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shadowworks · 3 years

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Look Inside

Pairing: Overhaul X Reader

Warnings: Dubcon-noncon, medical kink, drugged sex, mention of needles, mentions of blood, bondage, fingering, this is dark!

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I decided to try some creepy themes and give second person a try. So we’ll see how it goes. This piece is dark so please mind the warnings!

Huge shoutout to @present-mel for making the beautiful banner and reading over my fic you precious gem! Also thank you @thisisthehardestthing and @hisoknen for your feedback it’s so greatly appreciated! 💜

Someone had shut off the lights in the morgue.

You happen to notice this when your eyes toil lazily between security cameras at the right time. You freeze on the spot, and quirk a brow toward the shadow. You expect it’ll brighten any second like it usually does, but after those few seconds tick by without change, a weight of dread sinks in your stomach.

Kai Chisaki put orders in place that if experiments are up and running the basement levels are to remain lit. Chisaki and his men are already down below, and the winding pale halls near the morgue are empty.

You haven’t been called to notify cleaners about another bloody corpse still peeling off the wall, and you can’t find motion on the surveillance camera when you rewind the recordings. It’s in the lower right corner of the camera, and you note the light flicks off without warning. No one enters, no one leaves.

You study the harsh glow of the screen for another moment, still in denial, still waiting for the lights to flicker on, and stand up from the chair in the office. When not a soul appears by the threshold, all you can do is lean forward with your hands pressed on the desk, dropping your head in defeat. “Seriously? Fuck you.”

You don’t know who “you” was exactly, but it felt right to say.

It takes a bit of time after departing the small office, but you find the proper hall in Chisaki’s deeply looping maze...It’s just you don’t want to step out from the elevator. You were ready before, but when the doors split open and the cool air ghosts against your cheeks, you pause. There’s a stillness lingering in the hallway; it’s far too quiet- except for the creaks in the elevator floor from your shifting weight...But, something seems off.

Your steps are tentative when you do slip out, peering down the drab hallway. You clearly see which of the rooms is buried in shadow, and frankly you want to whirl back around before the doors close. But you can’t, well, not yet at least. The tap of your shoes hits off the walls, while you tread along on stiff legs. Eventually you come to a stop having reached the doorway. It’s partly open, a slice of darkness hiding what’s deep inside.

Hold on, this can't be right. The camera— A shudder trails up your spine. It tingles coldly.

You inhale a deep breath. Okay, just do it; just switch the lights back on, it’s fine. It’s fine. Besides, if it were you (which it is) you wouldn’t want to deal with Chisaki’s ill temper over something so minor as a light.

He’s punished his men for incompetence before, and those who didn’t listen have smeared the walls with their blood, drenching vein red across white. Black-looking goops of muscle plopped on the floor...the consequences ranged based on severity of failure or how stressed he is, really. In fact, one man had the skin of his face torn off for talking back—wait, relax. Focus

It won’t happen. Kai Chisaki is somewhere else in the maze. He’s not aware of what happened.

There’s a member with a quirk which lets him melt through walls; the tiny one with a bone white mask. He probably slipped between the rooms and grabbed something then turned the lights off. But that didn’t explain the door...

It doesn’t matter.

You stretch an arm out, gently pushing the door further open, and light spills onto the tile floor.

It’s a cold, vacant room. There’s a pungent scent of bleach still lingering from a cleanup, but it hits your nose almost like it happened recently. You can’t see much nor do you want to. And your hand reaches around the door frame, trailing gentle fingers along the smooth surface for a switch—

Only, there’s nothing on the wall.

“Are you serious? Really?” you huff to yourself, stepping round to search for the light. Sure enough, your fears are realized with one look.

You let out an annoyed groan, and a, ‘stupid switch’ under your breath. Who the hell designs a room and doesn’t put a switch by the door?

Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, so you can’t see the precise details on the walls. So this leaves you no choice but to step further in, allowing the brightness from the hall to guide you along.

It’s a moderate room with a vaulted wall filled with metal drawers, all large enough to fit an icy corpse in ‘til the yakuza dispose of them. Then there’s the silver surgical table in the middle of the room. It's empty, but the thing’s embellished. There’s protruding belts attached, and a tray on wheels is parked on the side. On top of the tray is a clean towel and a neat row of surgical tools lay flat across.

Your brows scrunch together, studying the sharp gleam of knives and the sizes of needles. Why are these out? Kai’s an obsessive clean freak, every little thing needs to be put back and organized. All his masked cronies know this rule, so who the hell did this? That is, unless someone’s using them?

Your back is turned to the glow seeping in from the hall, so you don’t see a gloved hand press on the metal door. There’s a push, and the door slams shut.

You let out a startled yelp, cupping your hands to your mouth. What the hell…! Your heart’s pounding wildly in your chest; for some reason the room feels colder, you feel colder.

“I must say this is disappointing.”

Light floods the room from the panels above, flickering with a buzzing noise before they settle. You take a moment. A deep breath, a slow exhale. When the initial shock stops tingling in your muscles, you slowly drop your palms. The voice is male, his tone’s calm, ominous and it carries like chill over your shoulder. You know this voice; you know you have to turn around. But fuck, you can’t stop trembling. When you do, you see a tall figure looming near the wall, a gloved hand still on the switch.

Kai Chisaki.

“I told Setsuno I needed him in the security room. Do you think it’s hard for him to follow directions?”

You stare at him, anxiously. He isn’t wearing his green coat with the violet plumage trimming on the collar. He’s in his iron pressed, black suit and grey tie; the trademark plague mask covering half his face.

“Setsuno asked me to fill in. He said he wasn’t feeling well...I guess,” you manage to say it as steady as you can.

The lanky blond hadn’t given you a clear reason when he staggered towards you near dawn. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t really care.You barely looked his way at breakfast, choosing to stare into your dark coffee cup than at the katana resting on his shoulder. The sword was still wet with blood, and you knew he’d been out all night. Though right now, you sorta wish you pressed him more for details.

Kai mutters something slightly bitter, words that are muffled against the material of his mask. But you hear him sigh, then his tone turns crisper. “No matter. It’s inconvenient, but I can work around these...changes.”

His arm drops to his side, walking from the wall. And unexpectedly- those peculiar eyes you see leering at his enemies, have now fallen on you.

You seize up in mild panic, the pupils in your eyes shrinking; not knowing what to do. You take a scuffling step or two back on reflex—and knock your hip against the table corner.

Oww—ow, fuck. Hold on, what’s he doing? Why—Your voice bubbles in your throat as you watch him draw near. Though it’s strange, for Kai doesn’t pull at the rim of his latex glove like expected, rather, the Shie Hassaikai boss happens to steer past you instead.

...Huh?

Your neck cranes, loose hair spilling over your shoulder. He stops a couple feet away and tilts his head downward in front of the tray, no longer regarding your presence and focusing on his work.

You stand there awkwardly, just listening to the clinks of metal fitting together in Kai’s grip. You’re not fully understanding though, should you leave? It looks like your job’s finished now that your boss is here. Besides, you’re pretty confident Kai doesn't want you here if he’s occupying the room.

In the long pause between you two, your mind’s made up which prompts you to retreat back and aim towards the door. They’re slow, careful moving steps.

“Well, you seem busy...I should probably hurry back and watch the cameras,'' you say dismissing yourself. You’re partial toward the comfort of the smaller office, and any chance you have of leaving the macabre storage space you will eagerly take it.

You don’t make it to the gleaming doorknob—because Kai’s voice holds you still. It isn’t loud, but it grips the room. “No stay. There’s no need for you to leave so soon.”

A mix of fear and confusion read across your features. Kai has never spent a moment alone with you. In fact, you aren’t actually part of the yakuza. The only reason you’re associated with the fallen crime syndicate, is because the former boss offered you odd jobs as a favor. You needed some work to keep from struggling and he had taken a liking to you, sort of how he did with Kai. But then, the leader collapsed.

Now you aren't sure where you stand. Chisaki is in charge.

“I believe there’s something you can do for me. Will you have a seat on the table?”

You aren’t sure if you heard him right, or fully grasp what he means. He says it so casually- but you know better; it’s a demand. You’re just not sure why.

“I’m fine. Really. I should be going-“

“Are you defying my order?” Again, he says it so nonchalantly. This time Kai turns his head over his shoulder; the look he gives is almost impassive, yet there’s a menacing gleam in the yellow of his eyes.

“What? No, I was…! Right.”

You don’t exactly drag your feet, but you do stand hesitant before the edge of the table where countless bodies have been dissected. So much blood, so many organs harvested on this very table.

“I won’t ask you again.”

You turn around robotically, eyes pointed downward as you hoist your hips onto the metal. The table’s surface is icy, it numbs your fingers the longer you lean on it, which only makes you fold them against your thighs.

“Roll up your sleeve.” Kai says by your right, holding up a purple band. Your gaze flicks up immediately, nervously, a silent plea for mercy. As if somehow your glossy and delicate eyes will make a difference. But it does nothing toward Kai’s stoic stance. He simply waits, and his own steely eyes narrow back.

You drop your head with a wince; just do as he says.

You comply, pushing up your long sleeve. Though you make a point not to help much more than that, leaving your arm limp at your side.

Kai doesn’t seem to notice or care and proceeds to wrap the rubber around your arm. You grimace, unpleased as his fingers skim your arm, and again when he brushes you with a wet cotton swab.

“You need my blood?” You ask evenly.

His eyes don’t leave your skin, “Not necessarily.”

“A lot of effort for, ‘not necessarily.’” You say, not too dryly.

“You’ve seen my work before, you should know by now I take great care in everything I do.”

Kai rotates between you and the now rolled over stand, dismissing your light jab. He sets up the port for blood to flow; all in a well practiced motion. It certainly makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before.

“I’m curious, when was your last doctor's appointment?” He asks suddenly, hands already prepping the next instrument. The other needle probably, but you don’t want to play as his patient. He isn’t your doctor, for fucks sake.

“A while.” You answer.

“A while,” he repeats with a subtle chuckle under his covered breath,“Has anyone told you before you’re a feisty one?”

You bite your tongue and refuse to meet his side glance. When you don’t reply back, he carries on with a sigh.

“I’ve had quite a long day you see, so I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my tolerance for stubborn little girls.”

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder, and all too quickly you find yourself thumping against the cold metal, your horrified eyes staring up at the bright ceiling. The next thing you feel is buckles fastening, pinning you against the table by your waist and elbows.

You're flooded with tingling panic, voice cracking from strain, “Hol—Hold on one second. Please, just one more—”

“—You know they say you should never let the lamb see the knife? Their fear tampers the meat, and ruins the flavor,” Kai gives a sharp tug on the last belt. “But I find yours all the more intoxicating, my dear.”

You stammer, words of protest mingle together as you attempt to be heard, “I don’t understand, why are you…Just stop. You need to let me go!”

Your teeth clench together in a rage that fills your chest. You’re not thinking rationally, your nerves are unhinged. And in your adrenaline high your leg curls up, thrashing a viciously blunt strike toward the point of his beak.

Before it can connect and batter the bridge of his nose and mark his cheekbones, Kai’s arm flexes quickly. Your foot stops mid air as he catches your ankle with constricting force.

“Do I?” He asks with a title of his head, there're subtle creases in the corner of eyes, you can imagine his mouth settles in a cold smile beneath.

In that moment you freeze up. Your lash lines burn, stinging with fresh tears glossing your doe eyes. You don’t breathe, you don’t dare to expand your lungs. Your only thought is begging him not to burst open your calf.

“You shouldn’t be giving commands. You work under me now,” his nails dig in your flesh, and you know those indents will marr your flesh.“Meaning you’ll have to bear with me while I continue.”

Kai doesn’t loosen his hold, briefly watching your pained expression. But he favors dropping his gaze below to study the stretch of your thigh, your exposed and parted groin. It’s then his nimble fingers reach to unclasp the button of your jeans and he gently pulls down the zipper. You cry out, jerking against the belts, but he isn’t fazed.

“One of our new drugs is supposed to relax its victims...recently it’s been ineffective if the heartbeat’s racing too quickly, though we’ve made modifications to counter this. My plan was to stage a fight with Setsuno, until...you graciously took his place.”

Kai lowers your leg, both hands roaming across to the edge of your jeans. He still studies you, and decides to push up your ribbed sweater, letting the cold bite of the morgue chill your hips. His latex fingers trace lightly across your pebbled skin, skimming down the dips to your thighs.

“Yes, this will do just fine. You’re pretty enough,” he muses, softly.

He then tucks his hands into your waistband, yanking them down your legs, before they fall to the floor with a plop. The seamless panties slip off easily, as well. This sends a small prickle through you, and, no, this can’t keep going! The fight in you surges, pushing your knees together to shield your groin. Only Kai doesn’t like that.

There’s something cold and dangerous in his glare, a threat that twists at your stomach. He’s warning you; don’t make this worse for yourself or you’ll make him snap. And you didn’t want that...You watch both his hands clutch your knees, he doesn’t waste time and he yanks your legs apart, taking in your pretty cunt.

Angry tears trickle down your cheeks in response. Your throat burns from holding back a sob, “Chisaki, please. If you would—“

Without a moment of hesitation, Kai knowingly finds where to touch you first. A little too skillfully for a false doctor, the pad of his thumb presses against your soft, sensitive nub, stroking tight circles with focus. Your breath catches, falling heavier while he sinks his pad deeper in the forming slick, building steady pressure.

“Still so stubborn, what good will that bring you?”

A broken moan spills on your shaky breath, all against your better decisions. His other hand settles between your legs, and a finger plunges inside your heat, curling upward and massaging the rougher layer of flesh. A sharp gasp inhales into your lungs. He isn’t stopping, no, Kai’s gloved finger moves with vigor the more your pleasurably laced cries pour out from your lips, how desperate they become.

He pushes in a second finger, and then a third thrusting in, stretching you and soaking your walls with your arousal. This causes you to push your hips further against his latex hand.

“Kai, you fucking bastard!” you sob out, formalities be damned as your back arches. You can feel the building pulses in your cunt tense up, losing yourself to your superior on an icy slab in a fucking morgue.

“You curse my name as though you’re not enjoying this,” Kai mocks.

His fingers pump deeper, tightening your abs and your lips fall open. His matching rhythm on the bundle of nerves surges in a crash, sending a hard orgasm that shivers through your body. For a moment, just a little moment, your cares fade away.

You're left breathing deeply, staring up at the ceiling as your chest rises and falls. The euphoria lasts a moment longer, but only for so long. Reality sets in as you lay there, and much too soon, the warmths gone.

Kai takes advantage of this.

With your chin tipped up toward cabinets lining the ceiling, Kai unfastens his thinner belt. It’s only when you feel him hook under your knees and pull at your thighs that you snap your head up in startlement.

Kai’s venomous eyes stare you down, “I suggest laying back down little girl, we’re not finished yet.”

“Like hell!”

A second flare of rage strickens across your features, a hard glare that doesn’t unyield, especially as he unzips and withdraws himself from formal slacks. You know he’s relishing in your disdain for him, and this makes you thrash on the belts, hoping to force them apart. Of course, Kai did a good job of fastening these fuckers and simply chuckles at your attempt.

“You’re still not understanding the position that you’re in,” He slips a hand in his pocket, and pulls out the wrapping of a condom. Taking his time, tearing it open, rolling the rubber down his thick length with precision.

When Kai’s satisfied, his arms reach for you and grab at your hips, giving them a sharp yank forward. He leans in with a darkly low voice, “You can’t escape me. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

“...You lean any closer and I’ll spit in your face.” There isn’t any bite to it. It’s a calm, empty threat and loses all its appeal as a single tear spills down your cheekbone.

A huffing noise emits from his mask, with his lids narrowing in mild disgust. You catch the words “filthy woman,” rasped low and nasally before he does lean back, wrenching at the skin around your hips.

When he’s all settled Kai lines himself to your heat, in a slow motion he draws himself inside. You almost don't hear it, but from the mask you note a soft hitch in his breath. He gives shallow pushes and pulls on your hips, an experimental dip that splits you in a painful stretch before he pumps fully into you. They’re slow, long strokes, filling you to the brim.

Another strained gasp rips from your wet lips, and your hands impulsively spring out, clenching the black cloth of Kai’s sleeves. His hips snap quicker, and your breath picks up with him. Heart pounding to his thrust; you can feel the beats in your neck.

And all of a sudden you hear the sound of plastic clasping together, the squeeze of an injection clip the shell of your ear. Your eyes snap open in horror. What—?

Kai locks on your facial features, his deep pumps lessen though the slapping of skin doesn’t stop. “You’ve been too tense. Why don’t you relax for awhile?”

When did he..?

He prepped it. The syringe must’ve been tucked away. He did have this all planned. You were just the unlucky one who walked to the table and sealed your fate.

The serum he injected into your bloodstream has fast results it seems. The tension in your muscles slack against his thrusts, allowing him to carry your body closer and take more of his length. You feel the tension in your wide eyes soften, slowly falling half lidded and weak.

“That’s a good girl, you're taking to the drug faster than I thought,” he muses a little breathless. Right after he sets the syringe back down, a gloved hand reaches for the strap fastened around his head and pulls. The mask slips off.

It’s at this point he hikes his knees up onto the table and pounds in deeper, letting your walls suck him in. Your body’s folded, and Kai treats your body in any way he desires.

You manage to pull your head from his sharp eyes, your cheek bouncing slightly against the icy metal to Kai’s rhythm. The drawers for the deceased are taken in.

You stare intently.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No.” He manages between breathes, his voice is heavy and laced with lusting growls, “This is merely a precaution. In the event...ah, in the event you overdose...well. You’re in the right place.”

Your head lolls back to Kai meeting his delicate face which is now flushed. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him behind the mask. He’s beautiful. Soft featues that compliment him so well. If only he wasn’t so cruel...

“In fact, hah, if you survive...I think this will be the start of something new in my work.” He manages the last bit with a shaky chuckle.

You see him smirk wickedly, and all you can do is watch, because it doesn’t stop. The only sound in the room is the liquid squish of sex, your mixed heavy breaths. And you hope, god do you hope in your hazy state, feeling a numbness taking hold of your body, that you leave this room alive.

#overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #yandere #kai chisaki #tw noncon #tw dubcon #overhaul #bnha #shadow tales

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 3 years

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The Voyage So Far: Skypiea

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

the bar scene in jaya is one i didn’t really get the first time i read it- like nami, i mostly found luffy and zoro’s refusal to fight back frustrating more than anything else. i didn’t realize the connection to shanks in the prologue until someone else pointed it out awhile later, but when i did, it made me appreciate the entire sequence and luffy’s choices a lot more.

honestly, i know this is one of the pages that gets the most attention from jaya, and it absolutely deserves it. blackbeard here is effectively dropping one of the biggest main themes of the series- people’s dreams don’t end!!- and how interesting that we get that delivered by the antagonist to the protagonist, instead of the other way around? how often do you see a series do that?

and the line hits. look at the emphasis. there’s absolutely nothing on these two pages except for the three strawhats, blackbeard, and blackbeard’s line, bigger than anything else.

chapter 232, with luffy punching out bellamy in one hit is still, to this day, probably my favorite one piece chapter. it opens with the drunk pirate seeing the newspaper with luffy’s hundred million bounty and realizing just who bellamy was kicking around, and it hits on one of my favorite plot threads of one piece- the growing infamy of the strawhats and luffy in particular, and their rise in the world.

the atmosphere of the whole scene is so good, the tension in their air, the way all the bar patrons jump when luffy yells for bellamy to come out- and when the hit comes, the satisfaction is visceral.

i’ve talked about it before, but god, i LOVE the way one piece defines “romance”- the arthurian kind of romance, the adventurous kind, that romanticizes the world and its wonders- romance dawn. in an arc as thematically heavy as jaya, it makes sense that it, too, is explicitly brought up. can you think of a more romantic, impossible adventure than traveling to the sky?

nami’s confidence when faced with the task of navigating into the sky is so fantastic.

the expressions, and the art in general, in skypiea, are really so lovely. look at the variety between the strawhats when they first emerge from the white-white sea to lay eyes on angel island. look how expressive they all are!! i have such a soft place in my heart for the art in these earlier arcs, honestly.

somewhat related to the above: there are so many little moments in skypiea where the strawhats just get to have FUN, and be stupid, and get fleshed out more as characters, and honestly it’s such a delight. also, everyone’s skypiea outfits were just really really good. cowboy hat robin... i miss u every day

i really like the whole scene where robin is exploring the ruins, and these panels in particular have such a lovely sort of ethereal look to them. i love seeing robin doing archeology, i think for the same reason i love to see sanji cooking- the strawhats are all such cool and passionate people, and it’s really really nice to see them doing and talking about the things they love and excel at most.

i’m sure i’ve said it before but i LOVE how logia powers are depicted, especially when used to avoid an attack. it’s so cool. ace’s cover story runs through most of this arc, and we get some great examples of it there as well.

1. wife

2. skypiea is SUCH a good character-building arc for robin- which is good, because the next saga is almost entirely predicated on how much both the audience and the strawhats care about her. it’s here where we learn about her passion for archeology, her reverence for history, and get a much better look at the softer sides of her personality and her fast-growing admiration and affection for the strawhats.

man, enel has so many huge, terrifyingly powerful shows of force throughout this arc, but this right here, this little sequence where he appears behind raki between panels without warning and we see him reflected in her eye, communicates better than absolutely anything else just why he’s a nightmare.

“jonny you sure are posting a lot of panels of zoro being cool without any real commentary” yeah. he kicks ass in this arc

conis is a very underrated character, i think. she’s pretty easy to overlook, but she also manages to completely break the indoctrination she’s been raised into and gambles her own life to save most of the population of angel island from complete extermination. she yells that she doesn’t recognize enel as god, an instant death sentence at any other time, just to get them to listen to her.

there’s a moment, in this scene, where a boy throws a rock at her for insulting enel, and she just stands there, and lets the blood trickle down her face, and keeps making her case. honestly, i really like her.

look at this page. look how it’s framed. luffy in the foreground, taking up most of the page- enel in the background, tiny, inconsequential.

now that’s how you draw god’s natural enemy.

this is one of my favorite nami character moments in the whole manga. nami is a greedy person. she has a lot of things she wants. it’s one of her defining traits.

but when faced with someone with godlike power, offering her absolutely anything she wants if she’ll just abandon her friends and come with him- she doesn’t want anything, for that price, even with her life on the line if she declines. she knows exactly what her treasure is.

obviously this is an awesome panel, but sanji’s little smile just before enel strikes him is what really, really makes it for me. he’s about to get slammed with several thousand volts of lightning, but more importantly, nami and usopp are going to be safe.

the skypiea flashback is one of my very favorites, and also the first time one piece ever made me cry. i nearly cried just flipping through it again for this post. it’s just so fucking devastating.

noland never stopped looking, and calgara never stopped waiting, and neither of them ever lost faith in each other despite how badly they fell out at the end, and wow, that just kills me. but at the same time, it makes the way the flashback and the main story come together at the end so satisfying and cathartic.

i do think skypiea has one of the best climaxes of any arc. the way all the disparate elements and plot threads- enel, the story of noland and calgara, the war between the skypieans and shandians, cricket’s search down on jaya- come together and tie up so perfectly that the entire arc can be ended by the ringing of a single massive bell is nothing less than genius writing.

i really love the establishment of roger’s poneglyph message and all the things it implies here. it raises so many questions, most of which we’ve only now gotten answered, in wano. oda’s capacity for long-term storytelling is one of his greatest strengths, and this is probably one of my favorite examples of it. (see also, in jaya when sanji mentions offhand that he was born in north blue.)

i just really love seeing them all smiling, and i love the parallels to calgara and noland’s sendoff here. feels like a wound finally healing, after four hundred years.

and, of course, it ends with cricket, asking what crazy, romantic dream they’re going to chase down next. because this is one piece!! just because you find the end of one rainbow doesn’t mean you stop looking for the next one.

#the voyage so far #one piece #arc: skypiea #arc: jaya #not japanese #long post #opmeta

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heloflor · 3 years

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So, given that I didn’t have much time to work on fics recently because school, I’ve decided to relieve some stress by making a random representation of how I imagine Cavendish and Dakota’s house in their time-period looks like. And since I have no plans to ever describe it in detail in a fic, here it is ! Though, given how bad I am with designs, showing the house is mostly an excuse to infodump on domestic headcanons.

Regarding the last names, I didn’t make a typo for Cav. I like to imagine the two getting married way before the events of the show, with Cav taking “Dakota” as a last name, mostly because he got several siblings in-law on the Dakota side who adopted him on the spot.

And about the representation of the house : yeah it looks like shit. Since I can’t draw, I’ve decided to do something rather quick using MSPaint but yeah, not the best thing in the world. Though, if I get back to playing the Sims 3 at some point and end up making a Dwampyverse savefile, I’ll most likely try to recreate that house and could share a few pics.

I also went with a rectangular house with one floor instead of some futuristic-looking thing, mostly because I have no imagination when it comes to design. Though, you could still use the excuse that they want something more “old-timey” given their job or that they don’t have all the money of the world so they chose a simple house for the small cost. But yeah, by the end of the day, the choice is mostly because I can’t design shit.

But still one thing in my defense : looking at episodes that take place in the future like “Missing Milo” or “First Impressions”, it seems that most buildings are square-y with the roof being the weirdly-shaped part, with B.O.T.T. being one of the few exceptions. And looking at “A Christmas Peril”, the buildings are definitely more wacky but it’s 20 years later so…

I could also mention that I’m a bit unsatisfied with how empty the living-room and the bedroom ended up being but I’m drawing a total blank when trying to come up with the kind of stuff Vinnie and Balth would have that are linked to their interests. Though, maybe the excuse of them not being often at the house works ? Idk. Let’s just say I have ideas for the “basic” stuff, aka what you find in basically every single middle-class house, but draw a complete blank for anything that’s decorative. Still posting a map of the house tho because I don’t really consider it a work in progress if I simply have no idea and may never do. I’m very bad at design so bear with me on that one ! It’s not only about the house, it’s also about the fluffy headcanons !

So here’s under the cut some random info about the look of the rooms and furniture + a bunch of headcanons regarding Vinnie and Balth’s lives in this house. For each part of the house, you first have the info about how it looks first and then the headcanons.

Those headcanons are made with the idea that Vinnie and Balth are married (duh) but also, for a few, that Vinnie has three siblings + a few in-laws that he has a good relationship with.

(very long post ahead)

General :

- They bought the house in 2162, 2 years after getting married.

- It’s in the suburbs, or at least what the future version of the suburbs would look like. In other words, the presence of a backyard is debatable.

- There could be a garage for their time vehicle, so that they don’t have to go to headquarters every single day. And if not an actual garage, there’s at least some space to put it. In both cases, it would be near the bedroom’s side of the house.

- While the walls outside would have that futuristic “metallic” look, the walls inside would be a bit warmer. At the very least, the inside isn’t “future metallic white”, especially with Vinnie having photophobia.

- The intensity of the lights in every room can be adjusted. That way, Vinnie can put the dimmest light and navigate the house without his glasses. This is mostly useful for showering and midnight snacks.

- When they went house-hunting, Balth was the one who insisted that they needed a place with those kinds of lights. This is also the same kind of lights that Vinnie had in his now-former apartment.

- You know how near the end of the episode “First Impressions” you have Balth going into Mr. Block’s office ? Well, the way the door opens in that moment is how the door opens for every room of the house, perhaps excluding the main entrance (I like the idea of their front door being an “old” one, aka the “normal” doors we have today).

- Every room would have a spot that can create “tactile panels”, like some holographic tablet that can be used to change the settings of the house, for example changing the lights or the internet or even lock the doors and blinds.

- In 2175, when they were forced to leave the future, Vinnie stole a device from B.O.T.T. that made him able to create some kind of forcefield around the house that only he and Balth can remove. So, even if they’re not there anymore, the house still is theirs and can’t be sold to anyone else. And before you ask why B.O.T.T. didn’t simply send agents to bring the duo back and force them to open the shield : the forcefield works with hand-scan detection and Vinnie convinced Balth to use their left hands, the hands with the wedding rings. So if time-agents come knocking, they could try convincing the agents to let them use the bathroom first and they could wash their hands and use the soap to remove the rings. That way, the scan wouldn’t work and the agents would have no way of knowing why.

Living room :

- There’s more furniture than showed here like souvenirs from previous missions or some random stuff that belongs to them. I just don’t have enough imagination. : /

- Likewise, the corridor has a few pictures or posters, like pictures that Vinnie didn’t have the space to put in his memory room but still wanted to display. Also, I want to say that Vinnie would display pictures of his family (sibling, in-laws and nephews) but I’ll see him more as having an album for family pictures, or a framed picture on his nightstand.

- There could definitely be a carpet or two. They would either be modern ones to fit the fact that they’re from the future or vintage stuff found in some of their missions. One of the carpets would be under the coffee table. Another would be in the big-ass space between the living-room and the kitchen, or in the corridor.

- The style is a mix between old and new stuff, with also a few things related to their interests. Like, for example, the couch could have an animal pattern or something (AND BY THAT I DON’T MEAN REAL ANIMAL FUR).

- Speaking of the couch, after looking up “futuristic couch” on the internet, they would absolutely have one of those gigantic couches that have like a bed attached to them due to how big they are. Btw I have no idea which company came up with this design and I couldn’t care less. It’s just that the design looks cool and would fit a futuristic house.

- The side table is a floating square, given how we see in “A Christmas Peril” that tables in the future don’t have feet anymore (that’s one way to protect your toes).

- The floor lamp is more futuristic. It’s like a white orb attached to a lamp foot.

- The TV is attached to the wall. The remote is some kind of holographic tablet, kind of like the house settings thingy.

- This is where Balth would spend most of his mornings and evenings when they stay home. He’d just be sitting with a cup of tea, most of the time also a book, with the sun illuminating the room, just feeling comfortable and peaceful. The side table/cube was bought specifically for Balth’s tea. He would also use the lamp while reading in the late evening, either for the peace of having little to no light and solely focusing on the book or as a way for Vinnie to be in the room with the lights at the lowest setting. And speaking of Vinnie, he would sometimes join his husband on the couch, lying down with his head resting on Balth’s legs (cue Vinnie falling asleep, leading to a frustrated Balth who needs to pee but doesn’t want to wake him up).

- Since there’s a mini-table for when Balth drinks tea, the table right in front of the couch is mostly used for Vinnie to rest his legs on.

- And speaking of fluffy headcanons : movie nights. From time to time, aka minimum once a month, probably more, the couple would be in their pajamas cuddling on the couch while watching a movie, with Dennis resting in Balth’s arms.

For the movie choices, Balth would choose science-fiction, especially if there are any Professor-Time-themed movies, but also historical fiction (for some reason I tend to see Balth as having a liking for history ? I think it’s because of the way he dresses + his small rant about pirates in “Game Night” ? Idk honestly. It’s mostly a random headcanon that’s here for some weird reason). As for Vinnie, it’s mostly animal documentaries (Balth falls asleep halfway through but Vinnie doesn’t notice until after it’s over) or animated/family movies (the future equivalent of D*sney, S*ny pitcures, P*xar etc. Which are movies Balth would enjoy as well). For some weird reason I’ll also see the two of them being into mystery movies (crime-solving movies basically).

And if they sometimes decide to watch other genres, I could see Balth having a liking for some romance movies, because for some reason I like the idea of Balth being sappy. Besides, the guy is passionate when it comes to proving himself at his jobs and takes them pretty seriously in order to reach his objective. And given how he can be insecure and sometimes feels like a ball of anxiety, who’s to say he isn’t passionate when it comes to love too ? And no, I don’t mean passionate as in “making out all the time”, I mean passionate as in taking relationships seriously and making it work while also wishing to make sure his partner knows that he’s loved, even if Balth isn’t really the best at expressing his affection all the time.

On a different note, to get back to other genres : Vinnie would probably like horror movies. Because if cuddling in front of a sappy movie is great, having your husband show his love and trust for you by clinging to your arm out of fear is even better, nevermind the fact that you’re as terrified as he is.

Kitchen :

- It’s one of those kitchens with two walls of cupboards/cabinets, both on the ground and elevated. One of the cabinets is used entirely for snacks. Because Vinnie.

- The wall separating the kitchen and the living room “has a hole in it”. It’s like you have a small wall with cupboards, a hole, and a wall connected to the ceiling with a few cabinets. Basically, you look up “kitchen cupboards” and imagine that the space in-between is a hole instead of the wall (why is it so hard to explain something so simple ?).

- This would be the most futuristic-looking room of their house. Looking up at references, they’re that Pinterest post showing a room with white cabinets with round corners and what seems to be slide doors. This is pretty much how I’ll see their kitchen, except bigger, with a different wall color and with one wall not being here (see above).

- The table is floating because of course it does. The chairs don’t tho. Also the chairs are as futuristic as the rest of the room. And looking up the internet again, the chairs are shaped like chairs.

- So I put a stove but tbh I’m not sure how much these two would cook, given how in the show they’re always seen eating out (granted they don’t have a kitchen in their ‘apartment’ in Milo’s time). And given how most things seem automatized in the future, let’s just assume that the house can do most of the cooking itself with like a robot (aka plot-convenience technology) but still needs the necessary furniture and ingredients for the recipes. Also, if there’s an issue with their cooking system, they’ll probably know a few recipes and can feed themselves (Vinnie’s oldest brother Enzie would definitely teach his younger siblings a few recipes, at least enough to survive on their own. And he would be more than happy to teach his brother in-law as well).

- I put 4 chairs at the table but honestly I could see them keep 2 at all times and put the others in the storage room, especially the times they get very busy with their job for a few weeks and don’t have the time for social life.

- At some point, Balth probably tried to convince Vinnie to have better food habits and tried to put his snacks on the higher shelves. Not only did it not work because chairs exist but also it led to Vinnie getting frustrated. So Balth dropped it. Though, he would still try to talk Vinnie into working out to stay rather healthy.

Memories room :

- Vinnie’s personal space. He basically saw the third biggest room of the house and went “mine now” and Balth had no issue letting him have it (hard to say no when Vinnie’s eyes shine like that).

- He already had a memory room in his old apartment.

- Basically, Vinnie brings back souvenirs from his missions, along with pictures he took, and put them on display. For more information, I made a post about it a while ago, so check it out if you want info on it.

And side note : I learned more about ADHD and autism later on and found out that the correct word for Vinnie’s passion for animals is a special interest, not a hyperfixation. The main difference between the two terms is how long your interest last. The reason I used “hyperfixation” in my post is because 1. I didn’t know that “special interest” was a term that existed and 2. people with ADHD kept talking about having hyperfixations and most people see Vinnie as having ADHD. So yeah, my bad for using the wrong term. And while I won’t change the current text from my post, especially with someone in the notes correcting me (I don’t want them to look like an idiot), I’ll definitely add a few words at the end of the post about it.

- This is where Vinnie spends most of his time when at home, trying to keep the room in the best condition.

- There’s a window in the room but Vinnie condemned it in case some of his souvenirs were sensitive to the sunlight.

- The room is made entirely of shelves, with like four-five rows on the same wall. The shelves are either integrated into the walls or they’re floating because future. In any cases, there’s nothing around the shelves, it’s just shelves with stuff on it.

- When you enter the room, one of the rows of shelves next to you has all the animal-related stuff he gathered before starting a relationship with Balth. The rest of the room can have a few animal-themed objects but the pictures tend to be more linked to him and Balth.

- Likewise, when you enter the room, on the shelf you’re immediately facing, there’s a miniature recreation of their wedding altar with their wedding picture in its center. The miniature is made out of the future equivalent of papier-mâché and the altar is themed around time-travel with objects from all kinds of time-periods and cultures. And for those who might ask regarding the picture : Vinnie has a black suit and carries the bouquet while Balth has a white suit. Both have a hat that’s basically Balth’s usual hat (with the Professor-Time goggles, because themed wedding) but colored like their respective suit.

Balthazar’s office :

- The room has quite a few libraries but this is mostly decorations. Basically, this room is more of an 1800th century study than anything, especially a rich/royal study. Yeah, for some reason I see Balth as having an office that’s just “rich 1800th century” aesthetic. I think it’s from the headcanon of him being a runaway prince 🤔.

- So yeah. The bookcases are vintage, the piano is your usual black piano, the armchairs are vintage and tbh Balth almost never uses them because he’d rather read in the living room, and the desk is vintage, though the stuff on the desk is futuristic. Balth is up to date with the technology he’s using to work, he just likes the older aesthetic for the rest.

- On his desk, despite literally living with the guy, Balth has a framed picture of Vinnie (again, I want the stubborn gay disaster to be sappy from time to time, with his love language being small touches and attention to details like for example being able to quickly see the kinds of foods Vinnie like the most so that when he’s in a bad mood, Balth can get him that specific food to make it better ; or learning Vinnie’s body language to know when he’s upset or bothered by something).

- Balth mostly spends his time here to make the reports on their missions or work some administration stuff when needed. When he isn’t at his desk, he’s there to play the piano.

And yes, I throw out the window that line from “Backwards to School Night” that indicates Vinnie doesn’t know about Balth playing piano but tbh I ignore or question quite a few things from this episode such as : the line indicating that Vinnie and Balth don’t live together in their time-period since Balth doesn’t know Vinnie’s weekend habits ; the line about how the ray thing age you down to 90% your current age and yet baby Vinnie seems younger than the parents despite his adult self seeming older; the fact that Melissa read a book 16 times in the span of 6 minutes ; the fact that it’s called a “age regressor ray” and not a “age regressor ray-inator” (seriously, I am the only one always expecting Vinnie to say “inator” and being disappointed when he doesn’t ?).

- The couple absolutely sing songs together with Balth playing the piano. Or at least Vinnie would sing a song in the middle of the living-room and have Balth be annoyed by it, only for Vinnie to hear Balth play the same song on the piano later and join him.

Bathroom :

- Not much to say here. It’s a bathroom. It’s futuristic-looking. The mirror is a cabinet. The tub is round. The bin comes in and out of the wall. The clothes drier also irons the clothes. The toilet is glued to the wall. The walls are dark gray or dark blue or at least a darker color so that Vinnie doesn’t have to dim the lights to the lowest level when he’s showering. There are also several little lights along with a main one so that Vinnie can light the small ones instead of getting a headache due to the brighter light. During lazy/slow days, Balth would take baths instead of showers (and Vinnie would want to join him to make out). Balth may or may not sing in the shower (Vinnie definitely does). That’s pretty much it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Guest/Storage room :

- Only used as a guest room when one or several members of the Dakota family are visiting the states and end up in the Tri-State-Area. So for 90% of the time, the room is used as storage.

- Bed’s not that big and very “squary”. Might or might not be floating.

- It’s mostly random junk that they don’t know where to put and don’t want to get rid of, like some stuff they got from their missions but that Vinnie doesn’t want in his room or some old things they want to give at a garage sale or that one Professor-Time body-pillow that Balth refuses to let go of while Vinnie just wants to trash the thing. The body-pillow being in the storage room in a junkpile was their compromise on the issue. Also, whenever someone might stay in the room, Balth makes sure there’s no way they will find the body-pillow (his sister in-law Bettie would never let him live it down).

- Not much to say here either aside from that.

Master bedroom (the room in which the proportions are way bigger than the rest of the house because I have no idea what I’m doing) :

- I described the room quickly in my fic “nightmares” but yeah basically the room has several posters and pictures related to their interests, along with a bookshelf full of animal encyclopedias, time-travel facts, history books, Professor-Time fantasy books etc. There are also albums, whether it be family pictures or album of the two of them.

- Like for the living-room, there can definitely be more than what I described/pictured here. I’m just really bad at imagining the kind of stuff people would have in their bedrooms related to their interests. And speaking of which : at some point, there was the aquarium that Vinnie mentions in “Time Out”.

- Unlike the other rooms in which the windows have roller blinds (apparently that’s the english word for it ?), this one has curtains on top of it because Balth likes to open the window in the morning but he doesn’t want Vinnie to hurt his eyes. So with curtains, he can open them enough to light the room but not enough for the light to reach Vinnie’s face.

- The bed is pretty classic for a futuristic bed but with round edges and these two idiots definitely go crazy with the sheets design (animals, food, Professor-Time, past time-periods, stuff like that). Also, the bed is “open”. By that I mean that, if you look at futuristic designs, there tends to be some roof thing above the bed and linked to it. They wouldn’t have that.

- The nightstands are floating cubes.

- “Dennis’ chair” is just some random old wooden chair where Dennis stays most of the time. Balth almost never takes him during his missions and Dennis is a comfort object that Balth mostly talks to when sitting on the bed, movie nights aside. So the bear stays in the bedroom.

- The bookshelf would also be made of wood.

- The wardrobe is futuristic, with doors that can open by themselves with sensory detection. Also, unlike what that poor “drawing” shows, the wardrobe is “taller” than it is “larger”.

- The armchair is an egg chair.

- They sleep

- They spoon

- Balth is the big spoon because 1. he’s taller and 2. he grew up sleeping while embracing a teddy bear and old habits die hard.

- When Balth goes to sleep or wakes up, he can’t help but play with Vinnie’s hair and give the small man a few kisses, feeling satisfaction in seeing his husband smile or try to pull away while laughing.

- Vinnie sleeps on the side closest to the window while Balth sleeps on the side nearest to Dennis.

- Balth’s nightstand has an alarm clock that’s basically just a holographic square with numbers on it, while Vinnie has an album or some random animal trinket. Vinnie’s alarm clock is not feeling Balth’s warmth against him. But if Vinnie has to use an actual alarm, the sound would either be some old-fashioned song or an animal noise (is this starting to get too much insistence on the “animal-loving” side of him ?)

- While Balth likes to read in the living-room, Vinnies likes it better to chill in the bedroom when reading. Also, during weekends and vacation days, Balth would sometimes read in bed before sleeping (yeah for some reason I really like the idea of Balth being a reader. I think it has to do with him being old or british ??? Weird brain is weird. And besides, if Balth reads, it would most likely be science fiction related to Professor Time). Vinnie uses this time as an excuse to cuddle.

- They have themed pajamas. Balth mostly has Professor-Time stuff (clocks, Heinz or Perry’s faces etc) while Vinnie has mostly animal-themed or food-themed pajamas.

- Vinnie sometimes sleeps naked in the summer. Balth is still trying to figure out how he feels about that.

- Random headcanon regarding Dennis : while he belongs to Balth who keeps him close when in doubt in order to vent or when he wants to get comfortable somewhere, I actually like to believe that, between the two, Vinnie is the one who talks the most to Dennis, mostly because Vinnie would just enter the bedroom and casually greet the bear, or he and Balth would have a dumb argument and Vinnie would playfully tell Dennis “Can you believe that guy ?” while pointing at Balth. Just, Vinnie being Vinnie and having random one-sided conversations with the bear.

And a little cute thing : while Vinnie really just talked to Dennis because why not, seeing the guy like the teddy bear so much would actually make Balth feel better about himself. I like to believe that grown-up men having plushies would still be seen as a ridiculous thing by most people (because toxic masculinity) and Balth got the habit of hiding Dennis when he was still trying to find the right guy for him. So seeing Vinnie have no issue whatsoever with the teddy bear and even liking him would definitely help Balth’s confidence, along with warming his heart.

- And since this post is all about headcanons : two things about phones and these two being sappy that have nothing to do with houses.

1. One day, Balth left his phone on a table and Vinnie decided to take a selfie with it because why not. After seeing that, Balth acted frustrated but ended up putting the pic as his phone background. Ever since, Balth’s phone background is a picture of Vinnie. The most recent one is from “We’re Going to the Zoo” with a picture of Vinnie holding squirrels in his arms while a third one is coming out of his pistachios-filled pants. The pic on the phone is a closeup, only showing Vinnie’s head and upper body. And for those who like angst, I’ll let you imagine how he must have felt having this as his phone background during the rogue arc.

2. Vinnie’s (numeric) phone password is 2703, aka march 27, the date of his wedding anniversary. The day is put first and the month second because Europe. Also, during busy weeks, this would be a good way for Vinnie to remember the anniversary.

(fun fact : I was trying to come up with scenarios for fics when I ended up thinking about Vinnie’s password and that number came to mind. So I just went “guess that’s their wedding date now”)

#Milo Murphy's Law #Vinnie Dakota #Balthazar Cavendish #Dakavendish #long post #VERY long post #headcanons #Flor talks #hey look I'm rambling again about random shit #I am SO. BAD. at design #but yeah #have a house #and random ideas #also have Balthazar Dakota #it sounds more and more normal when you think about it a lot #also Dennis Cavendish #or is it Dennis Cavendish-Dakota ?#now to edit the memory room post

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myfeetkeepdancing · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Love - 2 - | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 9758

Warning: Smut

Thoughts far beyond the room, carried away by the pitch-black darkness stretching far into the starry night. Hunched onto the isle counter of the kitchen, gazing onto something that wasn't there. Absentmindedly swirling the alcoholic contents through your glass. With a sigh and sip of your drink, you snap out of it and return to your spot on the couch. Whatever you tried, your thoughts were only on one thing. Tom. You couldn’t shake it. You catch yourself falling back into old, bad habits. Nail-biting. This boy did so much more with you then you thought, emotionally and mentally. Yet your mind gathered dark clouds at the thought of the silences that were going to fall in-between the conversation. That is if he was ever going to show up…

It's been too long for your conscience to make sense of anything. The ticking of the clock drove you further down the path of doubt and worry. It couldn't have been. Your feet once again drag you to the other rooms. From the living room to the bar, into the adjacent room. A dark, spacious room with enough seating for any sports team, poles running from the ceiling to the floor, and various racks of alcohol spaced along the wall. But no one there to enjoy it. Only you and your damned nerves playing a part on you. A vast, luxurious hotel room for stars like you was a curse, high above the rest of the world. Living in a bubble of unprecedented wealth and fame. You didn't know what you were doing there. Gazing mindlessly at a row of bottles of alcohol. Stepping outside on the balcony, cooling you down for a moment. But only momentarily. Only for your mind to remind you, that you wouldn't be able to hear him arrive from here. You try to push it back. But soon, your feet scurried their way back to the living room. Taking a peek through the tiny spyhole in the door, glancing down the hall.

Nothing.

Just luxury and silence. Legs stretched out before you, you hang back in the sofa again. Absent-minded rubbing your forehead. Almost with a sense of lost hope. Staring through the large windows over the city at night. No sounds. Just lights. You tip the last bit of your drink down your throat. The alcohol burning a way down your throat. An involuntary hiss escapes in response. With a tap of your finger on your phone, you illuminate the screen.

Nothing.

Why wasn't he here? Did you play your hand? Where you too pushy? Did something go wrong in the club?

The questions keep circling in your mind. Recollecting every word you said to him. Weighing them careful against each other. As your overthinking mind went in overdrive. You can't help it. But if there's one thing that soothes your nerves and brings peace to your mind. It's playing your guitar. A simple tune. Gracing the strings in a calming fashion. Slow and steady, you play your mind free. Nothing unusual but-

The sound of a knock. Your eyes lock on the door instantaneously. A rush of heat shoots through your body. Jolting upwards. Stumbling over your own feet, you rush towards the sound. Halting just before the door, careful not to crash into it. For all you know, it could be someone from the hotel itself. So caught up in your own thoughts. Another knock follows. Every knock increasing your hammering heartbeat against your ribcage. Focus man. Focus.

That sense of relief. When you open the door, all hope returns. Followed by sheer joy. And more nerves. “Tom.” You hear yourself bring a bit too much excitement through your voice. “Hey…”

"(Y/N)" Tom said, his voice loaded with happiness, and with such a genuinely sweet smile, just the right touch of shyness. Just like that, Tom reminded you of all those years back. The aura of joy and vibrant happiness that hangs around him. That smile, contagious on the first sight. His eyes capture you from the very first glance. Difficult to let go, and pleasant to lose yourself in.

“Thanks for having me.” He beams, opening up his arms towards you. It’s unexpected. Partially because you felt slightly on edge. Nervous. But it sure is welcome. You lean into him, as his arms reach around you. Patting each other on the back. It had a certain energy, a feel to it you embraced. Nostalgia, familiarity. But it also carried something more to it. A vibrant warmth rising and turning into sexual tension as Tom’s muscled arms held you. Not only his touch making you all warm and fuzzy. But also your points of contact along his body with your arms. The feel of his muscled frame. No denying in that. Tom had grown, matured. Became manlier. And you could see that. For once, you could feel it. As you both let go, you share a moment of eye contact. Eyeing you with the same kind of joy that stirred up in you.

"Thank you for coming." Both holding back a moment. For the first time, you're finally able to take in his way of dressing. A perfectly tailored suit with a soft jacket against the wind. Returning the smile. "May I-?" Moving closer to him, offering to take off his coat. Revealing his broad shoulders under a buttoned-down white shirt. Your nostrils were teased by his earthy cologne, a delightful odor that was worthy of Tom’s standard as a gentleman.

You share a moment of eye contact as you glance back at him while hanging up his coat. His hands tucked into this black suit pants, looking over his shoulder back to you. You both feel caught at the same time. That rush of heat tickles on your senses. Returning your gazes to whatever you were staring at. "I hope I wasn't interrupting something." His smile broadening on his face. "Heard you playing for a bit." Eyeing the guitar, you let slip to the floor once you heard his knocking.

“No, No. Not at all.” Feeling the flutters rise in your system. “I was… waiting for you.” You confess with a slight blush rising to your cheeks. “Helps me calm my nerves.” Tom followed you along as you led him further inwards. You were afraid of the tension, the unease of the situation. Your mind still occupied by the hug. And it’s sexual tension that came with it. Yet it felt right. Tom somehow made you feel comfortable around him. His way of talking, the way he carried himself.

“Really?” His smile stretching further across his face. “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind if you continued.” He said. “Sounded absolutely brilliant.” Feeling a slightly caught off guard by his genuine sweetness, you nod and suppress your ever stretching smile. His personality as a whole was so infectious. So kind and endearing. Full of life.

“T-This looks amazing.” Looking about the place with wonder. “You usually stay in swanky hotels like this?”

“Most of the time.”

“I must be doing something wrong.” He chuckles to himself. “This is a world apart from my trailer.”

“Well, perhaps you could think about a career change?” You tease him. “I mean, you handled yourself pretty well in that lip sync battle. Might be something for you in there.”

"Oh my god, that's literally going to be the only thing I will be remembered for." Shaking his head. "I mean, was it that good?"

“It really was, Tom. I loved it.” You wholeheartedly confess. The images flashing before for your very eyes. Burned into your memory. “Very much so… For one, your choreography was brilliant. And I think with your voice and that history in dance, you could definitely make it. God, I sound like a panel judge from television.”

"No, please!" He laughs. "Do go on! That’s a big compliment coming from you.”

“Well, if you hang up your Spider-Man suit, you got something to fall back onto.” You pat him on the shoulder.

“I’ll drop you a call once I’m there.”

From the adjacent cupboard, you bring a glass, lining it up with yours. A somewhat uneasy silence present in the room. Pouring the liquor into the glasses without even asking him. You're being lured in as you walk your way towards him. His brown eyes captivating you, reeling you in. "Your friends know you're here?"

“I’m a terrible liar, so…” Pressing his lips together, jaw clenched, and eyes fluttered. Shaking his head softly. Tom sure had perfected the look of that innocent puppy, being accused of tearing the toilet paper to shreds. “They had a very good idea where I was heading.”

"Well, I thought our little talk was quite discreet." Getting him here felt like a victory for you. But standing in front of him, it still felt different, even after all these years. There was a distance between you two. As if you were still treading on thin ice. Not sure where you both were taking the conversation. Yet you knew what you had discussed earlier that night. And somehow that was bound to be brought up. And at the same time, that fire burning inside you. A craving. “For the nerves.” Ringing the glasses together. “Cheers.”

“Not to them…“ He chuckled before eyeing the contents of his glass. “Gin….” Taking a good sip as he lets the alcohol do the rest. “Good choice.”

“How was the trip anyway?”

"That was awesome! I was amazed at how well everything was put up. Super discreet and sneaky. I felt like James Bond for a moment, slipping through those backdoors and such." Taking a gentle sip from his drink. And as you gaze at him. You begin to notice the blushes on his cheeks. They're small but… noticeable. Cute almost. Tom had changed in all those years. Despite his journey, he had regained that youthful look. The wrinkles at his eyes as he laughed. That smile. His enthusiasm. "You, eh… used that secret passage before?" He asks while scratching his throat after his first sip of liquor—a slight tremble to his voice.

You chuckle slightly at his question. Eyeing the floor for a moment, as you scratch your forehead. "It's… been used many times." You smile and return your gaze up at him. "But not once by me."

"Good. Good." He nods, noticing a sense of relief in his voice. "Hotel provides it?"

“Yup. Curtesy for the famous and the rich. We gotta lot to cover up these days.”

“With all the media these days, you gotta be careful.”

“I haven’t seen it mentioned on Instagram or anything, so you’re safe.”

“Couldn’t find anything about you either.” Sharing his screen with you. A small lump in your throat formed as you say all the different tags and searches Tom had thrown onto the internet. All involving your name. The thought of him searching for information about you. It was flattering. Your eyes widen, plastered to the screen. Tom’s search tab on Instagram, the moment it loaded. It was filled with pictures and edits from you. You desperately try to suppress your grin. At the same time, that immediate rush of heat coursing through your system. “See.” Looking back at you over his shoulder. “Nothing.” Scrolling past countless pages of your pictures. Before putting his phone away with that same face of innocence. You try to suppress the thoughts racing through your mind. That suppressed grin was inevitable. You just had to smile.

“What’s so funny?” He chuckles softly. Hanging back against a table, arms and legs crossed. Smiling at you, waiting for you to gather some sense.

“I was… I … couldn’t stop going down memory lane.” It wasn't a complete lie. Tom was clever. But not with tech. Never has and never will be. It made him so much more wholesome. So human.

"I had the same on my way here!" He adds on with explosive enthusiasm. It's relaxing to listen to Tom, recollection memories, and stories from back then. Like an old couple rethinking their old days. It brought back so many good things. Reconnected the two of you in many ways. "That was one heck of a time."

“And we managed to keep it a secret.” Hinting at the sexuality issue. “We managed.” You could twist and turn around the subject, but it is inevitable to avoid. You were both here for a reason.

"Personally, it wasn't easy, I have to say." Biting the insides of his cheek with a gaze occupied elsewhere. Contemplating his choices. Hearing him sigh a little. Swallowing the lump forming in his throat. For a moment, you hesitate if you perhaps crossed a line. That moment of silence as he pondered, kept the silence going. But as he returned his gaze towards you, you’re met with big brown eyes begging. “It gets lonely.”

“I get it.” You nod. Drowning into this powerful gaze. “Luckily, our careers tend to need most of our attention."

“Our careers are important. Absolutely. But...” He sighed, voice heavy with sympathy. “Don’t you feel that emptiness, that loneliness? Late at night in your bed. Waking up to an empty apartment. Dinner alone. I got my mates over once in a while. But that feeling, for me, it's just getting worse each year."

"With a busy life and all, you tend to lose sight of your own needs." You say with an unintended sadness. Yet you completely agree with Tom. You shared that feeling—that experience. Being on the move many days of the week, not a single place felt like home. Life isn’t bad. It absolutely isn’t, far from it. Things are going well for you. Each year is better than the last. And money wasn’t a concern. But there are things in life that shouldn’t be bought with money. And your love life grew further away then you realized. The higher you build your barriers from the truth. You try to shield your eyes from reality. Yet something inside is so strong. It hungered. “I know that feeling… all too well.”

It craved—more than ever.

“Have you dated anyone?” A hint of insecurity rang in his voice. His posture was stiff, pausing for a moment, staring hard into your eyes. “Y-You know… with the rumors and all that." There was a certain unease to his way of saying—a hint of concern regarding what you would answer.

"I haven't…" Shaking your head. "No…" You could notice the sense of relief going through him. The way his shoulders loosened, seating himself more comfortable on the couch. That gentle curve on his lips slowly reappearing. "And you?" You ask, but receiving a look from Tom, you knew all too well from back in the day. "Don't give me that look, Tom."

“C’mon! I mean, people are literally lined up for you." He said with a laugh. "In front of stadiums etc. Not to mention the screaming ones in the front row."

"Oh! Speak for yourself, mister handsome. You're praised everywhere, and by everyone. And right so…"

"Mate!" He laughed, tossing a cushion your way. "The same goes for you!" Both of you waiting for each other to collect their thoughts. Pondering about what to spoil and tease each other with next.

“I’ve missed this.” You openheartedly confess, downing your drink in one go. Feeling it impossible to retain your smile. Spending time with Tom was just like the old days. You met when he was younger, shared many things, and clicked on multiple occasions. Turning into a friendship for years to remember. But eventually, time pulls people apart. Tom became busy with his acting role in Eliot. While you were taking the first few steps into the singing business. Taking not long to be discovered and climbing the ladder as the years progressed.

In that earlier time, of growing up, and preparing for adulthood. Started with being simple 'outsiders' during those school years. It brought you together. Sharing many hours together after school. Getting to know his family. Finding solemn and peace, quiet, comfort, and acceptance in each other’s presence. The things you enjoyed doing. Together. That resulted in years of fun trips and memories that you will always cherish. In the further years of growing up, relationships and their sexuality came in to play. A road of discovery. For both of you.

You always had been honest with each other. Tom knew you like the back of your hand. Recognized when you felt down or struggled to stand up for yourself. The same went for Tom. You knew precisely when Tom held back. He always was a kind and loving soul. Too kind for this world. And knew that Tom had difficulty saying 'no'. His weaknesses, but also admirable qualities. That level of trust and feeling of unwavering loyalty and friendship caused both of you to question the value. Misjudges things. Feel different things.

Feelings. On that road of discovery, we all begin to learn new things about ourselves. Give things a place in our lives. Our values and morale are formed—the first steps towards adulthood. But the one grew up faster than the other. Certain events and comments not helping. And so, you slowly began to lose sight of each other. Speaking less and less. Going to different colleges. Eventually losing numbers. And the ways to connect. But never the thought of each other.

"We should have done this much earlier." His sparkling eyes not letting you go. Without thinking twice, the words had spilled from your mouth. You avert your eyes away, sucking on your teeth, trying to contain your grin. "I've really missed this. You know… Us. Like this."

“Your right.” He nods with a big ass grin. “And your smile says it all.” Throwing the entire contents of his glass down his throat again. “Just like old time.” Releasing a hiss as the alcohol burned its way down. “Now we’re even.” Putting his glass aside.

“Alcohol sure did bring us together.” Thinking about his somewhat awkward ramble from earlier tonight.

"And closer." Reaching for the bottle, ready to pour you another. That hinting and a playful smirk on his face. Eyeing for your reaction. "Another?"

“I don’t mind.” You quip without a second thought.

“Which one?” He asks with a challenging tone to his voice.

“Yes.” The grin stretching further along your face. The sexual tension was thicker than ever. You could feel it in the air. It was only a matter who’d initiate first. Tom, for sure, was playing along, as you watch him pour another. Handing you the glass, but holding onto it for a bit longer than necessary. Brushing fingers on the glass. Forcing eye contact. Deepening it. As if he was determined to find your goal or reasoning in your eyes. All the while, that seductive smile captivating you. It's almost magic. "So… Have you dated anyone?" Bringing back the burning question that lingered in your mind.

“No… No... I haven’t.” He said, sipping his drink while sinking back into the couch. The way he smiled, drawing his thin lips tight. Keeping eye contact the whole time while silence filled the gap in the conversation. Taking a comfortable position on the couch. But you can’t help but stare. It’s so satisfying. Your eyes are drawn to his shirt. The way it wraps around him. The way it tenses, the fabric stretching. And that first button barely holding on. Teasing you. His pause was long and thoughtful. At first, you thought he had was mustering his courage to find the right words.

"Why, Tom?" You continue to prod into his charming offensive.

“I think it's the same reason as you." You could feel his gaze burning into yours. Making your heart beat faster and faster. "I still care about you (Y/N)." The way his voice carried your name was more than tantalizing. It provoked you. Played with you. "I can't deny it. And I won't." Raking his fingers through his curls. That movement alone, played in slow motion for you, watching his biceps stretch the fabric to its limit. It's hypnotizing. "Not anymore…" Meanwhile, his words burn into your mind. Feeling the heat rise in your system. Despite the alcohol in your system, you begin to feel the nerves taking over. The flashes of skin that exposed once he reseats himself on the edge of the sofa. Your eyes are glued to him. With a flick of his wrist, his fingers reach for the strap of his watch. Carefully sliding it out through the buckle, removing the watch from his wrist. Putting it down in front of him on the table. "I feel… that we… share that thought.” Before returning his gaze towards you, looking past his shoulder. That glint in his eyes. Awaiting your reaction. “Or does silence imply consent…" His voice has a cocky edge to it, yet subtle and with a playful charm. Leaving you simply nodding with a growing smirk.

“Good…" He said, looking pleased. "Then you leave me with one burning question." Turning in his spot. His eyes devoured you as he watched your every move. "Regret..." He said while crooking his head ever so slightly. Squinting his eyes to sharpen his focus on you. Ever so determined to catch any wrinkle on your skin, every beading trickle of sweat, every twitch in your eye, any change in posture, as he awaited your reaction. He wanted to know. He demanded to know. "Do you have regrets about the things you didn't do?" His voice hypnotizing. Raising himself up onto his feet, straightening himself, before slowly stalking his way towards you. "Speaking from our past, that is.” You could see the glint in his eye. That grin spreading across his face. Closing the distance. Inching closer and closer. His fingers reach for the first button of his white shirt. Releasing the tension on the fabric as it pops open, revealing more and more skin. He knew what he was doing. And you were more than fine with it. You let the scene play before you as you feel your breathing quicken. You heart racing. And heat rising.

"They say rejection is far worse than regret." You grin, returning your gaze from his exposed skin. "Does that sound familiar?" Noticing he was mere inches away from you. Cornering you on that tight spot.

One hand reaches beside you. As he hovers closer to you. “It does…” He breathes against your lips. "Yet, rejection never ever crossed my mind..." He smirks. That slight tilt to his head, awaiting the careful caress of your lips on his. The closer they came, the softer they appeared. The deeper the cravings became. “I figured the saying was the other way around.”

Tom frame hangs dangerously close to you above the couch. Both hands clinging to the backrest, hovering inches above you. He glances down at you for a moment. Your heart races faster and faster. He raises his right hand, caressing your cheek, and slowly slid down your face, lingering on the chin for a moment. You reach around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I know it is." You whisper, pushing yourself forward, lips parted, ready to lock into his.

“Doesn’t answer my question…” He pulls back from your approaching lips. Leaving your drawing a shuddering breath instead. Chapping your dry lips with your tongue. "-darling…" His voice low and raspy, teasing you. Neither of you says a word. You stare at each other for half a second or so. Drawn to each other. The little air between the two of you thick with tension. Lust. Passion. Desire.

Tom’s intense gaze forces the words from your dry and croaked throat. “I…” Tom’s lips part, and inch closer as you begin to utter the words. You knew the answer from the start. His hands closing in on you. Bodies brushing against one and another.”…-regret.”

Tom locks his soft, warm lips with yours. Pulling him into this slow passionate kiss. Your lips sensually dance against each other, while your tongues meet in between. Moaning softly into the kiss. The anticipation of being together in more than words, thoughts, dreams, and wishes, it electrifies every nerve in your body. Intoxicates. Warms you. Brings you to life like you never felt before.

His hands rove across your body with such intensity, prying the clothing loose from your body. As he breaks his lips away from yours. But continuing kissing the side of your neck. You feel a sudden shiver shoots across your spine, as his warm wet tongue connects with your skin. Sensually caressing the area around your neck. Down onto your collarbone and fumbling with the first buttons of your shirt. The excitement and ecstasy building up.

Your hands grasping onto his long brown curls. Returning the favor on his neck. Your body squished between the couch and his masculine body. Experiencing every curve and edge of his body against yours. It’s extremely arousing. You can’t help but grind against his force pushing down. The outlines of his muscles pushing down onto you. Through the fabric, you feel his erect cock pressed against yours. Both gasping a little as you share a glance at each other for a brief moment. Lust consuming his gaze. Without looking, you open the next button of his shirt. Your hands shake as they try to open the next.

Now slowly revealing his muscled frame. Your stomach's in ropes. Followed by a nervous flutter. Sighing dreamily as Tom has worked himself onto yours. You pull his naked torso against yours, his warm flesh pressing against yours. You violently kiss his lips as your hands slide down his back. Starting from his shoulder, down his back in a way, you free him of his shirt. Your hands ending up at his pants. Desperate to feel the roundings of his ass cheeks. Prying your fingers underneath the cloth, reaching for that fluid, round skin of his ass. They feel firm, tight, and incredibly satisfying to caress.

But Tom takes over. Pushing your body back and deeper into the couch. Losing your grasp on his ass. Ripping the shirt from your body with both hands. As you lay there, held down by both his hands on your shoulders. Tom starts trailing kisses running from your collarbone, down your chest. An ecstatic thrill pulses through your body at the feel of his lips upon your naked skin. You let out a low moan. Numbed by the sensations of his lips gracing and praising your wanting skin. You've been touch starved for years. Now groaning in pleasure. As he continues down further and further. With your eyes closed, you feel exactly where he was. Sweat breaks out all over your body as you feel the immediate thought of him inching his way down with each grace of his lips. Your fingers intertwined in his curls helps him spur on. As he moves to play with your nipple, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. Flicking gently at the hardened skin. His hands gliding along to your hips. With a strong pull, your pants slide off, and your member springs up from its captivity.

Without hesitation, he bends forward, both hands holding it in place. A wave of pleasures warms you, seeing him sliding his mouth over the head. It’s ticklish for a moment. A feeling that makes you jump a little on the spot. Rocking your body. But that subsides as quickly as pleasure takes over your senses.

You can't help but grunt as he works in your length. The pressure is strange for a moment. The suction is breathtakingly satisfying. Mind-boggling. Tom taking you in deeper and further. The touch of his lips on the veiny skin of your shaft. Keeping eye-contact as he does. It's so warm and so incredibly soft. The tender the touch of his tongue on your tip, made you gasp even harder. Lashing at the slit. It's beyond this world, the way he circles his tongue. Playing with your sensitive skin. It's something you never experienced as heavenly as before. The slow laps, licks, and careful sucks make you shudder and moan to the smallest change. Rolling your head back, your hips bucking upwards. You groan uncontrollably, feeling your entire body shudder from the sensation. Clenching buttocks and trembling legs. Trying to shove your length further into his mouth. But he keeps control, pinning your hips down. As he slurps and wets your member with such passion, it's impossible not to cum already.

In response, he digs his nails into your stomach, raking it towards your pelvis. Forcing you to watch him work. Releasing your pulsing, rock hard member from his warm and welcoming lips. “You look so good… under my touch.” He smiles, sensually teasing you with his tongue on your shaft. “You’re going to bust for me?” Bringing his lips to the underside of your cock.

The sight of it leaves you disconnected from your body and brain. Your fingers tremble, toes curling up and throat running dry. With small kisses, he starts nuzzling your shaft. And with one hand, stroking your cockhead. You can't help but feel the pulses coursing through your cock. All your blood directed to one place. Twisting and turning his hand along the ridges of the head. Still incredibly slicked from his saliva. His grasp is firm, yet releasing the tension just at the right moment, sliding along the sensitive skin. The ridges are hard by the pounding of your blood. Craving more and faster rubbing.

Tom is just focused on that one thing. Your moans. Finding the right spot. Caressing the skin in a way you could never do yourself. You never felt yourself. Nothing you did yourself would ever come close to this. “Do you want me…” He groans, licking the drops of pre-cum from your slit with his soft and warm tongue. “…-to make you cum?” It’s sensational the way your body seeps fluids from your cock. Tom’s tongue tenderly lashing at the streams of pre-cum.

“T-Tom…” You groan deep and hard. Feeling an imminent release coming up. Taking over your senses. But Tom continues to tease. Rubbing the frenulum with his thumb as he peppers kisses all over, expect your cock. You try to pull him upwards, feeling yourself close to blowing your load. "P-…Please…"

He continues kissing your belly, slowly working up. Paying no attention to your pleas. Rubbing himself against you, feeling his member rubbing against your thigh. Sliding further upwards, all nicely slicked. Creating satisfying friction of warm flesh and wetness. Latching one arm around his neck, the other on the pair of cocks. You help the incredibly satisfying grind increase pace. "I want you close to me." You moan to him, pulling him against you with your one arm. Tom doesn't linger long, closing both his arms around your neck. Both your chest together, grinding his hip into your tightened grip. Both gasping for air in the kiss.

“If you keep going like this…” He moans, looking up at you, heaving on your chest. Continuing to grind against you. “I’m…. I’m gonna blow first.”

"You're such a hot mess, baby." Releasing the hold on the pair of pulsating cocks, you dig your hands into his ass cheeks. "I'll take that load off you." You say with a grin on your face. A smile flickered on his face in response. Desperate to spill his load. The same going for you. But you wanted your turn at teasing as well. With all your force, you pull his ass cheeks towards you, lying flat on the couch. The entirety of his frame sliding across your sweaty body. Pushing the air from your lungs for a moment. His member meeting your face up close.

Tom's sigh on its own could make you burst as a whole. With a graceful lick and suckle on his balls, you force eye contact. Working your tongue up the shaft. Looking past his length, the beautiful curves of his abs, pecs, and collarbone grace your view. Watching his pleading expression as you continue. Tom's eye squint, while sucking his lower lip between his teeth, groaning with a deep and passionate volume. One hand on his length, you begin to slide your lips over his cockhead. It's large. It's firm. Wet. And incredibly smooth. You lips pop past the curves of his cockhead, onto the shaft. Your tongue meeting the head. Feeling the length twitch in your mouth as soon as your tongue slides further onto his shaft. The leaking drops of pre-cum smear across your tongue as you push further. Hitting the back of your throat. You stifle your gag reflex. Adjusting your mouth to his size. Tom's heavy moan followed up by shudder as he rolled his hips. An overwhelming experience. Your tongue wetting his shaft. Feeling the edges and ridges of his cock in your mouth made you even harder. Dripping from your own slit. After a few thrust into your mouth, you can already feel the momentum building. Stretching in your mouth. Shuddering movements. You would give him encouraging words, but your mouth was occupied. Filled with every inch of him. Slathering the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

To help his movement, you had your hands kneading into his ass cheeks. Pleasing white bums that cupped your hand perfectly. You slowly pried apart the cheeks. And with your fingers, you reach for his hole. Circling the tight flesh. Tom's moans increased as you begin pushing lightly against the resistance. Tom stops immediately. "B-Baby, please…" Groaning hard and long under your touch. His body quivers and shakes. And as you seek eye contact. You see him gasping, mouth wide open. His head hanging between his arms holding onto the couch. Trembling. Panting for air. "Ooh… s-s-shit!" Each push against his flesh, forcing an incredibly sexy moan from him.

That feel of his flesh weakening under your pressure. Accepting your finger, slowly, you begin pushing. Rubbing into his warm contorting flesh. Gripping around your finger tightly. Searching for that one spot. While caressing his cock with your tongue. Adding another finger made his knees weak. His whole body shuddering on top of yours. The anticipation building up in him. Pushing his cock further into your mouth and deeper down your throat. All the while, as his flesh softened, his hole loosening under your touch.

Your fingers drill deep and in motion with your sucking. It doesn't take long for his moans to turn short and shallow. "J-Just... like that!" He whimpers, leaning in towards you. The sudden shift of his cock in your mouth made you gag. Forcing it deeper down your throat. All swollen and wet. Dripping from your lips. You press your fingers deeper into him. As you feel him pushing into you. Plain right, fucking your mouth, down into your throat.

The moment you hit the spot is instantly noticeable. You feel the wetness dripping from his slit. The taste on your tongue. "That's it!" He cries out. Short, shallow thrust followed by a tortured growl. "Oh, my God." His whole body trembling. "Right there!" Continuing to shove his cock down your throat. "Keep doing that!" Following into your motion. Rutting his hip into you, short and shockingly. Waves of cum flooded your mouth. His dick pulsed on your lips. Feeling every vein contract and release wave after wave. Each thrust of your finger down his hole, surged the next. Your name cursed under his panting breath, as your struggle to gulp it all down. Trying to remember to breathe. Load after load gushed down your throat. Until a ragged, shuddering breath gave was the only thing you heard.

Releasing his still hard member from your mouth, you give yourself a breather. Gazing up from underneath, past his cock and heaving chest. You see that smirk on his face. Sharing a giggle as he helps you pull yourself up. "I'm so sorry." Kissing you gently on the lips, massaging your shoulders with both hands. "I let myself go there." Softly giggling.

"It’s alright.” You reassure him with a few kisses. “You can do anything, darling." Imitating his English accent.

"You shitface!" He chuckled as you take in his fluttered cheeks and a big smile. "I just hope I didn't harm that pretty voice of yours." Coming face to face with him again.

"That'd be quite a story." Planting your lips on his. "But, don't you worry… I can take it." Biting his lower lip sensually. Continuing to play with each other. "At this point, I wanna do it all.”

“Well, the night is long.” Licking the few drops of wetness running from your lips and cheek. “And there’s more after the sunrise.”

"That sounds so cheesy." You giggle softly as you let him pepper kisses along your cheek and down your ear.

"I’m helping you write a new song." Beginning to grind his ass cheeks against your length, while keeping a watchful eye on you. Sliding it up and down the crack of his ass.

"Shit… Tom." Running your hands down his figure. Captivated by his presence, up close, and all personal. "I can't fucking think straight." Kissing his collarbone and down to his pecs. The moans and groans he makes as you suckle on his nipple, flicking the skin with your tongue. Feeling it harden by your touch. His fingers clenching on your hair as you continue to suckle. Tom had a beautiful physique. And you soon found out he loved nothing more than being your kisses down your body. Completely overtaken by your praise of his body.

“I want you, baby.” He begs, trying to get your attention by squeezing your dick between his ass cheeks. “Every inch of you...” While you try to suckle on his exposed sweating skin. Every inch of him was pure heaven.

With one hand, you slick your member, ready to go. Keeping your lips on his collarbone. Tom moaned and moaned by your touch. Giving you an incredible boost in confidence. Digging the other into his lovely curved, round ass cheeks, the other onto your tip, guiding yourself to his hole. "I got this, baby." He groans. "I wanna feel it..." Taking your cock in his fingers.

All nervous and sweating, Tom pulls your head up, forcing his lips on yours again. Releasing a slow groan into the kiss. His fingers tremble of anticipation on your skin. Slowly guiding your cock to his hole. "I…" Nothing more follows. Your senses wholly overwhelmed. "...I'm lost…"

Lowering himself onto you, angling his pelvis just right, feeling his hole widen up, accepting your tip. Slowly pushing down on your cock. His lips quiver against yours, gasping for air. As you continue to push into him. Gravity doing the rest. The simulations grunt you both release by the sudden pleasure shakes your bodies. Unable to keep the kiss going. Leaning your foreheads against each other. Drowning in his captivating eyes. "This time…" He groans while drawing short breaths "-…I'll make you cum." His ass clamps down hard. Enveloping every inch of you tightly. Feeling his entire body shudder, goosebumps shooting across his skin. "I… promise, baby."

Tom was tight. Incredibly tight. "Fu-...uuuck…!" He growls, his face contorting in one of pain. But you were wrong. As his flesh convulses around your cock. The moment you slide in, he felt like you accepted him. But now, his skin convulsed around you. Squeezing you tight. "This… is… amazing." He keeps moaning. Burying his head in the crook of your neck, as the words escaped him in a ragged whisper. His continuous moans almost send you over the edge. "I…" He cursed under his breath. "I… can't move." He groans as you try to move.

Placing your hands on his ass cheeks, you help him get into the flow. Overwhelmed by his feelings, it takes you quite a bit of strength to get him moving. Slowly grinding his insides, his flesh starting to accept your rod with each thrust. Stretching him. Filling him. Pleasuring him.

Rolling his hips on your rod. Slow but sensual. The heat and smoothness driving you insane. Unable to find words. You stammer a few words as you help him ride you. But the words of Tom that make you stop for a moment. "You're gonna make me burst again, baby." Whispering into your ear. "Shit..." Moaning as he glances down onto his cock. Standing close to you. “Please… I’m…” He stammers before seating himself back up. “Im... getting… close...” You feel yourself harden inside him. The touch of your fingers makes him gasp in relief. It’s surreal for a moment. Feeling it so rigid in your hand. The way it’s warm and wet skin pulses in your hand. Each slow stroke you make, turning him more into a panting mess.

It's slow and sensual. Passionate. The grinding of his body against yours. The motion. The friction. Everything fell in the right place. His toned body riding your hard and eager cock. Tensing muscles of his rippled body. The moonlight casting a glow on all his hills and valleys, ripples and curves of his frame. It's just like a movie. Glistening in sweat. Like a song. A symphony of love and lust. Embed in your memory for eternity. His hands caressing your cheeks, while his lips close in on yours. Eyes locked. Release was imminent. Faster than you expected. A build-up of years. Finally there. It's all you ever wanted. "Just like that…" His words trailed off into oblivion as his eyes closed shut.

His hands shudder on your skin. Groaning vividly as he struggled to regain his focus. For a moment, he lost control. Groaning uncontrollably hard. Your fingers firmly wrapped around his length. Inching him closer and closer to his orgasm with each stroke. Massaging every ridge and vein on his pulsing cock. Focusing each stroke on the ridges of his head. Letting them ripple through your fingers through a tight grip. His moans were sexier then you imagined even in your dreams—all by your doing.

All it takes is looking him into his eyes. And the cum shot out in ropes. White strings off pure pleasure. One after another. His encouraging words made you speed up, making him shoot far and wide. It’s an incredible sight to see. Tom just cums and cums, spilling onto your hands and stomach. Praising you. Begging you for more. And as each shot launched into the air, his hole clenched around your cock. It synched up so perfectly. It turned you on immensely. Passing on the climax.

Jolts of energy, building up, searching for a release. A rupture of energy. Emotions. Spilling from you. Warm and wet. Gushing his insides, wave after wave. Your body locked in ecstasy and numbness. The grasp of your fingers fading on his flesh, curling your toes. Gasping for breath. Loss of words. Bliss.

Forever had you dreamed of this moment. Longed for it. That smile of his. The soft caress of his fingers on your skin. His moan. Long and deep. Groaning after your pulsing orgasm. Taking it all in.

“You’re a dream come true.” Cupping his cheeks. Connecting with his lips. This was meant to be. His body grinding against yours. Begging for more. Desires you beforehand only dreamed off. Now all surfaced. His masculine body thriving on top of you. Glistening with sweat. A hard rock cock, standing in-between you. Your eyes are drawn to it.

Tom cleared his throat, allowing a dry croak to escape his drawn, trembling lips. “I want this to last forever.” Moaning into the kiss. “Never... stop.” His arms wrap around your neck. Those rippling muscles in his arms were strong. Holding you in a tight hold. His torso grinding against you. It’s perfect. You can hear the harmony. It’s all true what they once sang. Love is all.

“Tom… I...” Getting kissed by him again. Unable to finish your sentence. With even more passion. Aggression almost. Fiercely exploring each other with your fingers. So few thoughts raced through your mind. Only Tom. Just the two of you.

Imposing a finger between your lips, breaking up the kiss, he tries to keep your lips sealed. Allowing you to draw much-needed air into your lungs. Watching him gather himself as well. Piece his words together. "If we're going to say it…" He whispers, kissing you down your jawline while trying to hold you flat to the couch. "I want to be the first." Engaging your lips again. You can't help but giggle into the kiss. Fighting for control. And Tom was strong. Teasing you as you struggle to get a hold of him. Not only distracted by his person up close, but also by your naked bodies thrashing. Eventually rolling both off the couch. After a shared giggle and a laugh, you continue to roll around on the carpet. Your flesh on his. Loving every inch of him. Worshipping. Fingers digging deep into each other's skin.

Eventually, you submit, rolling onto your back. Partially on purpose, but also out of curiosity. You take a moment to look at him. Your eyes run down his body, lingering over his straining chest muscles, broad shoulders, sculpted arms, and rolling abs. From his pelvis loomed his cock. Shining from the wetness, yet still hard, thick, and swollen. Completely ready for you. The anticipation made your heart race like never before.

"Prove it to me…" You ordered him. "I want you to show me your love." Not a moment of hesitation wasn't there. That sparkle in his captivating brown eyes. A continuous flow of love. Tom takes both your legs and spreads them apart. Inching himself closer to you. The way his eyes devour you sends a shiver through your whole body. Hooking one leg over his shoulder, he slides his shaft between your cheeks. Rubbing and teasing your hole. The touch of his hard tip on your tight flesh alone makes you whimper. He carefully watched your reaction. If he didn't stop already, you would bust right there. You couldn't help it—dizzy with anticipation. You watch Tom wet a finger with saliva. Spreading your cheeks apart with his fingers, inserting one into your flesh. You can't help but throw your head back. Tom wasn't gentle. He knew you wanted it. Your body craved it at this point. In one push, he forced his finger up there. "You like that, babe?" Adding another finger. Your whole body contorted around his movement. But Tom held you down. He leaned onto your chest, peppering kisses along your sweating skin.

A gasp of relief, emptiness, and desires sounded from your mouth. Tom's fingers had left an unrelenting desire to be filled by him. Your flesh had accepted such movements after a few thrusts, your body enjoying the slow teasing thrusts from his fingers. Leaving you in nothing more than a panting mess. Desperate. "Tom… Fuck me…" You exhale sharply. "Please…"

You watch attentively as he sucks his fingers clean. Stroking the length of his cock. To what avail you don't know. It was hard already. One hand on your raised leg, the other on his cock. He slowly sinks himself into you. That moment of when he pushed against your flesh. The resistance. Your body strained momentarily as it stretched the flesh—resistance fading. And the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and bliss fall over you. You can't help but close your eyes and roll back your head. And you let that incredible feeling wash over you. As he slides in slowly, inch by inch. Forcing a numbness in your pelvis, radiating up into your body. Steadying your breathing as your hole seems to widen even further before clenching on him again. You didn't realize you where groaning until Tom overshadowed your sound. Before you realize it, he's sheathed all the way into you. Tom's loud breathing indicating otherwise. Barely holding on, as he balances himself on one hand beside you. Involuntary clenching your hole around him even more. "God…You're so tight." He pants heavily, feeling his breath on your skin.

It didn’t hurt. Not one bit. Just the feeling of having Tom so deep inside you makes you feel fuzzy and warm. Horny to a point you never experienced. Tom slowly starts to his roll his hips into you. Slow and passionate. All you feel is the cock hitting your insides again and again. And the strength ebbing away in your legs. This was the best feeling you could ever imagine. “C'mon, stay with me.” He whispers. Noticing your body going limb by the pleasure of his penetration.

The continuous grinding on your insides was more than heavenly. Each push of his cock, the flesh pounding against yours. The ridges of his cock rubbing your insides were so incredibly satisfying. You can't help but grin at his comment. "Tom...." You manage to moan out. "... I'm…"

The sensations building up are immense. You're driven close to the edge several times by the penetration of Tom's cock. Something so fantastic and otherworldly, it made your mind go blank. He slows his movement and locks lips again. Murmuring to you. "You're really into me..."

Tom’s comment didn’t register in your mind. The only thought was having him rut faster into you. "You're… You’re gonna make me burst..." You pant heavily. "I'm so… fucking close..." Groaning from pleasure. "Go faster, T-Tom!"

"Shoot it for me, love." He whispers to you in a soft voice. He starts rolling his hips again. You buck your hips upward, feeling him reach deeper. The sound of bare naked flesh slapping against one another drove you closer and closer. "Blow your load." He groans in your ear. "C'mon… Look at me." Tom was as expressive with his words as with his actions.

You open your eyes to his flexed body muscles arching forward. Kissing you immediately as you begin to massage your shaft. Before abruptly breaking away. Leaving you wanting more. Instead, he holds on your thighs and begins to push deeper into you. His grip firm, yet careful and pleasing to the touch. Intensifying the moment. You arch upwards at Tom's sudden deep thrust. Pushing the air out of your lungs. Making your toes curl. Gasping for air. It felt as if his tip had touched your dick. Far and deep inside you. That warm fuzzy feeling now boiling up. Followed by a sweet explosive release. You cry out as a fountain of cum shoot from you. At the first sight of cum, Tom thrusts deeper again, pushing against the spot once more. Then, pulling your pelvis flush against his body. Penetrating you deep and rough. Again and again. Coating his stomach with your cum. "That's it, baby!" He exhales with you unload your cream. "Give it to me!" Your vision begins to cloud with dark hues and stars. As you balls churn load after load. His hand helping you drain the very last drop onto you. The other hand rubbing the wetness down his six-pack.

"K-Keep going… Tom." You moan slowly, regaining your senses. Enjoying his constant rubbing inside you. So warm and satisfying. You can't feel your legs. Only his cock sliding in and out. The rigid of his cockhead rubbing all the right places. And even after that explosive release, your erection doesn't fade away.

“I’m gonna bust all over you.” Clasping his hands to your sides. Picking up the pace again. Slamming his pelvis against yours. You grip both your legs and pull them towards you. Giving Tom a better angle to penetrate. He starts to gain momentum. Thrusting harder and deeper. While you whimper uncontrollably. Squirming from pleasure trapped under his rough pounding body. You just want him to pound you again and again.

He grunts while his movement became jagged and irregular. The words caught in his throat several times. Drowning in each other eyes. “I love you (Y/N).”

Throwing your arms around his neck, you pull him towards you. Whispering his name. Praising him. Feeling him grow incredibly large inside you. Stretching you. Moaning into his ear. And he doesn't need more. He jolts upward from your grasp. Your legs falling back. Tom grabs his cock with one hand as he pulls out. Followed by a shallow grunt that announced his orgasm. He manages to stay on his knees for a bare moment. In amazement and lust, you gaze upon this cock, ready to burst. Drips of wetness leaking from the tip. But as soon as the sensations take over his body, he topples over. Resting on one arm, hovering several inches above your heaving body. The other stroking his length with an intensity you never have seen before.

You take a moment, just as he is about to burst. You force your cock under it. Grasping both of them together with your hands. And take over. Tom cries out as his eyes widen. Both rubbing the cock with the same intensity. The touch of your cock against his, and his balls touching your flesh made him cum immediate. Your load boils up in an instant.

From both the slits, a shower of cum jets forward. And as it releases, Tom cries out loudly. Calling out your name. Growling. Groaning from release. Large strings of wetness spill onto your chest. Each stroke releasing another. More and more. Coating you in wetness. Literally dripping everywhere down your body.

"Y-You're everything." Tom gasped after he recovered his breath. His lips caressing the side of your neck. Sucking the skin between his teeth. Making sure to leave a mark. His cock semi-hard rubbing against yours. You can't help but feel numb and paralyzed by the touch on your skin. His tongue sensually licking the wetness from your skin. While grinding against you. "I love you." His lips finding yours again. "I love you so much…"

"Damn… Tom." Slinging your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer to you. The wetness spilling from one body onto the other. "You came three times." Feeling his hardening length grow against your thigh. "And you're not done, I feel." You chuckle with a blush.

"You turn me on incredibly." He smiles. "That's no secret." Pressing small kisses on your collarbone, up towards your lips. "But I plan to even that score… tonight." Biting his lower lip. "If you allow me to that is…" Roaming his fingers along your skin. His mind occupied on all the ways he could.

“I’m might pass out before we reach the bed.” You smile as you feel him harder again. As you two cuddle within each other's embrace. Slow, soft kisses followed by muffled moans, and fingers tracing the outlines of sweating, shuddering, and drained frames.

"Let's do it everywhere except for the bed." While searching for your cock with his other hand. Throwing one leg over, taking a seat on you. Rubbing the wetness and sweat down the crack of his ass. Teasing you with his hole. "Fill me up again." He growls, pushing down on your cock while spreading his legs. "I can't get enough of it." He shudders and groans as you begin to stretch him up again. Gasping as your sensitive skin was pleasured again. "And so do you, I see."

And so the night goes on. Time isn't of the essence. It's the realization that hits you. Love was always closer than you ever thought. Friends seem more than just friends. Fate sure had its saying in this. Tom was it all. From the start, you had been dreaming him into your life. And now it's finally there. Lying there beside each other.

The way it meant to be. After all those years. Keeping up a facade. Creating a life behind illusions. Hiding behind a mask, pretending to be someone that you're not. But people expect you to be. What people want you to be.

Hiding the truth. It's easy to hide at first. And it's comforting. Showing that other you. Living the easy life. Not confronting your daemons. But eventually, it starts gnawing at you. Your conscience chipping at that sense of security. Afraid the real you might show through the cracks. That people find the real you. It's terrifying. It's haunting. You found ways to put aside your needs. But deep down, there's always a longing. And to satisfy that feeling. You need someone. You have to be the real version of you. And that version is with Tom. Where it needed to be.

“There’s someone at the door.” Tom whispers softly beside you. “Wake up, darling.” His soft hands straddle across your back. Squeezing your ass cheeks in the process. Hearing him giggle to himself.

"Probably breakfast..." Rubbing the sleepers from your eyes. Releasing a long drawn yawn as your eyes adapt to the light coming through the curtains. Illuminating Tom's handsome features beside you. Your hand on an expedition under the blankets, looking for some of that skin of Tom.

“You hungry?” Tom rolling into your arms. His fingers tracing along your bare naked body.

"Not yet." Reeling him in for a morning kiss. You both couldn't stop smiling. "But, I do want something else."

“Oh, you bet.” He chuckles while his fingers trace further down. “But first… have I…” Tom stifling a groan and a laugh, struggling to keep talking as he moves onto you. “...-told... you?” While fighting over the position who spoons who. “-…how much…”

“I love you…?” Finishing his sentence with a laugh. Before pushing Tom on his back, and continue to go down on him. Receiving a chuckling laugh from him as he tries to intervene your ticklish touches. Peppering kisses all over his body. Hearing a click of a phone camera. “Are you going to post that?” You mumble in-between praising his body with your lips. “Because there’s nothing I want more.”

“Good.” He smiles as you take a rest on his chest. While Tom rakes through your hair ever so lightly. Watching him scroll through his camera roll. Filled with pictures of you. “I want to world to know.” Pressing a kiss on your forehead as picks the best one. Confidence and pride in his voice.

You halt him, leaning over and grabbing your own phone. “Promise me one thing.” Taking a selfie. “We shut down our phones after.”

“And then I’m so going to do you.” He grins.

“That depends... on who posts their pictures first.”

A/N: I hope this has been worth the wait.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x male reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #tom holland male reader #tom holland male!reader #male!reader #male reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #male reader smut #Smut

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nevervalentines · 4 years

Note

(From the fluff/general list)

“Any RWBY ship! 12 or 13 :)”

#12 “how did you get in here?”

#13 “for starters, that’s impossible.”

hi!!! thank u!!! I wrote u a lil baby bumbleby high school au, I hope that’s ok!! they’re girlfriends and they are SO annoying

*******

Taiyang has never been very good at dolling out punishments, but when Yang comes home from school dragging her feet for the second week in a row, he really doesn’t have a choice.

She looks miserable, flannel tied loosely around her waist, ponytail messy, sporting a shiner that’s reddened the skin around her right eye, along her cheekbone. Already inflamed, it promises to bruise, and he thinks that should be punishment enough. But.

“They already called, huh?” Yang slumps up the front porch steps. “Would it help if I told you he started it?”

Taiyang rubs at the back of his neck. “Your principal said otherwise.” He cringes, trying to soften the delivery. “Apparently there were witnesses. Something like – your entire gym class?”

“Mercury had it coming.” Yang stops on the top step. Her backpack dangles from one arm, dragging the ground. “Can’t the fact that he clocked me back be enough?” She waves a hand. “I learned my lesson, and all that.”

“Afraid not, baby girl. This is the second time in as many weeks.” He corrals her gently into the house and roots through the freezer, tossing her an icepack while he deliberates. “A grounding is fair, right?” More to himself than anybody. “A week, maybe?”

“Can I still see –”

“No visitors. That means no Blake, too.”

“An entire week!” Yang slams the icepack onto the kitchen counter. The blue liquid sloshes, the plastic pouch threatening to pop. “That’s bullshit.”

“Okay,” he says, exasperated, now. “Room. Now. Don’t let Ruby hear you talking like that.”

The muscles in Yang’s jaw tick, heat rolling off her in waves, but she pinches her mouth tight. If her eyes flash, he doesn’t mention it, just watches her stomp toward the staircase. Hears fading footsteps, the slam of her bedroom door.

When music starts blaring, he allows it, riot grrrl punk pop spitting from around the door frame. He can picture her pouting, touting loud music and bruised knuckles like armor. Figures he’ll let it slide, just until after dinner. A week without Blake might be consequence enough.

Yang reclines on rumpled sheets, too pissed to change out of her day clothes, shoes kicked up on her bed, arms behind her head.

A five-day suspension, a week without seeing Blake. It’s a promise of purgatory and, worse, boredom. Her eye throbs, the skin around the socket already softening into a bone deep hum of pain.

Time passes in blurry pigments; she swims in and out of a doze while the day fades into a sticky-blue dusk. She ignores her dad’s calls for dinner, ignores Ruby’s hesitant knock on the door, lets the room darken around her – watches the sky outside ripen and split.

It’s almost summer now, and the box fan churns uselessly at her bedside, the skin of her back is sticky with sweat, the sheets below her cloying and damp. Outside, the streetlights wink on, one by one, and the blurry white noise of the fan is almost enough to mask the scrabbling outside her window. Almost.

When Blake’s head pops over the windowsill, Yang about pisses her pants. Blake grins, her teeth a flash of white in the darkness, ears on a swivel, pressing her face close to the wire mesh of the window screen.

Bleary and half-asleep, with Blake only a silhouette against a rapidly darkening sky, it’s like Yang has conjured her directly out of a dream.

Blake’s voice is strained, leveraging herself up on her forearms. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Then. “Let me in, edgelord.”

Yang scrambles out of bed, heart in her throat, fumbles the screen’s latch open, helps Blake haul herself over the sill. Two hands under her arms, she pulls, Blake’s sneakers scraping against the paneled siding of the house.

Blake tumbles inside the bedroom, landing on top of Yang with an oof. She ushers in the sharp smell of fresh cut grass, cool nighttime air, summer-sweet.

“How did you get in here?” Yang sounds a little breathless, even to her own ears, and Blake settles more comfortably on top of her, so pleased with herself that Yang has to actively stop herself from kissing her smug smile away.

“Your window is right above the garage,” Blake says. She shifts her weight, forcing Yang to bow into the close weave of her room’s carpet. “I just had to get up there and,” a vertical shrug, a grin, “it was easy.”

“I’m grounded for a week,” Yang says, a little despairing, mouth tilting into a pout. “My dad says I can’t see you.”

“It’s dark, you can, like, hardly see me anyway,” Blake says. She wriggles on top of her, curls her fingers into the fabric of Yang’s tank top. “You’re kind of sweaty.”

“Did you climb up the side of my house just to insult me?” Yang asks. She feels a surge of affection so strong, she wonders if it might break something inside her, like there’s no more room left in her chest for anything but this: Blake smiling, nuzzling close. Blake’s slight frame settled in the sling of her hips, the too-warm press of the bare skin of her legs against Yang’s, one ankle hooked around her own.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Blake says. She ducks her head, rests her chin on Yang’s chest, looking up at her through her lashes. “And seeing as I found you crying in the dark, I made the right call.”

Yang struggles up onto her arms, dislodging Blake who sits back on her calves, amused.

“I wasn’t crying.” This, almost a yell, before she remembers herself and lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “I was just upset.”

Sobering, Blake rocks to her feet, reaching down to tangle her hand with Yang’s and pull her to a stand. She pushes her onto the edge of her mattress, touches her cheek, gentle, careful to avoid the bruise.

Yang’s eyes are adjusting now, and she can just make out the soft-round of Blake’s face, the flat glint of her eyes in the dark.

“I know, baby.” Blake’s voice is throaty, a little sweet.

She kneels, unlacing Yang’s converse one by one, tugging them off before kissing her knees, her ankles. Yang says nothing, just watches Blake in a daze, breath hitched high in her throat, a rosy blush mottling the long line of her throat.

“I’m sorry you’re grounded,” Blake says. She pushes Yang to her back and follows, climbing back on top of her. This time, Yang has enough sense to wrap her arms around Blake’s back, tugging her securely against her until they press close, chest to chest.

“I don’t even get why,” Yang says. A pout. “He was talking shit about you, everybody heard it.”

She tilts her face up, hoping for a kiss. Blake retreats, just barely, nudging her nose with her own, instead. When she talks, Yang can feel her breath against her mouth.

“You did punch Mercury in the face, Yang.”

“It was gym class, it was an accident.”

“You guys were – you guys were playing badminton.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“You were opposite sides of the net.”

Yang looks at her sideways, sly. “Like I said.”

“For starters, that’s impossible.” Blake tucks her lips into her mouth, suddenly shy. “But also – thank you.” She leans in, brushes a kiss against Yang’s jaw. “You know I don’t need you to fight my battles –”

She quiets Yang’s immediate noise of agreement with another kiss, this time at the corner of her mouth.

“— but it was really sweet.”

“I missed you,” Yang says, a hint of a whine. She traces a hand down Blake’s back, slips it under the edge of her shirt, strokes a finger along her hip.

“It’s only been five hours, Yang.” Blake’s voice is soft with laughter, almost adoring, and she leans down, offers another kiss, this time to the apple of her cheek. “But maybe the week apart can start tomorrow.”

“Or maybe the day after that,” Yang says. She tilts her head up, splays the flat of her hand against Blake’s back, urging her closer. “He didn’t really specify when.”

“You’re so smart,” Blake whispers.

She eases against her, t-shirts rucking up, pressed breasts-to-belly-to-hip, the oscillation of the fan drowning Blake’s whimper as Yang slips a thigh between her legs and grins, all teeth and flush.

Blake kisses her, full, nudges carefully, lip to lip, until Yang opens her mouth, hands tightening at her back.

“Stay a while,” she says, rolls her tongue into Blake’s mouth, feels Blake’s hand come up to pet, soft, at the skin underneath her eye.

“Just for a minute,” Blake says, then presses back in, a breeze stirring warm air through the open window.

It’s mid-morning when Ruby shoves open the bedroom door, Yang and Blake curled close under the sheets, asleep. They jar awake at the noise, Yang’s arm tightening around Blake’s back.

Ruby sticks her face inside, hair tousled with sleep, rubbing her eyes with a fist. Her words crack with a yawn, and she blinks at them slowly.

“Hi, Blake. By the way, Yang, dad says you’re double grounded, but also to let you both know breakfast is ready.”

She closes the door behind her and Blake’s laugh follows her all the way down the stairs.

#my writing #rwby #bumbleby #i tried to speed write so i didnt overthink it!#blake WOULD and WILL terrorize all of her gf's parental figures thx 4 ur time #hearticho

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years

Text

♫ Surfing on a soundwave, Swinging through the stars, Take a left at your intestine, Take your second right past mars!

On the Magic School smelly space bus! ♫

SPOILERS for Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #2!

This is a comic where, the longer I sit with a particular issue, the more I’m like, ‘yeah. Yeah. YEAH.’

It’s dense in a way that invites the reader to go through it multiple times, and rewards additional readthroughs.

Also, it helps that the art is FREAKING AMAZING.

Seriously. Evely and Lopes should draw and color everything, forever, always.

(I will honestly be shocked if they don’t get an Eisner nom for this book.)

Anyways, all of this to say: Another issue that I enjoyed. It has one of the most genuinely sweet Supergirl moments I’ve seen in the comics in a good long while.

So, if you’re looking for a quick thumbs up/thumbs down rating, thumbs up!

If you’d like some SPECIFICS, though...

THE STORY

King is an evil genius because we don’t pick up where we left off--rather, we start in the midst of the Space Bus journey.

There is technically a Big Action Scene, but I was honestly surprised by how...casually? the story progressed.

Essentially: Kara and Ruthye are forced to travel by bus because 1.) Krem stole Kara’s rocket and 2.) this corner of the universe doesn’t have the right stars, so Kara’s still recovering from being under a red sun for an extended period of time.

The bus makes occasional stops; they encounter a space dragon; Kara takes some Red Kryptonite and saves the day; they eventually arrive on a planet with a yellow sun.

And again, all of this occurs with a kind of...breezy ease that I was not expecting at all.

I assumed that the space dragon fight would make up the final moments of the issue, after having built up the problem to a point where Kara needed to intervene.

But, noooope. The space dragon happens somewhere in the middle, which helps sell the central idea that this is simply Kara’s life. She’s been there, done that. She’s a badass who takes it all in stride.

But! Important to note! Ruthye still marvels at the sight of Kara taking out the space dragon, as well she should, because:

OH MY GOD. THE aRT.

There’s only so many times I can say, ‘it’s phenomenal, it’s gorgeous, it’s stunning’ before sounding like a broken record.

But it is. It truly is. This is the prettiest monthly book on the stands right now.

(Realizing I’ve been spelling Ruthye wrong this entire time, maybe? IDK. Apologies if I have.)

It’s in the final moments of the book that we learn what transpired after Krem shot Kara and Krypto and fled: Kara managed to get Krypto and Ruthye to a healer, and then passed out for a week.

Ruthye and Kara recovered, buuuuut...

Krypto is still very near death because the arrow was poisoned.

The healer can’t treat him until he has a sample of the poison.

Which Krem has.

(See where this is going?)

So! Kara regains her powers! Ruthye has a super on her side! KRYPTO’S LIFE HANGS IN THE BALANCE!

Gimme. Issue. 3. STAT.

THE CHARACTERS

Very much enjoyed Ruthye in this issue!

There’s a really tricky balancing act you gotta pull off when writing child characters; you don’t want to just write them as tiny adults, but you also don’t want to be obnoxious or cloying in trying to write ‘true-to-age.’

King gives himself a bit of a cheat, by setting her up as a rock farmer from a...what would you call it. An old-fashioned planet? And thus the kind of character who had to ‘grow up fast’ and behaves more maturely than your typical pre-teen might.

BUT! IMPORTANTLY! This is tempered by placing Ruthye in situations where her (understandable) ignorance is challenged/put to the test. Like, yes, she is mature, and well-spoken, and utterly tenacious, but she’s also out of her depth, and still in need of help and guidance.

(Which is how we get to The Best Scene which I’ll get to in just a sec.)

TL;DR - this issue has really sold me on Ruthye as our POV character and I am officially Invested in the relationship between her and Kara.

Speaking of...

It’s KARA-CTERIZATION TIME!

So, okay. There’s some ‘eh’ stuff in this one, but, BUT!

We got the goods again.

And by ‘goods’ I mean this:

Whatever other nitpicks I have (and I do! Have one! Which I’ll get to!) THIS. This right here! This is Supergirl. This is Kara.

And what a beautiful line to introduce this moment:

“And it began--as most things begin when you’re dealing with Supergirl--with a moment of kindness.”

It’s the same gentle concern we saw in the previous issue, where Kara knelt down to address Ruthye eye-to-eye.

Here, Kara’s facial expression, and the way she takes Ruthye’s hands and shows her what to do...

It’s just. SO SWEET.

Ahhhhh it’s so good. :D

So good! In fact! That the above scene offsets my one complaint, which is that Kara came off as harsh, IMO, when addressing the bus passengers, looking for Red K.

Other good stuff from this particular portion of the book: we get Kryptonese (maybe? I think?) And a mention of Kara’s mother being strict about certain things, which is in keeping with the 2000s series version of Alura.

Ruthye also asks if Kara ever tried to avenge the death of her family/culture and she says no; Ruthye says that she heard a lifetime of regret in Kara’s response, which I suppose could be read one of two ways:

1.) That she regrets her choice not to avenge them, or 2.) that she regrets not having the option to avenge them, as there was no one person to punch, no single action that could rectify the destruction of the entire planet.

I personally prefer the second reading.

Which I suppose contradicts the recent-ish “Killers of Krypton” arc, but who knows what is and isn’t canon anymore, honestly. XD

As for the rest of the issue! I found myself thinking of a Grant Morrison interview, actually.

Morrison apparently met a Superman cosplayer at a con and that’s when the character clicked for them: “[The superman cosplayer] was so in the character, but what really got me was the way he was sitting. It was this absolutely relaxed pose with one knee up and the arm bent over, and that’s what broke Superman for me. Suddenly I realized that Superman wouldn’t be a poser, he wouldn’t be a Muscle Beach steroid guy; he’d actually be completely relaxed because nothing could hurt him. He could be so open and friendly to everyone because no one can punch him or hurt him. He can’t get a cold, or be damaged by anything you’re carrying or wearing. For me that was the power of that, whether you want to frame it as magical or not, it actually informed the stories I wanted to write. I felt I understood him in a way I hadn’t until that moment.”

That’s always stuck with me, the idea that Clark would be the most at-ease, chill guy you'd ever talk to.

And THAT, I think, is what we’re seeing here with Kara. That at-ease-ness.

But in a way that is distinct from Clark! In the above quote, it’s clear that Morrison thinks it’s Clark’s powers that are the reason he can be so relaxed and at ease.

But Kara is de-powered here. So why is she so chill?

Because Kara is an alien.

Kara’s in her element, here. She’s used to space travel, she knows the ins-and-outs, she’s not shocked by any of the weird stuff they encounter on their journey.

Love it. LOVE. IT.

I am SO GLAD that King decided to go with Kara being the wizened mentor, as opposed to the naïve kid learning to be tough. It’s a much more interesting angle, IMO.

Also NO MENTION OF RIVALRY BETWEEN KARA AND CLARK. WOO. LET’S KEEP THIS ROLLIN’.

Alright, last, but certainly not least:

THE GOOD BOY! KRYPTO!

When I tell you I stress-read this entire comic first thing in the morning...XD

And I am STILL stressed. And a little sad that Krypto doesn’t get to go on another space adventure but! This is MIGHTY PREFERABLE to what I *thought* was going to happen, which is that Krypto would die from his injuries, and Kara would likewise be out for revenge.

Fortunately, that is not the case!

So like, the stakes?!?! Suddenly sky high. Find that dirtbag Krem and GET THAT POISON BACK TO THE HEALER!!

ART and MISC. STUFF THAT I LOVE

I generally don’t like to post entire pages of a comic, or panels without context, but the...reach? of this blog is extremely limited so. I think we’ll be okay. XD

So, alright! Some moments that I particularly enjoyed!

One of the panels that Mat Lopes shared early on!

I want this lettered version on a mug.

(Also she looks very ’Grace Kelly-ish’ here.)

Love Kara’s facial expression and her line about space travel being more fun when you can fly.

From the same portion of the book--such a neat detail that Kara keeps her cash in her sleeve!

Another set of panels that I think Tom King shared a few months back.

Love Kara’s little smirk, and the, “I’m wearing a big yellow S on my chest, and a very fashionable red skirt.”

It IS fashionable. WE SUPPORT THE SKIRT, IN THIS HOUSE.

Also the slrrrrrrp. XD

It’s good.

Okay, 1.) VERY COOL SCI-FI DESIGN and 2.) that line is great. “Can you feel it, Ruthye? We’re getting closer. The stars are changing.”

Mmmm, them good cosmic Kara vibes.

Kara’s attitude about the Red K here is fun, like, ‘WELP, sometimes you turn into a monster, sometimes you don’t!’ but again, the line is what gets me.

“Did my hair move?”

“I do not believe so.”

Honestly? I could post the whole comic here. Evely’s vision of ‘public transit, but space’ is just so immediately...not ‘real’, necessarily, because there’s such a fantastical element to it all, but it is fully realized. I think I used the phrase ‘lived-in’ and that’s it--this world feels like it has always existed; every grimy nook and cranny, every rando space bus traveler.

And Mat Lopes’ colors!

There are like, five distinct color palettes at work in this issue, and Lopes handles them all masterfully.

I think my favorite is the...I’ll call it ‘ethereal space aquarium’ lighting in the bus as they view the space dragon.

The glow and the shadows and the blues and pinks...

GGGGGGGGAAAHHHHHHHHHH so goooooooood

So, yeah. :D

I am very much enjoying this weird, wild ride with small, precocious Ruthye and wizened, crusty Kara. XD There’s some stuff that I don’t *love* but my goodness, it could be a lot worse!

Let us end on the beautiful title page:

#long post #supergirl: woman of tomorrow #supergirl: woman of tomorrow spoilers #dc comics #kara zor el #comic thoughts #comic opinions

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sillyfudgemonkeys · 3 years

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Comic buff with a thought, I notice the P5MM art and composition is more striking and closer to p5's art and style than the other manga, which is fine, but kinda... flat. (I find myself thinking there's something missing when I read it, then I look back at P5MM and I notice how there's more clever paneling, imagery, and stylistic choices akin to the games in it (like that one goro panel ya had a rant about) and I realize what's missing) That could be why P5MM is brought up more, just a guess. I dunno how you feel about all that though, I'm curious.

Under the cut cause it gets long cause of pictures:

I am very big on art style and visual presentation. I do actually judge a book by it's cover (manga, game, movie, show, yadda). If I find something pleasing to my eye I'll read it.....even if the contents are trash. Domestic Girlfriend is one, horrible manga (didn't finish, was holding out for Momo, aka best girl, and getting closure for her....then I bounced). Didn't watch the anime (didn't need to I was way ahead in the manga I think), but I know that opening is wasted on it. ldskfjaf Don't invest your time into it, it's not worth it, you would probably learn better morals from P5.......probably. But yeah I found the art style pleasing enough to try it out (I's not amazing by any means, but I like looking at it....or did.....that writing man....dat was bad ;w;).... *waves hands vaguely in air* yeah.

Fun fact, it's why I got into Persona. I happened across an ad for P4 on the PS2 in the Gameinformer magazine, it showed a screenshot from an animated cutscene plus one of the fully body art for the chars and I was like "Yes this is my jam!" (which only doubled down when I read what it was about, and it was a murder mystery and the article also talked up "the mystery of the glasses" which fakldjsalkfs yeah). So yeah it really clicked for me.

Tbh it's why I'm probably going to get back into freaking Bleach, and it's why I got into it and Naruto over One Piece (I don't think I'll ever read ON I'm sorry). Tite Kubo has sexy art what can I say? Can't trust a thing that man writes now but eh. It's also the reason I read a lot of Shojo (and now Yuri) manga, cause their art style is usually what I find very appealing (even if I've read the same gd shojo love story just by a different name for the 1000th time, give me the flowers and sparkly eyes! they are my life blood!)

And I've mentioned I really like Saito's art style. I've (attempted) to color some of his pieces on top of animate some manga frames (most of which I haven't actually published......I...I should....get around to finishing those up....haha...aha....haaaa). I really like his art, it's pleasant. But even with good art, I can still see past it and see what BS it's peddling and it can hamper my enjoyment of it. If I don't look at the context of the scene or the words on the page, I can be down with it. But when I'm reading.......I get annoyed. I balk at anything with Goro. I guffaw whenever Makoto's on screen (cause Saito nails her from P5, she acts useful but really she's useless but the narrative views her as useful it ironically makes her useless......it's the weirdest thing I've ever witnessed >.>). Like Saito really.....gets P5 it seems, down to it's flaws even (tho he can actually make the good parts of P5 shine, or at least parts that P5 failed to execute....execute in a way). But he also makes the flaws.....shine that much harder for me.

Now the Reg manga? it's nothing special art style wise, in fact it starts off VERY wonky, and while still wonky, has gotten a lot....better/cuter (esp Ryu). Not like shojo cute just.......I wanna squish their wittle faces cute (at times when it's not serious).

Like when it comes to Reg Manga these are the two pieces that have appeared in it that I feel kinda hit the P5 mark in terms of style:

(look at Mona, coming into this world like the pustule that he is 8U)

Which isn't much, but it's something. At least Reg's AOA is better looking than the anime. 8U

But I dunno, as the chapters go on, the Mangaka allows for more cuter expressions, and I just like their neat:

(btw I colored that page)

I dunno, it's not as overtly cutsey as Saito:

But they are still charming in a more simple way (without out having them go full chibi), it subtle but it gives it flavor. "Silly why are most, if not all those pics of Ryu and Anne?" I dunno guys maybe you should ask them how their backs are doing, cause they're the ones who are carrying the Reg manga when it comes to this! 8U

Tho I do think the first ch or two of Reg does a better job capturing P5's feel than the rest of the chapters, I think the mangaka is just.....bogged down by exposition and the game's BS that a lot of text on their pages so it almost reads like a novel:

ALots of text, not the most dynamic of framing with the panels. It's kinda eh. I haven't really read the manga past the 2nd dungeon tbh (I mean......as the residential #1 Makoto hater, I think that's fair.....that I'd start to zone out during my least fav dungeon....and then continue zoning out during my 2nd least fav dungeon askfdjaflk)

But during the first two dungeon arcs, I liked how.....bad the PT were at thieving, I liked how green they were. It was obviously a learning process. I also like some of the fight choreo (Saito did the best hand to hand one in the series in P4U's Yu vs Sho....which I actually animated....spoiler.....no I have no released that...my dumbass wants to tempt fate and see if I can redo it in color even tho it took me 4 days non stop to get that animated in just black and white.....but I am a fool so alas 8U). I mean it's not mind blowing, but it was simple and decently thought out, which is more than I feel like we usually get (esp with the anime shows....or at least P4/5's).

But I think what draws me in is....it's lack of P5 style. P5 style has them being still oh so cool despite being new at everything. It's tired me out. P5's how identity is style. It's....style over substance (gonna rile some feathers with that....Cvit(?) vid title). But P5 is overtly stylish, to the point it......weighs on me. Drags me down. Tires me out. I don't think they're cool, I'm bored with it. Ironically, Reg manga lacks that, which......def would make someone (and me usually) give it much of a passing glance. It's very basic I guess. But.....consider me, being in P5 hell, surrounded by all it's nausea inducing stylishness, sees a small break in the hellish hurricane to see.......normalcy. It kinda makes me connect better with the kids (kinda, it's still P5).

They feel like normal kids, trying to do their thing (sometimes trying to look/act cool and failing), and.....it's just the absolute antitheses to P5's brand......and I think that's why I like it. KLFJDSAFLKJA;

Anyway, who knows, maybe when I catch up on Reg in english and re-read MM with the official translation I might change my mind about a few things, or at least how I rank them. But for post length sake, and my sanity sake, I think I should keep the anime and mangas out of the "Which entry do you hate least" post......because I should just make another post where I go into both mangas as well as compare and contrast the anime! :D I'm just delaying some insanity for later haha....

Wait.........I just remember Day Breakers exists......and I liked it....still do....don't have much issue with it. Well shit, that is probably the one entry I hate the least. fklsdjfalkjdfkla;jsL;FJljsfdlskafaj *sobs* nO NO, I committed, and that's just a sad loophole. fdklsajflakfj *sobs* I still need to the game thing, cause let's be honest, the games are where it counts.

So right now my ranking for manga/anime is:

Daybreakers>Reg manga> MM>>>>>>>>>>TV Show Anime and it's OVAs (may the burn in the hell fire from which they spawned)

Oh, one last thing, forgot to put it in but I dunno where to put it now. I like how the manga tones down the pervyness some:

I mean Ryu is a fellow monkey. u_u .......but it's for the best I don't have to see his ape expression. ;w; (iirc the pyramid scene was a lot shorter/faster, but that's by the grace of reading and books rather than animation I suppose).

#silly asks #silly answers #i can't believe day breakers is what I hate least dfkjsalfjaf

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Secrets & Fury || Morgan & Blanche Feat. Agnes Bachman

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Bachman House Ruins

PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Blanche make contact with the past. The truth is not meant to soothe.

CONTENT: brief mentions of suicide

The only thing left of what had once been the Bachman House was a few outer support beams and a wall, sticking out of the ground in a way that wouldn’t have been possible unless the ground swallowed the house whole. Which, in fairness, it did. Blanche remembered Morgan, Cassie, and herself throwing themselves out of the home and into the adjacent garden as the ground trembled and swallowed the cursed house… Blanche had never asked Morgan where the house went. Was the house still lingering below the soil or had it disappeared somewhere else entirely? Blanche stared at the dirt, grimacing at the patches of weeds that had feebly tried to break through to no avail, and decided that she would ask ahat at different time. There were no spirits here, not this time. The cool chill that ran up Blanche’s spine from time to time was the cold December air… And the dark, leafless trees that loomed around the area as if they were watching her. As Blanche painstakingly drew the circle in the dirt, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was doing this in front of an audience. Like this was a final test to see if it was worth it -- if she was worth it.

The silver, jeweled barrette kept her blonde hair out of her face, and every once in a while, she would reach up to run her fingers along the smooth, teal gemstones encrusted on the trinket. It made her feel better. Blanche remembered what Jasmine said about Focal Points, and even if it was false, at least it gave her peace of mind. At least it brought her closer to the one she missed most of all. Even that made her feel more powerful than before.

This was what she was doing when Morgan arrived. Blanche glanced at her, her hand falling back to her side as she gave her a strained smile. “Hey,” she said softly, and she grabbed her pink lighter from her pocket. Time to light the candles. “You can put it in the middle of the circle. What you brought of Agnes’, I mean.”

Morgan had tried to come early. She hadn’t been to the old Bachman house for even a drive-by hello since it had tried to collapse with her, Blanche, and Cassie in it. She couldn’t see the place as a benign victim of circumstance after having to face off against Hannah Bachman, hearing the ways she mimicked her own mother in her brand of cruelty. Pulling alongside the street now made her feel as though the wood and nails had been as complicit as Constance in the horrible things that had happened here. What she had expected to find, to get used to, she wasn’t sure. All she knew now was that Blanche had beaten her to the punch and settled into a circle inside the ruins. That’s what happened when you got too anxiously punctual people together, she guessed. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said wryly. “Our appointment isn’t for another ten minutes, Blanche.” She reached into her bag and took out the arm bone she had stolen from Agnes’ grave, wrapped in fabric. Deirdre had been able to identify her with just a touch: thick dark hair like Morgan’s, large eyes that were brown instead of blue, and an anguished look as she laid down in a rickety bed and worked a pillow around half her face, a pistol in her hand. She had been crying, Deirdre said. Morgan couldn’t think of any other way she might have gone, not with what she’d been made to live with. “Genuine, banshee-identified great great grandma Agnes,” she said softly. Agnes’ family title sounded strange, knowing that she had died only a few years older than Morgan. They felt more like equals now, women who had been ground up and bent into the wrong shape, who were tired, who just needed to catch a break for once. Morgan sat down just outside the circle, careful not to disrupt any of the markings. “You um...when you bring them here, you don’t have to see how they died, right Blanche? I mean, she’ll look…” Like there’s a massive exit wound on the side of her skull. “How she did when it happened. But that’s not something you have to carry, is it?” Morgan asked.

“I’m nothing if not efficient,” Blanche replied. The grin on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, though she was pleased to see that Morgan looked alright. Blanche had been here for forty-five minutes already, but she wasn't’ about to tell Morgan that - she sought out the flattest part of the ruins and spent an absurdly long time drawing the circle. She looked sharply at Morgan, the question burning in her throat. How did great, great Grandma Agnes die? Not that it mattered, because she would do the seance no matter what, but she couldn’t help but think of the bullet wound inside Sammy’s skull and Winn’s chest, and how Bea’s head never sat quite right on her shoulders… But Blanche shook her head. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome deaths,” she said. Blanche didn’t know Agnes, so she hoped her appearance wouldn’t stay burned into her memory like her friends. There was some part of her that knew this wasn’t true, she remembered spirits maimed in all sorts of ways… But as Blanche finished lighting her candles, she stood, brushing the dirt off her jeans. “She’ll look how she chooses too,” Blanche said, “If she’s been around since she died… Then she’ll probably have learned to change her appearance by now. But if she hasn’t or she doesn’t want too…” Blanche reached to fiddle with the hair clip in her hair again, chewing on her lip in thought. “That’s her choice. It won’t prevent us from doing what we’re here to do.” She examined her circle for the upteenth time, looking for imperfections. She could find none. With a small breath, she looked back to Morgan. “Are you ready, Morgan?” She waited for Morgan to nod, before going to settle into the dirt.

Blanche took a few deep breaths, glancing over at Morgan to really make sure she was ready, before she began reciting the sanskrit. The power Blanche felt flowing through her and the circle was almost on par with the deep seeded resentment in her soul. It was strange and exciting and somehow different than when they had been in her apartment. It was a mistake, Blanche decided, to not have come here the first time. Wind howled around them, the flickering of the candles erratic but never going out as it circled them. She was clear headed, drawing her energy from the back of her mind - rather, the back of her head, she supposed, where her great grandmother’s clip lay. She focused on that as she opened the portal of communication, the chilling wind whining in protest as she pushed forward. It was tiring, but slowly, a woman flickered into sight. Slowly, her transparent form grew stronger, and Blanche could make out her features and the frumpy old clothes she wore. With a push forward, Blanche ended the opening of the ritual.

“Are you Agnes Bachman?” Blanche asked, glanced at Morgan for confirmation before anything else.

Morgan kept her eyes trained on the center of the circle, like letting her hair blow the wrong way might turn everything around for the worse. She heard the wind in her ears, saw the small candle flames surge on their wicks. Doubt gnawed in her stomach, she’s not coming, she’s not here and she’s not coming and I’m never gonna know what really happened. Shit, was she awful for trying to reach out with her will and pull her toward them? For wanting her to be stuck here all this time, just to have someone she could talk to? Morgan didn’t have time to find an answer inside herself. A silhouette formed in a circle, then a face.

“Oh, shit…”

Agnes Bachman didn’t have a hole in her head. Her wavy hair hung just below her jaw, styled in waves Morgan had seen in fashion panels from the 1910’s. She had loose housecoat, or maybe it was just a regular day coat that had been retired after getting too big and patchy, hung heavy on her frame. (Morgan couldn’t figure out how that worked, the woman before her didn’t have a body, so how could anything be loose or tight or anything in between? And yet just from looking at her, Morgan could imagine the pointy ends of her joints and the ridges on her stomach from going hungry on and off for years.) She had a bemused half smile, one that was way past surprise, and a face that looked hauntingly like the one Cece had pulled out of the magic trunk. “It’s you,” Morgan whispered. “This whole time, I’ve been looking at… Agnes.”

“Is there someone else I would be?” Agnes asked. She had a high, tired kind of voice, not unlike the wind that had swelled around them only a minute ago. It was a reedy voice, torn up from too many cigarettes. Smoking was unladylike in Agnes’ time, but maybe she’d stolen her husband’s cigarettes, or bummed some off people with more money. Maybe after a certain point she had decided not to care. She looked around, taking in what was left of the house, the hole in its core, the stars above and the jagged, splintered ruins reaching through it like so many broken fingers. “I remember this place.” She scoffed, smirking. “It feels a shame I’m not more surprised to see it in pieces. You’re supposed to bond with the place you grow up. It’s how you maintain your ties with the earth.” She turned back to them, gesturing self consciously around her temples. “Is anyone gonna tell me what this party’s about...?” The smile she gave each of them was thin, like she was afraid something bad was going to happen. How often had she been blamed or yelled at for Constance’s mess? “One of you has to know something, if you’re pulling me cross-country to my old house.”

“Y-yes. I mean...we...uh…” Morgan fumbled for words and gaped at Blanche, silently asking for help.

Awestruck by her success, Blanche stared at Agnes in a sort of wonder. The wind grew calm around them, still lightly tugging at loose hairs and flame to let them know it was still there. She had done it. She pulled Agnes Bachman back here. Blanche gaped right back at Morgan, suddenly speechless herself. All coherent thoughts flew out of her head and suddenly she forgot how to speak any language whatsoever.

“Wha-” Blanche stuttered, and then realized she was the one supposed to be running this ‘party’. She almost leapt to her feet, but stayed rooted to the spot so she wouldn’t jostle the circle. “Agnes,” Blanche tried again. “My name is Blanche Harlow. I’m a local medium in White Crest. This is Morgan Beck, she’s your great, great Granddaughter. I’ve… We, rather… We’ve contacted you because we want to ask you about the past, specifically relating to Constance Cunningham.” Her words were formal, but they were at least confident.

“Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Agnes hadn’t stopped looking at Morgan since she’d appeared. Morgan straightened her shoulders under her gaze and angled her head this way and that, trying to find the angle that would give her the most ‘respectable impressive descendant’ look, not that she knew what that was. Agnes smirked at Blanche’s fumbling and Morgan noticed an array of little smile wrinkles that gave her some comfort. She must have been happy, or something like it, for a little while.

“I should tell you,” Agnes said, leaning in with a conspiratorial look, “I told my kids not to settle down, so they maybe wouldn’t have any of their own. But I’m not surprised they didn’t listen to me. Kids never do, so don’t get any ideas.” She squinted taking in more of Morgan. “But that’s not going to be a problem for you, is it, sweetie?”

“No,” Morgan whispered. “I mean, I have a...I haven’t really discussed it with my girlfriend, we’re gonna wait fifty, maybe a hundred years first. That’s the kind of family planning you get with a zombie and a banshee!” She laughed, shrill and pained. Was this how you were supposed to talk to your grandmother? Did it matter when she only looked five years older than you? “I died. Because of the family curse. Seven months and change, so I’m still adjusting. But it’s fine! I mean, it’s not, but it will be.” She gripped her wool skirt, fighting the urge to crawl closer to Agnes.

“Girlfriend, you say? I’ve seen things get better for some girls like that in the last hundred years. I should’ve figured it ran in the family. Mama was right about something after all.” The smirk she gave was bitter, scratching an old scab on her heart, and if Morgan hadn’t already heard about Hannah Bachman’s dismay from Leah, she would’ve seen the cut her response had left in Agnes’ face. “Your death, sweetie, does that mean the magic doesn’t touch you anymore? Whatever you and your girl do, are you safe from it?”

Morgan nodded, eyes beginning to well. “Yeah, we are. The curse didn’t follow me after. We’re good. It’s just uh…” She looked sidelong at Blanche. “It’s Constance? She’s here and she is…” Evil. Cruel. A walking nightmare. “Really, really determined to make up for what her curse can’t do anymore. And I...we were wondering...if you could tell us what really happened. I read Lucrecia’s diary, but I want the truth from you. And before you say anything, I don’t blame you. I don’t know where it started in the family, but I know you didn’t deserve to carry this like it was all your fault, and I don’t blame you for what she did.”

Agnes straightened up. “I can’t talk about Constance,” she said flatly. “And the person who started that story was me, because it was true.” She turned to Blanche. “Can you put me back somewhere? It doesn’t have to be home, I don’t much like my new grave. But somewhere else, please.”

Blanche thanked every God that may or may not have existed that she had excellent memory recall. She backed off of Agnes, ready to do what she, as a private investigator trainee, did best: listened. The true extent of the Bachman curse had been made apparent to her when Morgan died violently in the middle of town and became a zombie, but Constance never put into thought that there could be life after death… Funnily enough, Blanche hadn’t put that much thought into it either, before she met Remmy. Blanche rested her hands in her lap, leaning forward on her knees as she concentrated on keeping the line of connection open.

“You can’t talk about Constance? Or you won’t talk about Constance?” Perhaps Blanche’s voice was a little sharper than it needed to be, but she wasn’t here to pull punches. She was here for the truth. After the truth was known… Well, then she could deal with Agnes. Agnes, from what she felt, would need to move on. But one ghost problem at a time. This seance wasn’t for Agnes, it was for Morgan. And, to an extent, though Morgan could never find this out, it was for Constance too. Constance deserved closure and peace - the last thing Blanche wanted for her was to Cordelia or Lauren Langley.

Blanche leaned back, her head tilting to the side slightly as she examined the ghost. “Don’t you want to make sure the right one is known?” Maybe she didn’t, though. Blanche pressed her lips together for a moment. “I won’t be sending you anywhere,” she said, “Until we get some answers. And I’ll have you know… I’m very persistent.”

“Is there much of a difference as far as you’re concerned?” Agnes asked. Her squinting gaze turned on Blanche, running up and down to appraise her. Morgan’s mother had a similar look when she was trying to worm out of a conversation she didn’t want to have, but Morgan didn’t get the sense that Agnes was looking for points of weakness or ways to hurt Blanche. It looked more like she was working a puzzle. “If people think badly of me, it’s because I got the ball rolling. I don’t have any right to be sore about any tall tales that have gotten rolled into the truth.” She looked at Morgan again, smiling in a sad way that made the zombie’s heart lurch. “You should blame me. And I am sorry, I will always be sorry, for my part in your death. Even if it means you get to wait a hundred years to have a family with a woman you love--” she paused, staring off somewhere Morgan couldn’t follow. “It shouldn’t cost you what it has. Death is too high a price, especially after what you must have suffered. It’s not much of a life to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Morgan whispered. “I know you’re...yes, I was miserable and I didn’t get to do anything I set out to, but you didn’t cast the spell. You didn’t take one falling out and turn it into a hundred plus years of--”

“No.” Agnes’ voice turned to rock while somehow never rising above her quiet. “No, Morgan. I’m not going to discuss it in those terms. Or at all.” Agnes looked over at Blanche, checking to see if her point had been effectively made, but Agnes had never gone up against Blanche ‘I do what I want’ Harlow. She withered under the young woman’s look and pursed her lips as her position sank in.

“Listen,” Morgan said gently. “I’m going to get her back for what she did to you, to all of us. However hurtful, however awful or complicated, it didn’t merrit what she did for retribution. I’m going to make sure she…” Morgan winced, not wanting to throw her position in Blanche’s face. Of all her friends, she had been the most honest, and the most kind, about her position. “I’m going to make us even.”

Agnes’ face dropped with horror. “You what? You can’t. Sweetie, whatever you’re up to, you can’t do that to her. You have no idea what she--It was my idea to run away! I made her take all the risks. Crafting the glamours that would make us look older, hiding the money I’d stolen in her tree, hiding travel clothes, securing our transport. My mother watched me at all times, I was afraid we wouldn’t stand a chance if I slipped away somewhere I couldn’t explain. I was selfish and I was scared and I made her do everything for me, and then I--” She looked helplessly at Blanche again, her wish transparent in her eyes: please, please. “I let her fall for me too,” she said. “We were caught, the morning we were set to leave. Constance told the truth and I--I didn’t. She had given a story and I knew we were sunk and I wouldn’t see the light of day for weeks unless I did something different. I--”

Agnes’ reedy voice seemed to snap. Her silent appeals to Blanche were going nowhere; the medium only stared her down harder than before. And every, “hey,” and “you don’t have to be afraid,” that Morgan gave only seemed to make her more desperate.

“I said she was kidnapping me. That she’d hurt me.” Agnes said at last. “We had stolen pistols from the Logan’s house to protect ourselves. I told my mother to check her reticule, where I’d told her to put them and she thought it was proof. I didn’t know they were going to tell everyone or turn her into a pariah. I thought she would be run out of town, dropped on the nearest cart, never to return. I had no illusion of being forgiven, but gods help me, I did not know my mother would leave her with nothing and make her live like some poor animal. When I realized, it was too late.” Agnes clenched her airy fists, fighting the impulse to cry. “I would like to go back now. Send me back now and have done with it.”

Morgan tried to reach for her, forgetting everything except how badly she wanted to know the woman in front of her. “No, you can stay, Agnes. It doesn’t matter what happened before—”

“Now. I want to be gone now. Please. I will not answer anything else. I won’t.”

Anger was an emotion Blanche was used to, and the more Agnes said, the more angry she got. Fury and disgust twisted into her stone faced expression as she sat there, her arms crossed as Morgan and Agnes conversed. Finally, with a wail, Agnes turned to her, begging to be set free. “Coward,” Blanche said unkindly. “You’re a coward.” Blanche pushed herself up to her knees, as if she was going to move to stand. She didn’t, however, because her energy was being spent in keeping the connection open. Still, Blanche’s eyes flashed angrily.

“I’m not naive enough to say Constance is blameless. Constance is to blame for a lot of things -- Morgan’s death and the subsequent death of others in her path for revenge - but you…” Blanche shook her head, “You chose wrong and you lied. You lied to save yourself and threw the one you loved under the bus.” Blanche scoffed in disgust. Never before had she felt such anger towards another ghost. The closest that came was Lauren Langley, but even that held a different sort of anger than the rage that bubbled in the pit of her stomach now. If she could, she’d throw a fist in Agnes’ face.

“You are not to blame for Constance’s actions,” Blanche said, folding her arms over her chest. “She is able to make her own decisions and do what she will but… You are to blame for hurting her. You are to blame for lying. You are to blame for the misery that was thrust upon her as punishment for a crime she did not commit. You lied because you were a coward. And that -” Blanche jabbed a finger at Agnes. “- Is what you should feel remorse for. That is what you need to reflect on. And then you’ll be able to move on.” While Constance was on a warpath for vengeance that would end up destroying her. It was hard not to blame Agnes for everything.

With a sweep of her hand, the wind howled around them, growing louder as Blanche recited the end of the ritual that would close the communication with Agnes. She didn’t want to hear what Agnes had to say, even as her pain stricken face was seared into Blanche’s mind even as she disappeared from the circle. The wind quieted and the candles surrounding them extinguished. The ritual was over. Blanche slumped back into the dirt, exhausted, but too angry to give in to sleep.

“All of this…” Blanche said, sneering at the place Agnes once stood. “Because of a cruel lie…”

Morgan flinched at Blanche’s words as if they had cracked against her skin. She called out her name, trying to interrupt, “That can’t be the whole story, there has to be something else…” But Blanche’s fury had found its target, and though Morgan couldn’t fathom why, she understood that it would not let go. “Don’t be cruel. Blanche, please!” But please only got Blanche to say the words that would send Agnes back to wherever she had been before. Morgan grasped at the air as Agnes vanished, her face shut and clenched with shame. Something in the air lifted, like heat diffusing a cold room. Morgan continued to stare into the circle. There had to be something else. Maybe Hannah Bachman was the real culprit, for making her daughter so afraid that she wanted to run away in the first place. Maybe Agnes had sensed something unstable, even dangerous in Constance and took her change to back out rather than run away with someone who was willing to sign off on the misery of generations of people. There had to be something, because if Morgan’s family had been right about Agnes, then how was she supposed to split her vengeance between them? Who was she destroying Constance for besides herself if Agnes had tried so hard to beg her not to? Morgan’s gaze dropped from the air where Agnes had just sat and down to her own hands: discolored around the nails because she was between meals, protected by gold cuff bracelets on her wrist, so no one would see the bite that made her what she was. Ruth Beck hadn’t cared a wit that she was going to be avenged, Morgan wasn’t even sure if she believed it. Morgan’s father had lost his last tie to the earth when he saw her happy with Deirdre. Deirdre herself insisted the choice was hers to determine. And now the memory of Agnes’ horrified face stood frozen in Morgan’s memory. Was it still fair, and still enough, if this was for her satisfaction and hers alone?

“She was just…” Young? Stars above, could Morgan really say that without it getting thrown back in her face two seconds later? “She was scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen and we don’t know why she really…” Threw someone she supposedly loved under the bus. If Hannah was so dangerous, enough to run away from, why wouldn’t Anges have figured out that Constance was going to suffer without her protection? Wouldn’t that have been obvious? Was her ignorance to the consequences just another lie too? Morgan shivered, frowning into the ground. She was long used to disappointment, but she hadn’t thought that meeting Agnes would leave her more confused than when she’d started. “I don’t know,” Morgan sighed. Nothing she put together in her mind fit the way she wanted it to. “Whatever, why-ever she really did anything, she paid for it with her life and a hundred years of being hated.” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Blanche, scrutinizing her expression. She had seemed more invested in Morgan’s family drama than she had before. Morgan had taken great care to keep her out of it as much as possible. “What was that all about, just a minute ago?” She asked gently. “I’ve never seen you like that with a ghost before. Is everything okay…?”

She was just - Blanche almost snarled the word ‘young’ right back at Morgan. Constance was just as young. She was nineteen. Blanche could remember, back in high school, where her only long term boyfriend broke up with her and how devastated she had been. If that situation had been anything like Agnes’, which it hadn’t, and Logan had wronged her in some type of way, Blanche would have wanted to curse him and his entire family too. The thought was snide, and filled with anger. She realized, with a start, that she was two seconds away from defending Constance’s honor, and that wasn’t right either. Constance had done wrong, Blanche reminded herself, her palms suddenly sweaty. She hadn’t meant to, mostly, of course. Maxine had been an unfortunate accident, and the incident with Nell… Blanche wanted to believe that she really didn’t know that Nell had been in the car until it was too late. And Morgan had said intentions matter. Blanche wanted to believe that, and she wanted Constance to give up this calling of vengeance on Morgan’s family because at the end of the day, Morgan hadn’t done anything wrong. Morgan hadn’t done this to Constance. Agnes, she thought the name with disgust, started this.

But that didn’t make Morgan’s target goal right either. She had the cold reminder that Morgan’s end goal was to torture and erase Constance from existence. The thought of her being in pain made Blanche… Well, it made her sick to her stomach. Constance didn’t deserve that. She needed to be at peace while she was still able. At least, then, she would be happy. She would be able to move past what Agnes had done, and it wouldn’t have to lock her into a toxic storm of resentment and fury. At Morgan’s question, though, Blanche’s palms frew more sweaty, and she wiped them on her jeans. “I wasn’t wrong,” Blanche mumbled to her shoes, shaking her head. She refused to look at Morgan, instead turning to start gathering her things in her back. Her face had flushed, but it had been a little pink already from the anger she burst out with during the seance and from the exhaustion the clung to her. “In order to move on, Agnes needs to come to term with her choices she made while she was living. She can’t do anything to change them, not now,” Blanche’s lip curled in disgust as she carefully stuck the candles in her bag, straightening to sling it over her shoulder. She went to the magic circle she had so carefully carved into the dirt with a sharp stick and some chalk and destroyed it. While Blanche hadn’t listened to Granny’s teachings, she did remember that Granny said to never leave a circle unattended, just in case. Finally, she reached up and pulled the jeweled, silver hairpin from her hair, letting her blonde hair tumble down. Carefully, she put that in a separate pocket of her backpack. Her shoulders slumped tiredly and looked at Morgan, “I’ll talk to her again soon,” Blanche said, decidingly. “I’ll call upon her again and speak her more closely, once… this is all over.”

Silence froze and bristled around them; Morgan held her tongue. Blanche’s ire was hot and sharp as a needle fresh out of the fire. She didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know she was angry at her too. For Constance. For being “unfair.” Maybe if she wasn’t the one crushed over her whole life and promptly murdered, Morgan could understand these good for nothing principles, or whatever strange projection was going on from Blanche’s angle. She’d confounded people on moral questions before. Only the stars above knew how many passes she gave Deirdre, and that was just for starters.

“No,” Morgan admitted quietly. “But I never said you were. That wasn’t my point.” The point was that Agnes’ mistake should have only destroyed two people, at most. Tragic, but contained. Constance had driven Agnes to the kind of misery that made her want to end her life. And then proceeded to do the same to every other Bachman descendant, those who weren’t horribly killed by her meddling out right. It was unbalanced to the point of grotesque. What pity, what understanding was there left when Constance’s last stand was with someone she’d never met, except to try and destroy? At least Morgan was taking a stand for her own family.

“If there’s another way to get Agnes to White Crest, some way she can be around without a circle, I’ll look after her so you don’t have to keep your hotel for ghosts open longer than you already have to. She’s my family, I should at least try to help her. I want to.” And she wanted to understand why Agnes was so opposed to her finishing this ugly game Constance had turned their lives into. Seeing Ruth’s total apathy at the news had been one thing, but Agnes’ horrified face sat heavy and sick in Morgan’s stomach. She shouldered her bag and dusted herself off, looking down at Blanche with guarded concern. “I still don’t know why you’re so determined to help me, but thank you, Blanche.” She reached out a hand to pull her up. “You need anything right now?” She asked quietly. The differences between them felt as strong as the similarities in this moment, certainly nothing that could be solved with a trip to a diner or a few twenties stuffed into Blanche’s bag. But Morgan was tired of losing people, and she had a sick, prickly feeling in her stomach, almost like guilt, and she was desperate to be rid of it.

It was a strange fury that had settled in Blanche’s stomach, and she didn’t understand it. Blanche knew Morgan held different opinions on the whole subject and that their end goals were different, so she wasn’t understanding why she was so upset at Morgan’s insistence that Constance was the only one in the wrong here. It wasn’t fair - none of this was fair. Perhaps Constance had been right in that the Bachmans - that Agnes Bachman and whatever that thing Cassie, Morgan, and Blanche had confronted in the house so many months ago - were the evil ones. Whatever that meant made Blanche’s head spin because she also knew that no matter what, killing Morgan was inexcusable. How was it possible to care so much for a ghost that did something so horrible to a friend? And was she so determined to help Morgan, or was she determined to help Constance? Couldn’t there be a way for her to help both? Why was the answer one or the other? Blanche was sick of having to choose and she was sick of having to ask herself hard questions and she was sick of having to think.

Not for the first time, Blanche felt that fuzzy, static feeling in her head.

“You could summon her, or she could travel herself,” Blanche finally said, her tone devoid of any true emotion. “What I just did isn’t anything other than opening a line of communication. If I don’t close the line, she could get stuck in the circle. That’s why, even after you dissipated wrong Agnes, I had to close the ritual. But it’s not a permanent means of keeping them here.” She swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook her head. Blanche was quiet a moment as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and looked at Morgan. There were words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite find them. Confusion and anger melded together, and Blanche realized that it might be better to not say anything at all. “I don’t need anything, no.” Blanche said. “I’m going to go home though, I’m… I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she realized. She was exhausted, and Blanche wondered if she hadn’t overdone it. There was supposed to be a balance so she didn’t feel like complete shit afterwards. But as she turned on her heel, giving a quiet goodbye to Morgan as she trudged back to her jeep, she started to think that maybe the energy she spent on the seance wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t feel well.

#wr blanche #wr chatzy #wr blanche chatzy #suicide tw #secrets and fury #wickedswriting

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lemongogo · 4 years

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Hi, so I was wondering what u think this chapter is supposed to mean for hawks character? Is this him reluctantly following orders or is he seriously questioning what side he is on? Twice is obviously not gonna change, and I don’t think hawks understands how much his betrayal hurt twice. Twice devotes all of himself to his comrades happiness. He wouldn’t leave them. What was your opinion on hawks offering to help twice and not wanting to fight him? And twice’s reaction to it

(tl;dr at the bottom)

hey ! so i think a lot of hawks’ character is still shrouded in mystery given that we still don’t know much about him as an individual, as much as we are familiar with Hawks, his hero persona. but with that being said, I think this chapter was pretty clear in showing that there’s a part of hawks that realizes the current system is flawed, even if he isn’t currently planning to abandon the hpsc as some of us (such as myself) would like to see in the future

i think before the chapter released, there were two main paths that his story couldve taken.

in one situation, he could’ve incapacitated twice and taken him out of battle immediately. aka, no talking, no trying to explain himself, just wrap up the job he was given to do. this scenario would suggest that there is no capacity for hawks to change or evolve away from the hpsc. this outcome would mean that , for the rest of the story, he would most likely remain heavily tied to this idea that heroics hold a moral superiority over the villains. that sympathy shouldnt be spared for people like twice because they are “bad”. (aka, feed into this binary of good vs bad)

in the other situation, hawks would hesitate or try to reason with twice, and show that there’s some sort of internal conflict that he’s dealing with. this outcome, unlike with the first scenario, would insinuate that hawks’ story will, at some point, deviate from the path the hpsc intends for him to take. that he will, to some degree, question the institution he works in / contributes to. aka: is what he doing the right thing to do (emphasis on morally grey characters / situations unlike the black/white perspective of situation 1)

chapter 264 shows us that second situation: hawks, despite having the upper hand (cornering twice with all of his feathers drawn), does not immediately “finish the job”. he tries to reason with twice by saying that he can “rebuild” his life and start over. “atone for his crimes” and so on so forth. in my opinion, this is a really good step in hawks leaving the cage the hero commission forced him in at such a young age. i mean, as other people have already stated earlier, this isn’t something he will be able to overcome quickly or easily at all. but, it shows that he’s starting to make some decisions for himself. the hero commission does not seem like they would care for the rehabilitation of the criminals. it doesnt seem like they really care for how these people “feel” and would rather smush the rebellion if it meant upholding the current standard of society

the cool thing here is that we see the conflict between hawks and the commission in a very visual manner. scenes where hawks looks menacing are the scenes where he’s speaking with a sense of authority imposed by the hpsc and his status as the #2. this is where we see him talk about the logistics of his mission, and these lines are accompanied by an obscured, shadowed face. emotion is removed from the equation. he is cold and calculating. unforgiving.

compare it to when he starts to give twice a “chance”. we see his face and his emotions clear as day. from this point forward, we’re seeing what keigo wants to say, and what keigo wants to see from twice. his face is revealed when he says “because you are a good person”; he places faith in twice even when the commission couldnt (wont).

he sees twice’s tears. he sees twice break down and it all ties back to the notion that , in my opinion, hawks WAS connected to jin, even though he might frame it as part of his mission. yes, he got “close” to twice because he had to. and yes he used / manipulated twice. we can’t deny that. but he also tells twice that he recognizes the good in him and, through his internal monologue in the end, we know !! that keigo did care for him to an extent. what twice said to him back at the end, the thing about friends caring about each other and wanting to help hawks out of the “cage” he was “stuck in” resonated with him!! and thats why he offered his help in getting twice “back on his feet”

to me, i feel like he does understand how much this betrayal hurt twice. i think he tries to put on a facade and act like it doesnt affect him bc its his job (as in . he’s not supposed to get attached) but then you see THIS panel at the end

and its obvious he’s upset and reflecting on the idea that what he’s doing and how he’s using people isnt okay and that, yeah, jin has a point . somewhere along the way, heroics lost sight of what it meant to help people

idk. its a lot to process. maybe im reading this all wrong, but to Me i feel as though this is a sign that hawks isnt as tied to the commission as he originally was. because although he’s still doing his job as he’s supposed to, he’s also grieving? in his own way? recognizing the harm he’s caused twice and understanding that this is just a really shitty situation. like others have mentioned, i don’t think we could’ve expected this big “switch” in hawks right away but this is the perfect step in the right direction imo

to answer your question, i don’t think he’s questioning his position just yet but . he does seem to be emotionally distressed and perhaps critical of himself for what he has to do. @miriio describes this better than i can:

“if anything i think i’d be bad writing for hawks to join the league this quickly. we clearly see hawks struggling with his options and he genuinely seems to feel bad about what he’s doing….but what he’s doing is what he’s been trained to believe is right. if hawks really wanted to i’m sure he could’ve killed twice instantly. but he didn’t because he doesn’t want to. he even said he would help twice after because he knows he’s a good person. it’s clear hawks doesn’t wanna do any of this but as far as he’s concerned it’s his only option”

im really bad at explaining how i feel abt this but @miriio and @spinneraki both make ! really good points on what this means for him as a character too if u want to check out those discussions :-)

tl;dr this chapter shows hawks has the capacity to change, given his choice to “talk it out” with twice and his later reflection on how the “bad ones are always us hero scum”.

#long post #bnha spoilers #bnha 264 #bnha #hawks #twice #when i write long posts like this i feel like i dont make sense #or somehow contradict myself #so hopefully this kinda answers ur question #durbinfan13 #asktag

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roswelldetails · 4 years

Text

Episode 203: Good Mother

Sorry so late this week!! I had a deadline for work that kept me away from this early in the week, and Tumblr has been mean tonight. Kudos to @tasyfa for helping me with some of the transcripts while I was stuck working!!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

Determined to regain control of her life in the aftermath of Noah’s death, Isobel (Lily Cowles) makes a risky choice despite its potential consequences. Meanwhile, Alex (Tyler Blackburn) and Michael (Michael Vlamis) work together to unravel the mystery surrounding the night Nora’s (guest star Kayla Ewell) spaceship crashed in 1947. Elsewhere, Liz (Jeanine Mason) makes a surprising confession when Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) shows up looking for answers about Max (Nathan Dean). Heather Hemmens, Amber Midthunder and Trevor St. John also star. Jeffrey Hunt directed the episode written by Deirdre Mangan & Carina Adly MacKenzie (#203.) Original airdate 3/30/2020.

DETAILS:

Aliens in the crash are always portrayed as wearing all white.

There's also a silvery gleam on the faces of Nora and Louise following the crash.

Harlan Manes (first introduced in the alien autopsy scene in 1x07) and Hector Valenti (first mentioned in the pilot by Jesse Manes, but visually introduced here) are shown as having both a partnership and a difference in perspective, with Hector being more sympathetic to the aliens from the start - it mirrors what we know about Jim and Jesse's relationship.

Mysterious alien figure in white hood (probably played by Nathan Parsons, but unlikely to actually be Max (see @latessitrice meta) touches Nora's shoulder and she looks pained, then attacks and burns Hector alive, before disappearing into thin air.

Nora is shot in her shoulder.

Liz sent Alex to find Michael at the cave.

The pods "regenerate cells at the same rate as they degrade" keeping them in stasis. The theory of the electrical current is that it will speed up the regeneration so instead of stasis, Max might improve.

Searching for info about Nora led Alex to a sophisticated firewall, which meant that someone was trying to hide information about her.

Jenna's fake energy drinks are called "Speed Demon"

Mimi DeLuca says she was "nowhere" (and then she looks up at the stars). She was wearing the same nightgown and robe as when she disappeared (white...like the aliens in 1947), but instead of bare feet, she had on a pair of elaborate blue and white cowboy boots

Jenna told Sheriff Valenti that Mimi recited the plot from the film Starship Troopers during the car ride into town "like she lived it", with all the voices, but did not provide any information about where she’d been. Sheriff Valenti implies that this is typical behavior from Mimi.

Michael says he's been parked at the pony for a few weeks. Maria says that Mimi was gone for a month. That means that another 2 weeks have passed. (I.e., Max has been dead for 6 weeks now.)

Maria says that they found her mom on I-40 (by the Roswell sign). Also in 2x01 Rosa indicated that she and Liz were on I-40 when they saw Flint - Rosa put together that it was the most direct route to Area 51...however, I-40 does not go through Roswell. In fact, it is over 100 miles from Roswell to I-40 (north on 285). However, it is the most direct route to Area 51 from Roswell.

Isobel points out that Mimi DeLuca waking up in the desert with no memory is similar to what happened to her when Noah took over her body. Michael doesn't believe that they are the same situation though.

Rosa is about to drink spiked coffee when Liz brings her the art supplies. After Liz leaves, she pours it out without drinking it.

Isobel is packing up all of the photos of her and Noah (most look like vacation photos). She hesitates on the photo of them with Max at the wedding that we previously saw in 2x01 at Noah's funeral.

Isobel's baby is now 7 weeks (consistent with the other time frames) and is now the size of a blueberry.

Isobel drinks the rest of the alien death serum and immediately gets cramps/pain in her womb. And then Max's hallucination appears.

Isobel tells not!Max that she has been microdosing with the serum for weeks (2 weeks, based on the timeline) and it hasn't worked.

Not!Max does tell her to call Kyle (i.e, her subconscious knows she should, but she's not listening).

Michael tells Jenna that Max is in Mexico (at first).

Mimi is "hydrated and healthy" and she never felt unsafe.

She thinks she was only gone for a night, coming to see Maria when Jenna found her.

Maria asked Mimi whether Jenna lent the boots to her and Mimi declared they were hers

Liz is surrounded by monitors with alienesque symbols on them (or maybe just The Science!) See photo:

When the alarm sounds Liz looks at her computer screen and reacts - likely a security camera.

When Alex arrives at the Bunker and sees the binder left for him, the computers are on and there is a map showing. See photo:

I tried to figure out what city it is on his computer screen, but no luck. If anyone figures it out, send me an ask & let me know & I'll blast it out!

The 3-ring binder left for Alex, which looked approx. ¾ full with paper documents, was marked on the front:

CAULFIELD * A4N

352-6553 NMG

The text was white on a dark green background that appeared to be a printed label that had been affixed to the front of the binder. The body of the binder was light grey, with a partially shaded circular diagram in the lower center of the front that appeared to be part of the binder itself rather than a later addition like the label.

The Post-It note left on the binder for Alex said, "What side of history do you want to be on?"

There was also a marking on the spine of the binder: CF-143-3453-C78. This is probably a file or record reference, with CF standing for Caulfield. The reference would be visible when the binder was housed on a shelf, allowing easy identification.

When Alex flipped open the binder, the visible portion of the top page read as follows:

HEADQUARTERS

509th BOMB GP (NH)

ROSWELL ARMY AIR FIELD

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Forwarded.

A07-06 (95) 8 JULY 1947

AFTER ACTION REPORT

Serial

[blacked out text with underscoring] [TOP SECRET stamp]

From: Lt. Colonel Payne Jennings, Roswell Army Air Field

Subject: Engagement with enemy combatants, recovery of unidentified craft, night of 14-15 June, 1947, twelve casualties.

[offscreen] is a fine that concerns the events and

[offscreen] following the discovery of a flying saucer,

To: Chief of Staff, U.S. Air Force

[offscreen] dentified rancher notified

[offscreen] [blacked out text] that he found the instrument on

[offscreen] operations were coordinated with

[offscreen] with the intent of detaining or

[offscreen] while assisting in the inves-

[offscreen] reached the crash site

[offscreen] ing object’s entan-

[offscreen] balloon. Ship

[offscreen] of foreign

[offscreen] place

Liz explains The Science to Jenna:

"3 years ago I hypothesized that if I introduced a rare protein to destroyed stem cells they'd regenerate. And I was right. My team in Denver brought dead cells back to life. Rat cells, but, I mean, still, the applications are immeasurable… until our study got shut down. They said it's for ethics reasons, but I think it's because it threatened big pharma. Then a few weeks ago, Kyle found that the pods contain a sort of alien cousin to my regenerative protein. When Max healed Rosa, his electric charge amplified the process. If we can replicate that, then, we can accelerate his recovery, so, I am testing out pig hearts to see…" discussion about pig hearts/human hearts/different kinds of smart…

Liz says she has a few hours before she has to "record the electromagnetic charge interval"

Jenna says that Liz reminds her of Charlie.

Charlie used to rant about gene therapy

Jesse says he requested no visitors until "his brain starts to follow his orders".

He keeps periodically hitting the morphine drip with Alex in the room, though he was ignoring it before Alex got there.

Jesse describes the opening scene of the episode. And then tells Alex "Tripp was never the same".

Rosa's art:

Among the quotes on her collage are:

Body drie up from ...

What did she say

You're no listening

Control her Take her power

I am the Mesa the mighty

Nothing but a muddy trickle

You can't hold us

Sandia

Between them... Damn... One day she'll…

East

Rosa hears Max call out to her (while awake) "Rosa! Help! You're the only one!"

Jenna says that her dad brought her and Charlie to Roswell when they were kids. That they were obsessed with the crash and aliens and the X-Files and it was the perfect trip. It's why she came to Roswell after leaving the military. "It was like trying to go back in time, somehow."

"Time Travel really messed with you. I am eight years older than my older sister. She used to be my hero. She was kinetic, disruptive, cool. Now that I'm an adult I'm pretty sure she's bipolar, and she needs help. And if I try to save Max I'm letting Rosa twist in the wind, so, hence the wine ready in my drawer."

Maria is going through a box labeled "Mom's Stuff" in the Pony when she sees Rosa.

"I'm turning into my mom. I lost time at the gala...Michael's hand...I'm seeing things!"

What Valenti says about Noah's death:

"The M.E., Dr. Holden, listed Noah's cause of death as cardiac arrest due to lightning strike. (note: cardiac arrest = heart attack. Same way Max died.). No other abnormalities were listed. But that's not consistent with the crime scene photos. You see these ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. …. These marks are consistent with zip ties. And these with struggling against police-issue handcuffs. Like Max's.".

Isobel blames it on their sex toys.

What Max said to the grocery clerk "¿Tienes carne sin preservativos?" (Meat without a condom).

About Max's nightmare:

"You remember when I used to come in and sleep on your floor?"

"You used to have a nightmare. You were alone in a cold, dark room and there was something… You couldn't get up. You were…"

"Chained to the floor. I'd wake up all freaked out and run to your room."

Rosa's nightmare:

"I need your help, Rosa."

"Look, I'm not gonna help you die. I have been drinking so that I don't dream."

"I know that."

"It's like you're getting stronger. I hear you now when I'm awake."

"You're right. Something is making me stronger. I feel things. That's why I'm calling for you. Something is wrong with Isobel. Even in the pod I sense it. She's dying. Please."

Liz thinks that Max was able to reach out to save Isobel because the electricity is making him stronger in the pod.

Maria confessed to her mother that she had thought she might be getting sick too, Mimi said Maria would not get lost because she was protected, and reached for the resin pendant with the anti-alien pollen flower that Maria was wearing as usual. When Mimi seemed to go to sleep, Maria removed the necklace and placed it on her mother.

Flashing back to the night of the crash, Nora seems to be tying down the tarp on the back of the truck when Tripp approaches her. He feigns an offer to assist her and then grabs her and orders his men to move in so that they can take her and the truck back to base. Louise appears and black-canary-screams to push them away (sound waves, I presume). She is shot in the stomach/chest. Nora pulls her into the truck and drives them away.

The newspaper clip Michael found is dated October 12, 1948, two days before Nora was captured.

Newspaper transcript:

Last scene - Nora is clearly driving the truck with her powers, as she has both her arms around Louise. They approach a cabin and we're introduced to Roy Bronson, who offers to help.

Roswell Town Fair Charms Locals and Tourists

Photo caption: Smiles abound demonstrate a good time had by all.

Saturday Festivities Drew Healthy Crowds

Second column under photo:

...well as celebrated hometown war heroes, and, of course, Mrs. Benjamin Booker (Carol) whose strawberry Chile pie has won the Roswell Pie Contest four seasons in a row.

Children delighted in activities such as sack races.......

Top of 3rd column:

...ice creams.

Meanwhile the annual pumpkin chunking contest was the main attraction as expected! Pumpkin chunkers arrived from far and wide with their pumpkins and their pumpkin-lurching apparatuses. The prize for best pumpkin chunked went to the Long Family. Their farm foreman Roy Bronson credited his friend and neighbor, a young woman who declined to be named, for the Long's pumpkin chunking victory.

When asked what he'd do with the prize money, Bronson declared that he would "purchase ingredients (for his lady friend) to cook up a nice pumpkin pie".

MUSIC:

Dame - Holy Moly

Tommee Profitt feat. Fleurie - Hurricane

#roswell new mexico #rnm season 2 #good mother #rnm 203 #long post #episode details

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solynacea · 4 years

Text

333: Pride, Gluttony, & Scars

Warning: This a very long post that contains character analysis and an as-of-yet unsubstantiated theory. I don’t blame you if you want to skim read, and there’s a TL;DR at the bottom.

I’ve seen a lot of posts about the events of the newest chapter of Nanatsu no Taizai; as someone who does manga edits, I spend quite a bit of time staring at panels and dialogue to figure out how to organize, what can be taken out, what should be left in, etc. And I’ve done the same with this chapter, pouring over the scenes of Escanor’s final moments again, and again, and I’ve seen a theory about Merlin posted by @derieri, so I’d like to share my thoughts on the final words exchanged between Escanor and Merlin.

But first, let’s talk about blame. I’ve seen so much of it going around: Elizabeth should have healed him, Mael should have kept Sunshine, Meliodas should have kept him from fighting, and while those are valid complaints, they also subtract from and undermine Escanor’s character and the development of his arc. We learned from his gaiden that he thought he was a monster, unfit to live, a beast to be put down without remorse. It wasn’t until Meliodas bested him in combat and forced him to realize that his life was not his to do away with so carelessly that he began to live. And Escanor did what so many people with chronic depression/suicidal tendencies do: he latched onto his comrades as a reason to continue living.

Note: I am someone who suffers from the above conditions, so I am basing my analysis on that.

To Escanor, his very reason for being alive in his world was to protect the people he cared for, even if that meant losing his life in the process. And while he does care for the people of Liones — seen by him battling Estarossa to keep them safe and purposefully moving their fight to a lake to avoid hurting the knights nearby — the largest part of his world was the group of misfits who had become his friends. The Seven Deadly Sins were his family, the people he loved, the ones he would do absolutely anything for. Escanor did not see value in himself outside of as a tool to protect others; even without Sunshine, facing down an Indura spawn, he was willing to let it rip him to shreds to protect Gilthunder and the others. He was willing to die then. If Mael hadn’t intervened, he would have.

The long and short of what I’m saying is that, even without Sunshine, he would have found some way to put himself in that battle. We knew he was dying. It was shown in the blood he continued to cough up no matter how many times he was healed, in his disregard for his safety while fighting the Sinner at Camelot. His one regret when he thought he was going to die then was that he wouldn’t be able to continue protecting his comrades. Escanor, in his final moments, made two choices that those around him, who loved him, respected: he retook Sunshine to fight for his friends, and he burned up his life to keep them safe. (For those of you saying that Mael could have taken his place: yes. Or he could have joined in. But the Sins weren’t able to resist the Demon King without Merlin’s limit break magic, so whether or not him doing anything would have changed the outcome is debatable.)

Now that the bulk of my understanding of Escanor’s character is done, let’s move on to what originally prompted this post: his confession, and Merlin’s reaction to it.

While saying his farewell to the Sins and others, Escanor makes sure to acknowledge each of them in some way, whether by thanking them, apologizing, or asking for a favor. Or, in Ban’s case, getting in one final roast. What doesn’t he do? Downplay their grief. He fully acknowledges that his death is going to impact them all in some way, particularly not being able to attend King and Diane’s wedding. And when he gets to Merlin, he makes the confession of feelings she already knew he held.

After which Merlin does what Merlin is best at: she deflects. This is a canonical character trait for her; whether making a vague mention of something (her love for Meliodas), or waiting until the last second to reveal pertinent information (her Infinity magic), Merlin is known to be powerful and mysterious. She’s cool, she’s unruffled. And that doesn’t change here.

What does change is how Escanor speaks to her. Up to this point, he has always been respectful, almost to the point of absurdity. He does not press her on anything, does not question her. Yet here we see him blatantly refuse to allow her to hide behind a half-truth. Did Merlin view him as a test subject? Yes. Merlin views everyone that way to some degree. But Escanor isn’t a fool, and he immediately shakes his head and tells her that his feelings for her exist regardless of her view of him. Which leads to this:

Her veneer cracks. Merlin has only appeared vulnerable to this degree at one other point, and that was the death of Arthur. Her cool demeanor falls apart whenever some she cares for is dying, and that’s what happens here. If you want to read her body language, she’s averting her gaze (hiding from him), crossing her arms (to get distance/hold her emotions in check), and digging her fingers into her coat (to retain control). The moment Escanor tells her that he doesn’t care how she sees him because it won’t change how he feels, she begins to fall apart. And what does she say? “You’re too late.” We’ll come back to that.

She continues by seemingly veering off topic. “Too late for anything, for everything . . . some things just can’t be taken back.” Now, quite obviously we have yet to get a full gaiden for Merlin. Some of her backstory has been hinted at, like the destruction of Belialuin, which seem to be what she’s referencing here. But there’s something odd about it, and as @derieri pointed out, the way she’s wording her sentences and the confusion of Meliodas and Elizabeth make it highly likely that she’s referring to something other than Belialuin’s fall while saying that it’s too late. She continues by saying, “Escanor, I wish you would have found me sooner . . . If possible, 3,000 years sooner . . .”

That’s a very specific time frame, given that the first Holy War ended exactly 3,000 years before this event with the sealing of the Demon and Goddess Clans and the curse put on Meliodas and Elizabeth.

Here, Escanor directly acknowledges that there is something other than the sin that earned her the title of Gluttony. Merlin’s reaction?

Utter surprise and, by the sweat on her brow, horror. Whatever this sin is, it’s something that she’s tried desperately to keep hidden for centuries. Not even Meliodas, who she once loved, or Elizabeth, who she views as an older sister, know what it could be. When Escanor says that he doesn’t know the specifics, only that there was something else because she always looked so sad, we get a close up of her eye. Traditonally, this is a technique used whenever one character breaks through to another. It’s meant to bring us close to the character, to show those boundaries breaking down.

In this context, it means the boundaries between Merlin and Escanor are breaking down.

She goes silent after this while he says his final farewells, and doesn’t move until she goes to him and kisses him. There are three things that happen in those few panels that contradict Merlin’s established character: 1.) she moves towards someone, instead of having someone move to her; 2.) she acts on an impulse; and 3.) she puts herself directly in harm’s way. Merlin has been in battles before, yes, and she has suffered damage, but it is very rare for her to put herself so blatantly in danger when she doesn’t need to be. She could have told him she’d always remember him fondly. She didn’t need to burn her face as horribly, yet she did.

Directly after the kiss, she says:

There’s an interesting word choice here that might not be obvious to non-native English speakers. Merlin does not say, “I do not reciprocate your feelings for me.” She says, “I was never able to reciprocate your feelings for me.” In other words, she doesn’t say she does not love Escanor. She says she’s unable to love him. And there’s a world of difference between those two. It’s the difference between saying you do not eat something because you don’t like it, and you aren’t able to eat something because there’s a reason, like an allergy. Something is prohibiting Merlin from returning his feelings, at least in a deep way.

This is the panel that first caught my attention. “As proof of your life, as proof that you existed, I’ll take these burns upon my body . . .” That is a lot of commitment for someone she claims to see only as a research subject. There’s another person we’ve seen sear their flesh to touch the person they care for, and that was 3,000 years ago, when Meliodas reached into a goddess barrier to cradle and comfort Elizabeth. Merlin is scarring herself so that no one, herself included, will ever forget Escanor. And furthermore, she’s doing it as a symbol of his love for her.

Remember that point I said we’d come back to later? In the theory, it’s stated that Merlin sold Meliodas and Elizabeth out to the Demon King and Supreme Deity. Which, frankly, I think would be another level to the tragically beautiful story that is Nanatsu no Taizai, but from that come two possibilities: Merlin was punished for her hubris in daring to speak to the gods she betrayed by having her ability to love removed, or she removed it herself after the destruction of her home/the curse being placed.

Tl;dr: Merlin did, in some way, love Escanor, but whether through her own means or outside interference was unable to reciprocate it fully.

#text #long post #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #merlin #escanor #escalin #nnt meta #nnt analysis #meta post #analysis post #it's been a while since i did one of these and it came out waaaay longer than i expected #and it's also four am so i'm rambling a bit as well

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togafukagiftexchange · 4 years

Text

for @perfectwill

by @pinlc-candy

Hi, hi! I’m your pitch-hitter! Hope you enjoy! There’s a little bit of angst, but only in a ‘Fukawa’s childhood’ kind of way. Not between these two! I went with childhood friends, part-first date and partners in crime.

***

In fairytales, most little girls were princesses given happily ever afters, who lived in castles with conical roofs and befriended cute fluffy animals. That probably didn’t include stink bugs like the one that followed Touko home one day. Anyway, if they weren’t princesses, they became princesses, and they stayed princesses after the credits rolled.

One such princess was Cinderella. She lived with her stepmother and stepsisters, who abused her, starved her, enslaved her, until one day, Cinderella met Prince Charming and she was liberated from her cruel family and went on to live with her true love. From that day on, Cinderella lived happily with him in a beautiful castle.

Certainly not in a squalid house, like Touko’s. Certainly not with the family she was born into, like Touko.

“Is your neck made of rubber?” hissed Touko’s mother, with one hand gripping her daughter’s shoulder and the other jerking the hairbrush through Touko’s hair. Much like every other time, Touko winced and squeezed her kneecaps tightly as her head tipped in the opposite direction to the brushing.

Her mother glanced at the clock on their living room wall, only to then remember that it ran out of battery power a while ago, so she checked her wristwatch and grimaced, yellow teeth framed by nude, chapped lips.

“They asked us to be there in twenty minutes,” said Touko’s mother, and she gave Touko’s hair another tug. The brush didn’t get very far, and her expression contorted even more. “It takes ten to get to that restaurant from here, so they’ll be arriving in about ten to collect you.”

She took her hand off Touko’s shoulder and shoved Touko’s lower back. Any harder might have sent Touko tumbling to the floor and onto the food wrappers lying there. Instead, Touko just bent forward with a squeak.

“Get up! Get dressed!” demanded her mother, so Touko slid off the stool, feeling its uneven legs make the seat wobble underneath her as her weight shifted.

Keeping her head down, Touko scuttled up the stairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind herself. Her room contained a bed, a wardrobe and a desk. She opened her wardrobe, an old thing that came with the house, and stared at the contents. The back of the wardrobe was splintered from a past impact, and she could count the number of different outfits on one hand. Other girls in her elementary class boasted about new fashions, like how their parents bought them the latest in the Enoshima line, yet Touko had no choice but to pull out her school uniform, with it being the most suitable for the occasion.

As she braided her hair and dressed herself, putting the uniform over her vest and undies, a voice in her head re-emerged, wondering if this was a prank. After all, not many people as young as her, a mere ten years old, could say that they had been invited to lunch by the grandson of the president of Polanski Business Limited, if any could say that at all. She didn’t know anything about him, but her parents had been excited when they read the letter that had been addressed to Touko, marked ‘PRIVATE’, and they had relayed the information to her when she returned home from school that day.

The reason given for the request to see her, according to her parents, was that the grandson was interested in meeting her after reading the book she had published two months ago. To be honest, Touko didn’t feel too keen about the whole thing, imagining the grandson to be at least a decade older than her. Probably some slimeball interested in the female protagonist of her novel, who thought Touko would be similar. He would be someone that she had nothing in common with at all. Just a rich man born into wealth who didn’t know how the real world worked.

However, she couldn’t decline the invitation. Touko hadn’t even accepted it. Her parents did, and without having to ask them, she knew her parents wouldn’t let her opt out of this opportunity. Not if it meant more money for them.

She walked over to her desk and pulled on the drawer. It opened with a grunt. The sight of her stink bug inside of it brought a small smile to her tired face, and she hovered her finger near the insect’s head for a few seconds.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” she whispered. Kameko brushed her antennae against Touko’s finger.

As much as she would prefer to hide herself away, she knew her family would be waiting for her, so she shut the drawer, leaving it ajar, and stepped back. Touko looked down and adjusted her skirt, and only then did she notice a bit of dirt on her pleated skirt. Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know if it was dirt-dirt or a splatter of juice, and she was dabbing it with saliva and picking at the mark when the door flew open.

“There you are!” Touko’s other mother barked in the doorway, not caring that she had nearly startled Touko’s soul out of her body. “The limo will be here any minute. Come on, brat!”

Touko let go of her skirt and shuffled over to the door, barely able to hear her footsteps over the ringing between her ears. Her mother watched her approach without saying anything, and as soon as Touko was close enough, she seized Touko’s wrist and dragged her through the house, with Touko barely managing to keep up, staggering the whole way.

It was this mother that Touko accompanied out of the house and into the garden, where trash collected instead of flowers, sprinkled amongst the dirt patches and overgrown grass. They passed through the tall picket fencing that kept the garden secluded, and then headed down the street.

At this point, Touko’s mother released Touko’s arm, though Touko could still feel the imprints of her mother’s fingers burning against her skin through her sleeve. In contrast, the cool morning air clung to her face.

Neither spoke to the other as they walked. Distant traffic rumbled, and for the most part, she kept her eyes on the pavement. When she did look up, she stiffened, catching sight of her father, who stood at the end of the road with his hands in his suit pockets.

Her footsteps slowed, but not soon enough. The pair stationed themselves by him, with her standing between them.

He turned to them and showed more teeth as his eyes probed Touko. She hugged herself. Prayed her mind exaggerated the actual size of the wet patch on her skirt.

Finally, he looked away, but her guard stayed up.

“Don’t screw this up for us, Touko-chan,” he said in his gravelly voice.

Touko nodded. His eyes flitted back to her and flashed warningly.

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” he snarled.

She twitched like someone thwacked a ruler against the back of her hand.

“Y-Yes, Father!” she promised. He stared for a few more seconds before taking his eyes off her, but her skin continued to tingle as they waited in silence.

A minute later, a black speck appeared in the distance, and Touko’s father straightened his back and fiddled with his tie. Her mother tweaked the u-neckline of her dress, while Touko clasped her hands together, feeling her heart beat faster. As the speck drew closer, it began to shape, revealing itself to be a limo.

The windows, tinted black, disallowed anyone on the outside from seeing into the vehicle. Touko felt rather small when it pulled up in front of them. She had never seen a limo before, and though she knew they were big, she didn’t realise they were this long. Shortly after it came to a stop, the driver’s window yawned open, and they saw the chauffeur, an old man wearing a suit and a cap.

Touko didn’t notice the man make eye contact with any of them or even look at them, but he glanced at what seemed to be a photograph held in his gloved hand and gave a slight nod.

“We’ll have her back in a few hours,” he said.

Then he got out, walked alongside the limo and opened another door. He stood there, and not until Touko felt one of her mothers push her on the back did she realise that she was meant to get in. She hurried over, hesitated at the door, then ducked in.

Once Touko sat down on one of the plush leather seats, the chauffeur shut the door with a thud. Touko peeked out of the window, and though she could still see the faces of her parents, tinted black, none of them should have been able to see her.

Yet she felt their gazes on her.

Touko swallowed her heart back down. Her body thrummed. The limo started moving, and the faces of her parents began to recede. Even after the limo turned the corner and entered another street, she still felt their gazes on her, tied around her limbs with string.

Another man in a suit sat along from her on the row of seats. He didn’t talk to her, and she didn’t talk to him. His sunglasses were a double-edged sword. On one hand, she rather he didn’t stare at her, but though she couldn’t see his eyes fixed on her, she couldn’t tell for sure if he was secretly studying her or not.

She wiggled uncomfortably, but soon stopped, cringing as her seat squeaked with her movements. Staying as still as possible now, she peered upward. Above her loomed a dark ceiling dotted with small lights that reminded her of stars, and opposite her was a mini-bar with drinks she wasn’t old enough to consume legally.

Regardless of whether she could have any or not, she didn’t try. Didn’t want to. It tasted disgusting, anyway.

Roughly ten minutes later, they parked outside of a restaurant that Touko didn’t recognise outside of her parents chattering about it being mentioned in her letter that she never got to read. The chauffeur opened her door, and she hopped out. He turned away and walked toward the building. She followed.

Despite the fanciness of the place, no other vehicles were stationed in the carpark, and while she hadn’t been to a restaurant before, she knew this one was fancy. Speckled square panels intermingled with straight-edged windows on the building’s face, all very modern, and a scarlet brick floor surrounded the entrance. They passed under a canopy, silver font on a golden background, and the door opened automatically to permit them inside, like it deemed them worthy.

Inside was just as empty with only one table occupied, and even then, only by one person. Two, if one included the elderly man stood next to the seated boy.

Cream walls and crimson tiled flooring caged Touko in. Polished wooden furniture filled the open room, their accents the colour of standard rose petals. Everything that bled into her vision gave the restaurant warm hues, and it bathed Touko’s small body in it too. Touko trailed after the chauffeur, who seemed to be leading her toward the table with the boy, and she tried to figure out who they were before they reached there. Her first thought was that the elderly man was the boy’s grandfather and the president’s son, and the boy was the president’s great-grandson.

When they arrived at the table, Touko noticed no plates or cutlery had been set. The only things on the tablecloth, which resembled a blood splatter, were a paper folder and a book with a blank cover, all positioned where the boy sat.

She felt a bit queasy. Red. This place had a lot of red. Sometimes she visited decorator shops and browsed the paint aisles, taking card samples home with her so she could continue to examine the different shades in her bedroom. Not because she wanted to paint her room or anything, but to give names to the exact colours she imagined while scratching ink into her notebook.

“You can wait outside now,” said the boy, and the chauffeur left. Once he departed from the room, going back the way he came, the boy steepled his fingers and focused on Touko. His eyes pricked her and she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill.

The boy looked about her age, but with a stern expression too hard for most children to be able to have. But she knew it possible because adults occasionally asked her if she was okay upon seeing those features clouding her face. Yet, his weren’t a fog like hers, but a lightning strike as clear as day. Blond hair framed his face, reaching his shoulders, and his bright blue eyes studied her from behind white glasses. While her frames were circular, his were rectangular, and he nudged up his glasses before lowering his hand back down.

“Touko Fukawa,” he said. No matter how seriously he spoke, he couldn’t hide that his voice hadn’t broken yet. He picked up the paper folder that had been resting by his elbow and opened it, then took out the contents and set the folder down again.

She eyed the stack of papers fastened together with a foldback clip. Their angle didn’t allow her to read what they said. The boy pinched the clip, released a single sheet of paper, and then let go of it so it snapped back into place.

“Let’s get straight to business, shall we?” he asked. He put down the majority of the papers and nodded at the chair opposite him.

Her legs didn’t budge. Only her arm moved, and even then, it didn’t feel like she was moving it herself.

“B-Business?” she said, hovering a crooked finger by her lips.

The boy inclined his head forward a little. “Yes. Is there some issue with that?”

He didn’t relent. Touko squirmed against his glare and shrunk back.

“I thought... Aren’t I meeting the grandson of the president of Polanski Business Limited?” she asked in a small voice.

“What? Yes.” Annoyance flickered on his face like the flame of a candle shimmering. It may as well have been a full-blown fire with how she jolted. He hadn’t even raised his voice. “I’m his grandson, Byakuya Polanski... but that will be Byakuya Togami in a few years, when I take over the Togami Conglomerate.”

She blinked. “Eh?”

Byakuya pursed his lips. Just like that, he went from hot to cold.

“You’ve wasted enough time,” he told her icily. “Sit down and then we’ll get to work.”

The table was flanked by four chairs, one of which he had already claimed. Touko shot a quick look at the old man, who stood motionless, staring into space like he was somewhere else entirely. He must have been Byakuya’s butler. She averted her gaze and lugged her chair back enough for her to sit on it, shuddering as it gave an awful screech.

After she sat down, Byakuya started talking again.

“Your debut novel isn’t the sort of thing I’d usually read,” he said, “but I read about it in the news. It’s the talk of the nation. It’s impossible for me to avoid hearing about it.”

Her toes curled in her shoes. The puzzle pieces in her head began to fit together. Everything so far pointed toward Byakuya being a reluctant fan of her book, who as the grandson of an incredibly wealthy man, could afford to hire out a whole restaurant and request her presence. But also, she noted, they were of similar ages, and they were at a table in a restaurant together. Privately. And surely Byakuya would want to marry someone one day. Perhaps someone famous. Or someone who would become famous.

So all this... could it have been...?

“After a week, I decided to read your book,” he said, looking her in the eyes and leaning in a bit, “and...”

... and here, the lights could have dimmed, maturing the colours in the room to sombre shades. The butler could have whipped out a candle and placed it between them, lighting it in the bat of an eye. A violin would start singing, and Byakuya would scoop Touko’s hands up in his, and he would say suavely,

... I want to know if you will be betrothed to me?

“Y-Yes!” she gasped, clutching her heart.

Opposite her, with his hands firmly on his side of the table, Byakuya quirked his brow and said, “What?”

Touko returned to reality with a crash and cringed. “I-I...”

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say yet,” he said as his lips curled into a sneer.

She willed the floor to swallow her up, chair and all, but it didn’t, and because she still continued to exist, he elaborated.

“After reading your book, I realised you have great potential,” he told her, and he didn’t laugh or even smirk. “Your prose captured many people’s attention. It made them want to date a person like the one your main character dated by the end. I hate romance novels, but even yours drew out an emotion from me... an unpleasant one, but one nonetheless.”

His face gave a quiver before grimly setting. In the beats during their conversation, when neither talked, her whirling thoughts made the silence loud. She swallowed, finding that her mouth and throat had become dry, but she didn’t want to ask for water. Well, she did want some, if only to give her something to do while she sat there, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask or even find the words. They evaporated off her tongue.

“You’re a genius, like me,” he said in a low, even tone, and he tucked a hand under his chin. He looked at her as much as she looked at him. “Even if you’re sitting there with a stupid face like that.”

Touko flinched and jerked a hand to her cheek.

“W-Who are you calling a stupid face...?” she asked, anger spiking in her chest. Hitching in her voice like nails down a chalkboard.

Byakuya was unperturbed.

“I have a proposal,” he said casually.

That made her waver. The ball of anger in her swooped down and rolled off somewhere, leaving a flutter in its place.

“P-Proposal?” she mumbled.

When he reached into his jacket pocket, her stomach flipped, and she imagined him whisking out a small box that clicked open to reveal a ring. Never mind that neither were old enough. That didn’t matter in the world of imagination. Her imagination.

As it was, moments later, he held out a small notebook and passed it to her. She took it and opened it. The first page was blank, and leafing through the rest, so were those.

“I want you to work for me,” he said while her eyes were downcast. “I have great plans in store for the world, and I want you to assist me.”

Want. Byakuya wanted her. The word ensnared her, and Touko barely breathed as she curled her fingers over her heart.

“I read your manuscripts,” he started, only to stop when she jumped in her seat. Her eyes darted upward and locked onto him.

“W-What?” she asked.

Touko didn’t give him any manuscripts. He offered Touko the stack of papers that he had got out the folder earlier, and she brought them closer to her face.

Reading the first line, her breath lodged in her throat with a choked yelp.

This was hers. Definitely hers. She recognised the handwriting, remembered writing it, and she held the papers, trembling. Trembling because she had kept this in a shoebox under her bed. And as she flipped through the other pages, she found more of her work. Work that she hadn’t let her parents take. Or read.

Horror clung to the back of her throat with its claws digging in, and the bitter, acidic ooze it secreted trickled all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

“What’s the matter with you now, for goodness sake?” asked Byakuya, somewhere in the fog consuming her thoughts.

“How... How did you get these?” she said, staring at her manuscripts.

“Your parents sent them to me,” he explained, confirming her suspicions. She tore her gaze off the paper, breathing shallowly. While she was teetering on falling apart, he didn’t so much as rattle. “You are incredibly talented, and trust me, if you weren’t, I wouldn’t bother. I assumed I would get more romance handed to me, but to my pleasant surprise, it wasn’t all that. One piece stood out to me... the one that referenced a shadow observing a young girl being abused. It seemed biographical. Was it?”

Touko knew which one he meant. And it was. She nodded.

If her parents had read it, she didn’t know if they would have included it. Maybe they hadn’t bothered reading it. They never read the novel she published. Or perhaps they had read it, but they didn’t think there was anything incriminating in it. In their heads, they were justified.

She wondered if they really were justified, if she was as rotten a girl as they and the rest of the world had told her she was for so long.

“I want you to work for me, Touko Fukawa,” murmured Byakuya. Light glinted off his glasses. “I have plans for the world, and you would be a great asset.”

It wasn’t with disgust he stared at her with, like her mothers. It wasn’t lust he stared at her with, like her father. It was something else, a light in his eyes, embedded in an otherwise blank mask. Touko didn’t answer right away, trying to locate a crack in what he said, one that would reveal his true motives.

No one ever wanted her because of her talent. People wanted her for a punching bag, as a pastime, as a target or more recently, for her newfound fame or for her money, which all went to her parents. No one wanted her because of her talent. Not really. Not until now.

“You... want to publish my books?” she asked, croaking slightly. She shook her head. “I already have a publisher...”

Byakuya waved a hand. “No, no. I told you, I have plans for this world. Don’t you think it’s corrupt, Fukawa?”

She pressed her thighs together and hunched her shoulders, unable to disagree. He tilted his head to one side.

“There are things that I’ve seen, that I’ve been through, that most people wouldn’t be able to even imagine,” he said, a child. Touko stared back at him. Thought she understood the reflections in his eyes. “Terrible... depraved acts. Violence. Betrayals.”

“Try me,” she blurted, a child too.

That made him hesitate. His mask slipped, and he showed genuine surprise. Not at what she said, but at how she addressed him. Next to him, for the first time so far, his butler stirred, and he seemed to inflate, growing in size, fists clenching by his sides.

Her stomach knotted.

“S-Sorry!” she said, smacking her hands together in prayer. “Please... Please don’t hit me...”

Seconds passed, filling her head with the wail of a siren. Byakuya blinked, then regained his composure.

“I don’t intend to,” he said calmly. He adjusted his glasses. “But you see the world for what it is, don’t you? It’s truly rotten. There are people high up who misuse their power, who don’t deserve it. Society has been poisoned, and I want to rebuild it. But to do that, we need to cut the strings of the puppeteers, and flush out all the impurities that are rife in civilisation.”

This didn’t sound like something that would come out of a child, but it did. His butler had returned to being stoic. She gripped her skirt. Slits of her knuckles blanched.

Byakuya offered his hand to her.

“I want you to be my publicist,” he said. “I want you to write for me.”

Touko bit her lip, sinking back in her seat. She eyed his hand like a snake was wound around his arm under his sleeve.

“M-My stories...” Touko mumbled. Her paper refuge. Their walls threatened to collapse in on her.

“You can still write your novels,” he said. “In fact, I demand you do. But I will also want you to come with me. Over the coming years and perhaps even beyond, we will be working closely together toward that ideal world. One without people like the villains in your stories.”

She sat up. Was about to take his hand.

“... but be warned. Once you accept this deal, you cannot go back on your word. Your life will be as good as over if you do,” he said. “But as long as you stay by my side, I will stay by yours.”

Her body tensed. She faltered, but their eyes met and with a surge of determination, she took his hand and shook it. Byakuya tried and failed to fight down a smile, a fleeting crescent that soon hid behind a cloud in the night sky, but even after his features hardened, she pressed the image against her heart. He had looked so beautiful.

Still did.

“Excellent. Pennyworth, fetch us the menus,” Byakuya said, and the butler marched away.

While the butler was busy, Byakuya reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and gave it to her.

“Take notes,” he said. She positioned the pen against the first page in the notebook, and he added, “We can eat afterwards. Don’t worry, I will pay for both of us. Now, there’s an academy that enrolls the country’s most gifted high school students every year. This would be the ideal place for the movement I have in mind. I was thinking, to appeal to more people, we could have a mascot of sorts.”

As he spoke, Touko wrote down what he said, and whenever he paused, she sketched bits onto a doodle in the margin.

It resembled a bear.

#togafuka #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #danganronpa #togafukagiftexchange #zenonaa #2019

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