peter shrugged. “Ah, it was just an idea I had. That's all.”

It wasn't, and Pepper knew that full well. He felt dumb; she had to know about the plane crash. Richard and Mary Parker had died when their son was no older than Morgan. Mr. Stark would have told her that too.

Pepper wore a bittersweet smile. Just then he knew she was wondering whether he remembered them at all. If she asked, he'd lie and say he did. Why upset her?

It was different with Uncle Ben. Peter could remember the things he'd said and done. In a way, they showed the way forward. So, too, would he remember Tony.

Sometimes Uncle Ben would fondly mention his late brother Richard. Once, when Peter was in fifth grade, Ben had asked if Peter remembered the way his dad would swing him side to side, making a seat from his hands and whirling his cackling son around. Amused by the story, Peter had said no. He never forgot the flash of disappointment that crossed his uncle's face before Ben's usual cheer reasserted itself.

He hadn't wanted that for Morgan, that was all.

“Come see us anytime,” Pepper said kindly. “And have fun in Europe. Make the most out of Paris. I know there's a girl.”

Peter laughed. “Will do.”

He went to Europe and came back. It was a hair-raising experience. He did give a girl a flower, even though it wasn't a rose and it was in London, not Paris.

“Hot dogs sound good?” said Pepper over the phone. Morgan had recorded several more memories, and they were ready for conversion. “I got some Nathan's from the store. Relish or no relish?”

“Relish, totally,” said Peter. “I'm civilized, aren't I?”

“Hawkeye's kid puts mayonnaise on his,” confided Pepper.

“Ugh.”

Hot dogs sounded great. He'd catch the bus upstate later, right after his date with MJ. He was going to take her swinging for the first time.

.

.

(I actually put ketchup on my hot dogs, I don’t like relish)

[karabites]

so like. have y’all seen this picture? bc I wrote a fic kind of based off of it (unfortunately I’m not ok with writing smut yet so not the happiest end possible for Chibita. he’s ok tho)

At the Whims of Fate (ao3)

Karamatsu sends Chibita a dick pic on accident.  What happens next will warm your heart.

               Oh.  Of course. Karamatsu stared at his phone in disbelief.  Then anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance.  Fate never seemed to smile on him for more than a minute and today was no exception.  Today, Fate had brought him a text from that lovely woman he met the other day.  She’d seemed down on her luck, a little ragged, very tired, but she had a sense of humor about it.  The spring air was cool and delicious, gracing them with the sensual aroma of blooming flowers, though that may have just been her enchanting perfume. Her makeup was delicate and soft on her face, though it had been scraped rough by exhaustion and stress, and at the moment she’d dropped that beautifully crafted pastry on the dusty city sidewalk, desperation and loss carved their way into her dainty features as well.  As a true gentleman meets a damsel, Karamatsu couldn’t help but offer her his services, console the sweet thing and walk her to the nearest confectionary shop to gift her with a fresh treat, warm and, as he had said with a flourish and a deep, smooth bravado, “as sweet as her smile.”

               She’d laughed at that, and a lot of other things he’d said, and thanked him and sat with him to talk for a while.  The warm light of the sun had filtered in the shop like a godly curtain to grace the curves of her face, illuminating her as the true goddess she was. Ah, it truly was beautiful.  Fate must have been in a particularly good mood for him to make acquaintance with such a beautiful creature.  And its mood must have persisted as she exchanged phone numbers with him and waved him off with a smile, then dropped dramatically when he got home and found all the strings on his guitar had been snipped.

               But then! Then today his good fortune had returned with her message! Oh, glorious Fate! Blessing him again with her correspondence, with the chance to speak with this angel among men again! And the conversation was going so smoothly, so destined was their connection, that he knew it was time for the next step.  A gift to her to show not only his appreciation for her, but his commitment, his virility!  He snuck into the bathroom and snapped some flattering dick pics.  Artful, of course.  He’d taken many pictures of his endowment and he knew his best angles. How to suck in his stomach to show a more chiseled physique, how to pose his hand like it was slipping down his happy trail to touch himself, how to angle the camera dramatically to make it look just ever so bigger.  Karamatsu Matsuno was a master of seduction.

               But there was one problem.  Fate was a fickle goddess and it seemed her mood had taken a sudden and extreme downturn the moment before he pressed “send.”  Because at the same time that he was texting his newly met muse, he’d been texting, with equal excitement, his long-familiar companion about what a dramatic episode last night’s The Bachelorette was.  In his excitement, he’d replied to the last text he’d gotten, which happened to be “I fuckign KNEW she was gonna boot him off tho.  if she listened to you shed b stuck with losers.  ya got no taste.” So, without thinking, he sent his incredibly seductive and well thought-out photograph to Chibita.  

               Maybe Fate felt she had been slighted by him personally, because he’d sent the message “like what you see? B)” along with it before he’d realized his mistake and now, if he was being perfectly honest, he wished a divine power would kill him right then and there.  Shit.  Karamatsu stared at his phone in his hands, a weapon more powerful than any rifle, an inconspicuous object capable of destroying lives, of destroying dignity.  He watched as those three torturous dots appeared on Chibita’s side of the conversation and held his breath for the impending less-than-friendly insults. Depending on how Chibita took it, maybe he could play it off as friendly banter? Maybe a “at least if I was a contestant, I know who she’d pick (me)”? No, that didn’t seem right.  Maybe--.

The dots disappeared.  He waited but they didn’t return.  He didn’t really feel like sending his masterpiece to his female friend after that, so he just texted her back “I am more of a cat person, actually, but I like dogs too.”

  --

               It was late when his phone buzzed again.  He’d ended his conversation with his new lady friend an hour or so ago, and he’d been quietly playing his re-stringed guitar up on the roof, pretending that nothing had gone wrong that day and maybe he was dead. The cool evening air flowed around him gently, the stream of life carrying him along through this dark hour, with the fuzzy glow of city lights illuminating the path.  Though, his metaphorical path was only lit by the harsh blue light of his phone screen at the notification from Chibita.  He stared at his phone until the screen blacked out again, rolling over in his mind just how ruined his steadily developing friendship with Chibita was.  After a minute or so of fatalistic musings, he sighed to the wind (possibly his only remaining companion after this) and opened up the notification.

               “closing the cart.  meet me in 10.”

               Oh.  So no text-based berating. That could either be very good or very bad.  Very good because it would give him a chance to use his finely-trained body language to help convey just how much of a terrible accident this was and please pretend you didn’t see that Chibita.  Very bad for of course, very obvious reasons.  Odd though, that he’d need to meet in person just to clear up a misunderstanding, or to poke fun at him for it (which was more likely).  But then again, Chibita was a very odd guy.  He was learning this more and more as he got to know him.

               Karamatsu sighed and stood carefully, preparing himself to face the metaphorical music.  If he was a Shakespearean character he knew he would’ve taken this opportunity to take his own life over the inconvenience, but though he was committed to the theatric arts, he also was committed to not having his family find out he died because he sent his childhood friend a picture of his penis.  So he shot him a text back, “At the cart or your apartment?” before clambering down from the roof and readying himself to go.  

               The text came back worryingly fast.  “apt. taking the cart home”

               He let out some tension in his shoulders.  So it would be just a friendly reprimand then.  Perhaps Chibita had grown weary of the trials and tribulations of texting and mis-texting and accidentally getting dick pics sent to him and was opting to speak with Karamatsu face to face.  He imagined he’d have other things to chat about as well, maybe a new recipe he was excited about or a particularly difficult customer (Iyami) or a particularly obnoxious customer (Osomatsu).  He’d probably offer to share some beers and laugh about the whole debacle and watch some terrible low-budget movie with him for laughs. Yes, things would probably be okay. So with renewed confidence and calm, Karamatsu strolled through the night to Chibita’s apartment.

 --

                 Karamatsu only realized this might not be the best time to be leaning coolly against the doorframe like he normally did about two seconds before Chibita opened the door.  Consequently, he was in the middle of readjusting his pose when the door opened and a very confused and uncertain Chibita stared out at him.  He’d resorted to leaning back with his hands on his hips, staring into the night mysteriously, as if Chibita hadn’t seen him frantically pulling himself into that very pose.  

               “Heh!  An enchanting night tonight, is it not?”

               Chibita peered around him disbelievingly.  “Uhh sure.  C’mon in, Karaboy.  It’s cold out in all that enchanting-ness,” he said.  He moved to hold the door open for him and Karamatsu strolled in.

               “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.  Uh, in the living room.”

               Karamatsu nodded stiffly and tried to pretend he didn’t see how uncomfortable Chibita looked, shifting on his feet and looking away from him as much as possible.  Not on purpose he failed to acknowledge Chibita mumbling something like “jacket looks real good on you,” as he walked by, barely registering that he said it until he was already sitting on the couch.

Chibita followed him in, stopping just next to the arm of the couch.  He’d changed out of his work clothes into some more casual clothes, slightly damp from what Karamatsu presumed was a hasty post-work shower.  That was… a little odd.  Usually Chibita would wave off any complaints Karamatsu had about how gross he got from working over the boilers all night and tell him he wasn’t allowed to complain until he got a goddamn job himself.  He wasn’t about to start complaining about him cleaning up, then. Maybe he’d had a change of heart about what Karamatsu had told him in response, that proper hygiene was an invaluable part of caring for the vessel for his precious soul.  Probably not.

               Chibita coughed into his fist and gave Karamatsu a sideways glance.  “So.  I guess you know why I asked you to come over.”

               Karamatsu nodded, feeling his ears redden.  He was glad he left his sunglasses on, no matter how hard it made it for him to see.  He could still see well enough to see Chibita nod in kind, though.  He could see his cheeks darken and the way he was twisting his fingers in nervousness.  Oh, he really was an unforgiveable soul if he made his friend this uncomfortable. Curse his immense charm and charisma and incredibly sexy body!  If he had none of those, he surely wouldn’t be in this predicament, confusing and upsetting his socially awkward and very dear friend.  So absorbed was he in his thoughts of woe and self-depreciation that he missed seeing Chibita move and suddenly he was sitting next to him, very close.

               Karamatsu adjusted his sunglasses and looked down and away.  He could feel Chibita pressing against his side, pressuring him to admit to his grievous faux pas.  He cleared his throat.  “I-I must apologize, Chibita.  Though I’m certain the image will be forever burned in your mind, I had no intent of sending such a salacious message to you.”

               He felt Chibita stiffen and still next to him.  “You what?”  

Something in the tone of his voice was unexpected, and it struck Karamatsu as a very peculiar reaction. He didn’t sound like he had misunderstood him, more that he hadn’t been expecting Karamatsu to say that.  He pulled his glasses off (less dramatically than he was wont to, though surely with just as dramatic an effect) and looked over at him.  Chibita was incredibly close, his body pressed flush to Karamatsu’s side and his hand hovering barely a centimeter above Karamatsu’s thigh.  His face was very, very red.  Like a beet, but with eyes that were very, very wide.

“It was… an accident?”  Chibita’s voice was tight and squeaked as he seemed to force the words out.

Oh.  Oh my god.

Karamatsu felt himself mimic Chibita’s expression of shock and launched himself backwards across the couch.  He scrambled to sit upright. “O-of course it was an accident! Chibita!” In his panic, the bravado dropped from his voice and his voice cracked through almost every syllable.  “What were you going to do?”

Chibita straightened back on his heels and held his hands down in his lap, holding his back stiff as a board. He swallowed and steadied his voice. “Suck your dick.”

Karamatsu’s voice was not steady.  “Suck my dick?! Chibita!”

“Well what else was I supposed to do?” he huffed as he crossed his arms and his face somehow got even redder.  “I mean you send me something like that when I’m at work and can’t really use it and ya expect me to just—just what, think you don’t want me to do anything like that?”

“Yes!” Karamatsu nodded wildly.  “Yes, exactly! Chibita, I expected you to think it was a mistake!  You’re very dear to me but—.“ A thought occurred to him and he paused, narrowing his eyes in thought.  “Did you… did you say ‘can’t use i—‘… Chibita were you going to jack off to my text?!”

Chibita hugged his arms tighter around himself and looked off to the side.  Karamatsu could see his fingers digging in to his arms.  “Well…” Oh my god.  “I mean, it was a good picture…“

“CHIBITA!”

“Well!” He unwrapped his arms and stood up in his place on the couch, seeming to puff himself up.  “You’re the one that sent me that-that picture! A-and the message too! You shouldn’t send people that stuff if you ain’t gonna follow through!”

“Chibita, I only did so on accident! Listen!” Karamatsu pushed himself back a bit and stood beside the couch, now eye-level with the most dangerous and now personally wronged creature he had ever met.  He hoped slowing down and dropping his voice again might help tame the tempest of a man before him.  “I intended that message for a young woman I met the other day, and only by an unfortunate mistake sent it to you instead.  I-I’m dearly sorry to have caused you such embarrassment, but—Chibita we were talking about The Bachelorette, why would I send you something like that on purpose?”

As he spoke, Chibita seemed to lose a lot of his fire and his shoulders began to sag.  The embarrassment and indignation in his eyes was replaced with dawning realization, with an unwelcomed truth that softened and exhausted his eyes.  His voice was softer and a bit raw when he spoke, “Well I—I said you had no taste and you asked me if I liked what you sent, so I thought you were maybe…” He licked his lips and cleared his throat.  “Did you say… you were trying to send that to a girl?”

Karamatsu relaxed a bit and leaned back. He nodded and hummed in affirmation. The awkward quiet in the room felt incredibly heavy and thick, and Karamatsu thought if he were to try to move, it would be like through honey.  

Chibita sighed, looking down, and hopped off of the couch.  “Alright. Well, um,” he scratched the back of his head and grimaced.  “Sorry, I guess.  You can go. If that was too weird, uh, you don’t gotta talk to me anymore or, uh—“

Karamatsu suddenly sunk down to his knees before him.  “Chibita, no!”  He clasped his friend’s hands in his own, earning a very bewildered face from Chibita as he snapped his head back around to look at him.  “Chibita!  My sole companion on this twisted road of treachery we call life!  My dear friend and trusted confidant! My occasional mentor in the culinary arts!  I could never abandon you over such a misunderstanding.  Even if you completely misunderstood my intentions and interpreted my overtures as sexual, you are still very dear to my heart.”  He dropped his voice a bit lower to heighten the drama and sincerity of his performance. “My heartfelt bond to you could never be broken over something so trivial.”  He considered kissing his hand, but thought better of it so as not to confuse his message.

Chibita looked… well, if he was anyone else, Karamatsu might say he looked close to tears.  But the emotional boy he’d once been had grown into a much more reserved man than Karamatsu had and whatever he looked to be holding back behind his watery eyes and his lip reddened from chewing, it was almost certainly not tears.  Chibita cleared his throat and choked out, “You mean that?”  

Ah. So maybe it was tears.

Karamatsu nodded emphatically and looked into his eyes intensely.  “Of course! Also! Did you say my picture was good!”

Chibita snorted and looked away, pulling a hand away reflexively to scrub away some errant tears.  “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he laughed.  “It was real hot, actually.”

“Thank you Chibita!” He earned another snort of laughter from Chibita, who pulled his other hand away and motioned for him to stand.  Chibita walked him to the door and leaned against the wall as Karamatsu slipped his boots and his sunglasses back on.  He supposed this encounter would sting for Chibita for a while, but at least there wouldn’t be any lasting consequences for either of them.  Ah, unless—

“Actually, Chibita, before I go,” Karamatsu began, turning to him with his hand on the doorknob.  “Would you… care to critique my work in the future?”

Chibita’s fond smile that he’d been wearing twisted into a confused scowl.  “What? Small words, Karamatsu.”

He took a breath, pushing himself to stand a bit straighter in the face of a proposition surely almost as risky as Chibita’s had been.  “Can I send you more pictures?  F-for artistic comment on my technique.”

Chibita’s eyebrows shot up and his cheeks began to heat again.  “Really? You heard the part about thinking it was hot, right?  Not talking about art sexy, like actual sexy?”

Karamatsu coughed and looked off mysteriously into the distance (at the wall).  “Art can serve a purpose and a critique on the fulfillment of its purpose is a perfectly valid critique of the art.”

“Karamatsu I wanted to masturbate to your fucking nudes.”

“Th-the highest compliment I could receive.”

Though he couldn’t see Chibita’s face, he could hear him humming indecisively as he thought it over.  Finally, “You sure?”

“Of course.  I could trust no one else to have such a discerning eye,” he said.

“Then hell yeah!” He thumped his fist against the wall.  “Go right ahead! Whenever you want, Karaboy!”

Karamatsu smiled and cleared his throat. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.” With a wave, he stepped outside and began his victorious walk home.  Perhaps it wasn’t the best outcome, but a valuable one nonetheless! At the very least it gave him all the more reason to look at himself naked.  It wasn’t until about halfway home that he realized he’d walked away from his first realistic opportunity to lose his virginity.

Shit.  Well, maybe Chibita could help him choose a good picture to send to that girl from before.  That would be just as sure to get him laid as any friendly blowjob!

[rebeccahpedersen]

When Will People Learn?

TorontoRealtyBlog

What’s the definition of insanity?

Isn’t it something like, “Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result?”

I’ve come the conclusion that pre-construction condo buyers are insane.

Or, perhaps it’s me that’s insane.

Over the last decade, or even just looking at the past 2-3 years, I have written this same blog post over, and over, and over, and the subject matter never changes.

A pre-construction condo project is cancelled.

One or two buyers decides they’re not going to take it laying down, and they put their names and faces to articles in the newspaper, and it makes for an enthusiastic read.

And then another condo project is cancelled, and more people are upset, even though perhaps many of them could have, would have, should have known this was a possibility, given how it gets written about every time a project is cancelled, and they pose for a photo, and give a quote to the newspaper.

And this goes on, and on, and on, with no signs of people ever learning.

So I’ve decided that there are three ways in which we can stop this from happening ever again, except only two of these ways are viable:

People start taking responsibility for their actions.

Nobody ever buys a pre-construction condo again.

The good ‘ole government swoops in and saves the day.

Is it obvious which one simply isn’t ever going to happen?

Every time a condo project is cancelled, and people cry foul, and I write about it on my blog – and call them out, I get hate mail.

But I call it love mail.  Because I love reading it, and find it so entertaining.

Just think about it for a moment – if you could have your very own clown show, somehow make its way to your office, and act out a routine in front of you, you could basically just sit back, relax, and take in the show, right?

That’s how I feel when I get emails from people who think that I’m somehow to blame for their misfortunes, which have little to do with “fortune” and more to do with decisions.

I have never sold a pre-construction condo to a buyer.  Never.

There are many reasons for this, and the long-time readers could probably list them off just as well as I could.  But among the bevy of reasons is that the condo developer can cancel the project at virtually any time, for any reason.  And it seems as though it’s happening with increasing frequency.

People tell themselves, “It’ll never happen to me.”

They’ll say aloud, “The odds are slim.”

True.  But that’s like with anything in life.

You know the saying, “You could walk outside and get hit by a truck tomorrow,” and I personally take it as a metaphor for just about anything in life, good or bad.  And when it comes to the bad, we seem to always think it won’t happen to us.

“If you play with fire, you might get burned.”

No kidding.

So if you, were like me when was 11-years-old and like many kids my age, obsessed with fire, would you complain when you lit a firecracker and it went off in your hand?

That actually really hurt.  I was on the roof of my garage with my friend Will, and we were taking out the tiny, individual explosives from a pack that you were supposed to light as a whole.  We were lighting them one at a time, and throwing them into the air.  I had lit so many, that it became automatic, and for some reason I decided to shake the fire on the end of the match out, and then – POP – the firework went off in my left hand.

I remember the look on Will’s face.  Just pure shock, and that element of “What’s going to happen now?”

I felt nothing at first, and then the pain came down with exponential force, and it was probably the most excruciating thing I had ever felt up to that point in my life.

The worst part was – I had to climb down from the garage with one hand!

I ran inside, and my Mom put Ozonol on my hand.  I don’t even know if that’s the prescription for a firework going off in one’s hand, but that’s what I got.  That, and ice.

My dad came home an hour later, and I was laying on the couch crying.  My mom explained to him what had happened, and he came over and asked how I was doing.  I thought he was going to take pity on me, maybe give me a hug, or tell me it was going to be okay, but he didn’t.

Instead, he asked, “Before you started lighting fireworks with your bare hands, did you think that this was a possible outcome?”

I was defiant; I told him, “No, no, you don’t understand.”

I went on to explain, “Me and Will lit, like, a hundred!  It was fine!”

My Dad asked me again, “But did you think this was a possible outcome?”

I was mad.  I thought he’d show me some love.  Although as I’ve come to realize, he did, just in a very different way.

The irony is – I never thought that a firework going off in my hand was a possible outcome.  It just didn’t enter into my head, or my thought process.  I wasn’t really being careful at all, or thinking about the downside.  Yes, I was 11-years-old, and that’s what kids do, er, did, back then.  I think every kid is bubble-wrapped in 2018.  I’ll find out soon enough.

I was playing with fire, and I got burned.  Not literally, but exactly as it would go, in a metaphorical sense.

Tell me that you don’t want to hear me spin this story, and this metaphor, into reasons why the sad-sap buyers of Icona Condos should take responsibility for their actions, but I’m going to anyways.

I’m just sick and tired of everybody in life, in every which way, blaming others for their own failed outcomes, based on decisions that they, themselves made.  And then comes the automatic ask – that the government should help them out.

Don’t get me wrong, I think what developers do is awful, and it shouldn’t happen.  I’d be all for a complete re-write of the Condominium Act, which is something I’ve asked for countless times over the last decade.

But two wrong’s don’t make a right.  That’s something else I learned when I was a child.

No, it’s not “right” that a developer can cancel a condo project at will, and that buyers get “screwed.”

But it’s legal.  And it happens.

So when it does, I wish I could say I was surprised at all the outrage, from people that knew this was a possibility, but don’t want to admit it.

I was 11-years-old when that firecracker went off in my hand, so cut me some slack.

But here we have “grown-ass adults” walking into condo sales centres with a lit pack of matches, ready to blow shit up.

“Condo Buyers Call For Better Protections As Second Major Vaughan Condo Project Killed”

There’s the article for those that want to read it.

But you already get the gist, in three points or less:

A condo project was cancelled.

Buyers that knew this could happen, are upset.

Buyers want the government to fix it.  Preferably with the use of Emmett “Doc” Brown’s time machine…

What’s interesting about this condo cancellation, and as the headline above explains, Iconica Condos is the second major project in Vaughan to be cancelled, or “killed,” if you’re looking for emphasis, in the past few months.

And what’s going on with the first one?

Oh boy, you’ll love this…

“Vaughan Condo Buyers Take Developer To Court Over Cancelled Condo Project”

Yes, that’s right.  They’re suing!

Hey, look, good on them.

What the developer did was “wrong,” even if it was actually right.  And if they want their day in court, more power to them.

But I’m pretty sure even they, deep down, know this is a waste of time.

I would also bet my cute little dog that the law firm acting for the buyers is not working on a contingency.

What did Ben Affleck say in Good Will Hunting?

  Great movie.  Reminds me I need to watch that again..

Word to the wise: if you’re looking at litigating, and your lawyer suggests a contingency – he thinks the case has merit.  If he suggests a retainer, then that should tell you something.

An important excerpt from that second article:

Cosmos buyers signed “take-it-or-leave-it” contracts that gave the vendor, one of the numbered companies, “sole, absolute and unfettered discretion,” to cancel the project if it found the financing terms unacceptable, said Charney.

He compared it to someone making an offer on a house conditional on mortgage financing. “Then if (the buyer) want(s) to drop the deal all they have to do is say, ‘I didn’t like the mortgage rates or I couldn’t get the mortgage I wanted, see you later,’” he said.

But wait a minute, didn’t we just have this conversation last week?

This lawyer is suggesting that the second example there is unfair?

Because that’s exactly how our real estate market works!

I can’t believe he chose that as the example to try to highlight how “unfair” the condo developers are being.  It makes zero sense to me.

Every condition included in an Agreement of Purchase & Sale, or let me rephrase – every condition that should be included by a capable buyer agent with experience, should have the words, “…at the Buyer’s sole and absolute discretion.”  It simply can’t work any other way.

Otherwise, you get into a back-and-forth about what constitutes grounds to not provide a waiver of the condition.

But now I’m straying too far off topic, even though this is an important point, as there was some confusion by readers with respect to the content of Wednesday’s blog, but I digress.

I say again: I don’t like the legalese that’s contained in the pre-construction condo agreements.

But I don’t pretend it doesn’t exist, like many buyers.  And if the condo was cancelled, as it specifically states that it could be, in the agreement, I wouldn’t cry foul.  I’m not 11-years-old anymore.

So tell me something – are these buyers insane, or am I?

Because this is going to continue to happen, and my guess is that it won’t be more than another 6 months before we read another headline like the ones above.  And I won’t stop being brutally honest with my thoughts either.

Remember this blog post last November?

“Another Pre-Construction Condo, Cancelled. Who Is To Blame?”

You wouldn’t believe the heat I took over this.

I only wish I found a way to be even more heartless, condescending, and cruel this time around.

Well folks, we have a municipal election coming up!  A slightly smaller one than originally planned (too soon to joke about that?), but an election nonetheless.  Who wants to bet that a prospective city councilor or two might jump on this hot-button topic and promise to “look into it?”

The post When Will People Learn? appeared first on Toronto Realty Blog.

Originated from https://ift.tt/2PZkCGS

[cryptobully-blog]

How to Succeed at Being a Crypto & Blockchain Influencer Without Really Trying

https://cryptobully.com/how-to-succeed-at-being-a-crypto-blockchain-influencer-without-really-trying/

How to Succeed at Being a Crypto & Blockchain Influencer Without Really Trying

A photo of me (center) in Bay Area Musical’s “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” 🎭🎶Photo by Ben Krantz.

In July of 2017, I wrote a post on Medium titled What It’s Like to Be a Woman at a Tech Conference. The article has since been viewed ~64k times, and has become the piece of writing I am most recognized for. Usually if someone says “hey you look familiar” at a conference, I do the pose (😐👍pictured below) mimicking me in a wine cave full of dudes, and they figure it out.

It me.

Then, in late July, a woman named Alexandra Levin Kramer reached out to me asking if I’d be interested in speaking at one of her meetups/breakfasts in New York that centered around having women in tech speak and share expertise about their tech careers. The group happened to be focused around women in blockchain and crypto, but my talk would be about my diverse background and unique path into the industry. I didn’t end up speaking at the event (it was late September, and in the middle of the Jewish high holidays… and it was NY ✡️), so it never ended up happening. I ended up joining the group on LinkedIn (just in case I was ever back in the area and we wanted to try again), Alexandra and I kept connected through LinkedIn, and I didn’t think much of it.

The End (I wish). 😑

Me checking my LinkedIn inbox.

Did you know that LinkedIn has groups? Yeah, me neither. I think I had joined a couple here and there over the course of the last 10 years, but it’s not like I’m constantly browsing my LinkedIn groups… or have ever taken the time to look at them. In fact, take a second, open LinkedIn, and try to find the “Groups” area. I’ll wait…. Took you awhile, right? It’s not a frequently used feature.

In my experience, LinkedIn is really a tool mostly used by recruiters, engineers/hiring managers when they are looking up a candidate before a phone-screen, and older white business men to add me for no apparent reason. My dad keeps asking me why he keeps “getting emails from LinkyDin?”, which I’m sure is due to LinkedIn’s frustrating “WANT US TO SEND A REQUEST TO EVERYONE IN YOUR INBOX? EVEN YOUR EX? EVEN A WOMAN YOU ONCE BABYSAT THE CHILDREN OF IN COLLEGE? AND THAT ONE GUY YOU BOUGHT A COUCH FROM ON CRAIGSLIST IN COLLEGE? OH NO YOU DIDN’T? LOL SORRY TOO LATE” feature that people usually click on accident. It’s a terrible way to trick users into blasting out LinkedIn to their contacts, and preys on an older demographic that is likely to click the nice blue shiny button. From a design ethics standpoint I find it disgusting… but I digress.

But I’m not here to complain about LinkedIn- I actually love LinkedIn (despite it’s sometimes odd user demographic). I basically use it as my portfolio, and I have gotten connected to many people through it for various speaking opportunities through it. But you know what feature of LinkedIn I don’t use? Groups. So, imagine my shock and confusion, when all of a sudden I was getting 30+ messages/connection requests/Twitter followers/DMs/etc. from people either working in Blockchain, wanting to ask my “advice” on their Crypto start-up, or wanting to connect over our shared love of “Bitcoin”. 🤔😳

I understand how Harry must have felt.

And why did this happen? Well, I got added to an article titled “200+ Thought Leaders in Crypto and Blockchain — The Ultimate Crypto List for Event Planners, Influencers and the Like” by Michelle Tsng. An article which I lovingly call “200+ Women Copy and Pasted from a LinkedIn Group I Forgot Existed”. Then, I was subsequently added to this Everipedia article. Thus beginning the lovely game of telephone which has become my “Crypto career”.

Like this.

And this.

Lest we forget.

Oh, but there’s more. 😐

So, TLDR: I don’t work in Crypto, I don’t understand Blockchain, and (surpise) I don’t know shit about Bitcoin. My name was copied and pasted from a LinkedIn group that I didn’t even know I was in, and here we are. 😑

So, what is my advice to women looking to break the glass ceiling and become a thought leader in the crypto space?:

Join a LinkedIn group, forget about it for about 6+ months, don’t learn anything about crypto. Get copied and pasted into several articles, and continue to learn nothing about blockchain. Insist that you know nothing about it. Tweet about how ridiculous how little you know about it. Put a line in your LinkedIn about how you literally know nothing about it. The opportunities will roll in by the hundreds!

I know so many women who are actually influencers in the space who are not on this list (for example, my girl Ali over at Stellar). Reach out to her. Not me. I am not the droid you are looking for.

While it’s been fun to tweet and share stories about all the ridiculous things that have occurred because of this mix-up, it really has gotten out of hand. What started as jokes on Twitter about me actually being Satoshi Nakamoto, have now turned into hundreds of messages a week from earnest people looking for advice about crypto. It’s getting old real fast, y’all.

“But Chloe! You Should Just Run With It!”

Well, thank you kind sir or ma’am on the Internet for your advice! 🙄 Let me break it down for you: I’m an actress turned developer evangelist. In the last 2 years I’ve completely transformed my life, changed careers, and made an extreme lifestyle change. I’m still learning how to be an engineer. It’s my decision to choose what I want an expertise in, and it’s not crypto and blockchain. Right now, I’m focusing on my job at Sentry and also starting to build some fun mobile side projects. I juggle a full-time job, press interviews, a meet-up I organize, a social life, a relationship, and try to fit some time for my personal to-dos and downtime somewhere in there… I don’t have the passion or room to add this expertise in my life.

Just… stop speaking.

What Does This Say About the Industry?

Well, you know me. I’m all about getting more women in tech. Especially more women in front of audiences in tech. The more exposure and public figures that help show the world “hey- an engineer can look like this”, the better. But here’s what not to do: Don’t force women to be a show-pony for your technology/company/cause.

Yes, encourage women to speak if they desire to. Yes, coach the female developer on your team to give a successful talk at your user conference because you offered your help and she enthusiastically said yes. Yes, coach and mentor women on your team to write and create content for your company because they want to and she is qualified. But here’s a secret: not all women enjoy public speaking and being in the spotlight. Also, not all women enjoy crypto and blockchain… (ahem).

Yes, the industry lacks diversity, but it’s not your job to fix it all by yourself. You can make small efforts and changes in your day-to-day (speak up if a woman in being talked over in a meeting, make sure the woman in the meeting isn’t taking notes, make efforts to build an empathetic and inclusive team, etc.), but to really change this industry, it’s going to take time, effort, and an investment in making computer science engaging and exciting to young women 👧🏼. Don’t just add them to a list and expect things to change overnight. Also, make sure that list has been… well… um… vetted? Additionally, we also need to make the industry more inclusive to candidates with diverse backgrounds. But that’s a whole other blog.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed learning about my #journey into crypto, and I hope that my tips and tricks help you succeed in this very new and exciting field.

XOXO SatoSHE 💋

Illuminati CONFIRMED.

Blockchain

[fleadom-of-asukai]

AWODL: Ch 1

[Warning for those who are against certain things like mild language, use of alcohol and drugs, and sexual themes. (Maybe not in this particular chapter.) Continue with this in mind.]

“Shu! Get off me before I decide to make you sleep in the basement!” It was nine in the morning, Miguel struggled to get free of the hold I had around him. I normally sleep on the couch but last night was different, his couch wasn’t there since I had just so happened to break it in half on accident. “Which basement? The one full of assassins or the one with all the drug smugglers?” I still sounded half asleep, 9am is not a good time for me at all. Get me up at like noon or something and I’ll be fine but never 9am. “Just get up already, I have to go to meet someone!” He was obviously rather angry, so I took the liberty to roll over… but rolling over landed me face first on the floor. I took a few moments to actually lift myself up and get back on the bed to wrap myself up like a burrito. Only this burrito was all natural Shuyuzin and by the time I wanted to make this joke Miguel had already went to shower.

 I sat there, staring out the window at the northern mountain peaks since, being on the 44th floor, that’s pretty much all I could have seen without looking down. Miguel is a rich man who swindled his way through life and owns a 45-story skyscraper in the northern city of Paliga. It took a long time to memorize what’s on each floor because it’s rather big, but eventually I got it down. This place is practically just one huge mall with a built-in hotel, which by the way is very expensive. Only the richest of the rich really stay here at all and Miguel makes butt loads off them for it. That’s not what gets him money though, in the basement of the place he has assassins trained for taking out powerful figures or those who don’t repay him. Also, down there he acquires drugs from smugglers so he can sell it to people who want it for more than he paid for it.

He gets away with it too, nobody ever finds out unless they work for him. Nobody who works for him complains though, they get paid for not saying a word and continuing to work in the offices in this building. I don’t get paid for it in the same way, you see I get paid in the souls of those who either his workers kill or I have. You see, I’m a demon, but not really in your typical sense of the word. I say demon, you think “Oh man he’s a savage beast who is evil and kills” but when I think it… I think “There’s an eternity ahead of me where I can either be a complete asshole to people or live a normal-ish life with humans even though I’m different AND still be an asshole.” Enough of this boring introductory stuff though, back to what everyone came for.

Miguel came out of the shower room with a nice-looking suit on, I’m no expert but it looked like it was worth more than my entire existence. “Shu, what’s the schedule for me today and what times can I summon you to my side?” he started to adjust his tie and try to make himself looked like a million bucks, even though he already is. I slipped my arm out of the cozy burrito soft shell I had created around myself and got the notepad on the side table. “Your meeting is on the 23rd floor with the furniture store owner on the 6th floor and the owner of the art store huddled in on the 5th floor with all the anime stores and that expensive clothing store I never go to. The meeting is at 11am sharp and lasts 2 hours, upon exiting you must then go see the hotel owner about the recent problems they’ve been having. You can summon me any time after the meeting for just about anything as long as we don’t eat anything over-priced.” I place he notepad back on the table and wiggle around a bit to be able to face him, not that I can see him but you know. “What’s over-priced here that you won’t eat?” he looked down to me while still messing with his hair. “Nothing to you, everything and more for me. Not that it matters at all or anything…”

“We’ll go out of the building to eat then, I know you get bored up here during the day and it’s been a while since you have been out of this place. When was the next time for anything after the hotel business?” I sat up to grab the notepad again, “The next thing is a meeting with someone named Ferris about putting their club on the 3rd floor at 3pm.” Miguel came over, yoinked the notepad from me, and crossed out the meeting time. “Don’t know them, don’t care; tell them that something very important came up at that time so we’ll have to reschedule.” He gave me back the notepad and proceeded into the living room, after unrolling myself and getting dressed I joined him. “Shouldn’t you get a secretary to do this for you? You don’t want to pay me more than you already do…” He looked to me with the common poker face “I don’t pay you at all, you pay yourself.” I opened the mini fridge next to where the couch would be at “Exactly my point!”

“You’re not wrong, I do need one… but all the ones who are good at it want so much money. I don’t have enough to give them.” He took out some stuff to make himself, something fancy but quick... he got out a cup of the most expensive ramen you would ever see. “Correction, you do but you would rather pay someone you trust, which is a mistake in this case, nothing than pay someone you don’t.” He looked over to me “Hey, just because you’re a demon doesn’t make you a monster who rips people apart. Your Shuyuzin, the guy who doesn’t ask for pay and makes grocery shopping so much easier because you don’t eat anything but souls.” I look over to him, trying to think of a joke to pull on him but came up with nothing. “Is that all I’m known for, not known for being the shadow to a 26-year-old billionaire who also happens to be featured in the Hottest Male’s in Comada section of most magazines?” “It’s not good for my image to plaster you everywhere since you’re a demon, but you could probably become famous if you wanted. Which knowing how you are, you wouldn’t want to live anything BUT what you’re living now.”

I grabbed one of the soda’s in the fridge and closed it before making my way over to where he was and leaned over the counter. The mood pretty much hit an odd point so instead of continuing this mildly okay conversation I decided to make a joke about something instead. What better than to make one about how you can’t see at all! “I should make you a new couch sometime soon since I accidentally broke the other.” He gave me one of his stupid looks “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Shu but you’re blind and wouldn’t even be able to do that.” “I can do it… with hard work and determination!” Giving off a very determined, excited pose just made Miguel shake his head as he grabbed his ramen and began to chow down. After a while of this he eventually left for his meeting and I was left up there for now.

It was a quarter till 2 when it happened, seven explosions around the city all at once. I was busy doing what someone of my standards would typically do at this time, watching my favorite show about a homosexual cinnamon roll. Upon the event, I had immediately gotten up to rush to where Miguel was supposed to be at since I do worry about him severely sometimes. I wasn’t in the best of outfits compared to the people in the building, but hey it’s comfortable so whatever. Before heading out I put the only hoodie I had on and put my hood up. Not a good thing to show off that I’m a demon in this day and age especially with the seven explosions happening, but it’s also not the greatest that I am wearing my hood up. I rushed to the closest, really fancy elevator and began the decent down to the ground level. All I cared for was making sure someone didn’t try to kill him in an explosion. Sure enough, I was wrong in thinking he wouldn’t be okay, because a total of ten guards tried to stop my advancement to him. Of course, being a 6’2in giant in common wealth clothes makes it much easier to be spotted in a crowd of rich folks.

“Hey, let the guy through! He’s one of my important assets and I really need his butt in view!” Miguel had pretty much gotten them out of my way as I rushed over “Don’t you mean one of your important Assets!” Miguel facepalmed “We don’t have time for this Shu, something shitty is going down and we’re going to do something about it to strengthen my image. How many explosions were there and what are we up against?” I look around, my ability to see souls spans a large area and walls don’t mean a thing to it unless they’re thick enough to interrupt cell phone reception. “Seven explosions all at once around the city is what I’ve been hearing around me, each at key entry points so nobody can enter or leave without dealing with the mountainous terrain. There are seven odd souls about the city that keep devouring the human souls of the same color scheme and wavelength. Along with several weaker versions just collecting souls for the seven large ones.” Miguel slapped my ass, which startled me a tad bit, and got in front of me “When you say odd souls, what do you mean by odd? You can usually determine whether or not a soul is human or animal.”

“Well, they look more complex than your typical animal… but on the same level as a human soul. So maybe… a demon’s soul? Not that I know what they look like, I can’t see my own.” He sighed and grabbed my hand to lead me to some place, I didn’t really know where since I can’t see. “If it’s demons then we will actually need to plan out fully what we’ll do.” We continued for a bit, went down to the basement I believe, and ended up in a room where I couldn’t see any souls outside. “If this is going to be the end of human life in this city, then I’ll make sure I live through it. You’re the only demon your race has no mark on and most likely they don’t know of your existence, so you’ll be my ticket to the outside of the city walls.” I fumbled around to find a wall to lean against and proceed to lean against said wall “So you plan to escape by having me find a way out?”  “Exactly! Once I’m out you can close off the path and we can return to our life when we get to the closest city. You’re the only one in this city I care for and leaving you here to die would ruin me.” I stretched my arms and proceeded to pop my neck before getting off the wall “Sounds like a plan to me!”