#right up until I stuck the arms on at which point it inexplicably became fucking hilarious and a great work of art

[bookrat]

Due to an unprecedented new organizational technique(making a folder labeled 'old2022' instead of 'old7'), this year I can easily look back on everything I made and put my favorites into list format according to how much serotonin they deliver when I look at them. This is truly the most objective and important of categorical characteristics.

5. Little punk compsognathid

4. Sinosauropteryx bust

3. Terrestrisuchus

2. Nothronychus

Little Etsy raptor

[marmolady]

There Was This Girl

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Rourke Ending. Estela Montoya is a loner. She keeps herself to herself. But there's just something about the girl in her Chemistry class....

Word Count: 3738

Chronology: This the first part of my Rourke ending series.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

There was this girl. Blonde… electric blue eyes. Not all that tall, not all that short. Just another average blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl in your average American college. The girl… Taylor she’d said she was called, looked to Estela to be just an ordinary anyone. Which was why she bothered Estela so. The way that girl played upon her mind after bumping into her just the once; that was anything but ordinary. After that… well, Estela didn’t seem to be able to keep herself from bumping into Taylor. It was almost as if that girl, that average, ordinary girl, had been seeking her out.

Estela had made a point of keeping to herself in the days since beginning her studies as a freshman at Hartfeld University. Though she’d been raised by her uncle in San Trobida, away from the trappings of her lineage, she was certain that it wouldn’t be long before she was known here as the daughter of the Emperor and the Second Empress. It was a connection she’d long despised. That she and her uncle had spent the last however many years fighting against a dictatorship was laughably ironic when it was none other than a cruel dictator who’d sired her… who still kept a hold over her mother. Had it been down to Estela, she’d never have come to this place, but at her uncle’s insistence that she arm herself with the best education they could give her, she’d relented. Quite an achievement in persuasion on his part. It was not every day that Estela Montoya backed down.

There must have been a reason she was drawn to that girl, Taylor. Maybe it was the simple fact that people tended not to talk to Estela. She liked it that way, for so long as she was left alone, her identity never seemed to be an issue—despite her striking resemblance to the Second Empress. Other students would whisper—or rather, not bother to—behind her back, mulling upon the reasons for her enforced solitude, for the scarring that marked her serious face. Their speculations were frequently cruel in tone. Perhaps that was why the openly friendly way that Taylor had greeted her; no hesitation, no mistrust, had stuck with her.

“Hey-- you mind if I sit here? It’s kind of crowded everywhere else; I don’t think I can handle the noise right now.”

A frown darkened Estela’s face, born of suspicion that had been drilled into her since she was small, but she nodded. It was hard to resent Taylor a simple desire for peace and quiet-- the new food court was for the most part a headache waiting to happen.

Taylor sat down with an exhale-- relief?-- and began to eat. After a moment, she looked back up, meeting Estela’s eyes before they could pointedly dart away.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I… I get the impression you like to keep to yourself.”

Estela’s frown deepened. Maybe… maybe she did. She felt lonely sometimes, but solitude was now second nature; it was easy.

“Let’s just say it’s better that way. For me… for anyone who doesn’t want to wind up hurt.”

Taylor studied Estela’s face, and a couple of times opened her mouth as if to start talking, before reassessing and remaining quiet. Estela looked back, unblinking, mirroring the curiosity before her. She’d never much been drawn to blue eyes. Used to the cruel, icy gaze of her father, that coldness was anticipated. But Taylor’s weren’t like that. Not at all. They were bright, sparkling and warm like the sun on the sea. They were kind. And when Taylor’s smile reached them, they made something both alarming and pleasurable bubble up in Estela’s stomach. Then, Taylor finally managed to get her words out; shaky, unsure.

“Well, if you ever feel like… you know, some company, you should know that I enjoy being in yours. And I wouldn’t mind just… hanging out sometime.”

Estela averted her gaze, painfully aware of the heat blossoming upon her cheeks, spreading rapidly to her ears and the back of her neck. She could only hope that Taylor didn’t notice that fierce blush. Was she attracted to Taylor? Like, really attracted to her. Was that what this was? Intensely focused as she’d been on the family business in San Trobida, she’d never had the time for foolish crushes. Any such feelings had been trifling, fleeting. She might have looked at a person and thought the nice to look at, but it hadn’t been like this. There hadn’t been the butterflies. There hadn’t been the throb between her legs, nor the goose-bumps rising up her neck. Agonisingly uncomfortable, Estela took her food and strode off without a look back.

And then, that night, everything changed.

She was on a hillside, overlooking a sparkling sea. Smiling beside her… Taylor.

“I’ve seen a few sunsets,” Taylor said, but this is something else.”

It was. The colours upon the vast sea were sublime.

“My view is better,” said Estela. She stared into Taylor’s lovely face, taking every feature in.

Taylor blushed a little, and deflected. “I think you found your light too. We should take some pictures while we’re up here.”

For a moment, Estela said nothing, unable or unwilling to tear herself from simply basking in the glow of the beautiful person beside her. Oh, how her stomach fluttered.

“Something like this is hard to capture,” she said at last. “It’s more special if we have to remember it.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s ours alone that way.”

Together, they sat down in the cool grass, knees touching, and watched the shift of colours across the water and sky.

“I…,” said Estela, “used to avoid getting this close to people.”

“I remember,” Taylor said… somewhat sadly. “There was a time when it was hard to talk to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was afraid of hurting you… of losing you and everyone else.”

“Believe me, I worry about it too. We’re gonna find the others though. We’re all in this together.”

Again, Estela fell quiet, thoughtful; then…, “Yes.”

It was getting too much. She had to be nearer to Taylor. She edged closer, reaching for her hand, and utterly powerless to look away from those gentle blue eyes….

Then Taylor moved in and was kissing her. So soft and tender. Estela closed her eyes, letting herself know nothing but for the feel of Taylor’s lips as they caressed her own. She let her arms wander, feeling, knowing every inch of Taylor’s body, and the kisses became harder, more urgent.

She shifted back, a fire in her raging wildly… an aching need.

“I want you, Taylor…. Now.”

And Taylor whispered back, “I want you too.”

Clothes were torn off, Estela’s heart pounded like a drum, and not for a moment did her eyes leave Taylor until they were both bare in the glow of the sunset.

“Come to me.”

Estela sat bolt upright in bed.

Holy fuck. What the fucking fuck was that?

What was this-- some sort of gay awakening? Never before had Estela felt  so… so… intoxicated by another person. It was all at once frightening and addictive. Her heartbeat quickening, Estela let her hand delve into her pyjama pants, feeling. She shuddered to her own touch as her mind’s eye showed her Taylor’s lips… blurring out of focus… drawing her in until she was moaning against them. Then, as if zapped by an electric shock, she pulled her hand back up. Shit, shit shit… you can not feel like that! You don’t even know this girl!

But you want to.

Damnit, she was aching for that woman. That couldn’t have been a normal dream. In a normal dream, she wouldn't have woken up with the memory so vivid that she could practically feel the ghost of Taylor’s breath against her lips.

You could actually try talking to her. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking repressed it wouldn’t explode out of you like… that.

After an age, Estela managed to shut out her thoughts long enough to drop back off to sleep. But there she was again…. Taylor.

“I brought you a blanket… if you’re cold.”

Estela recoiled, eyes narrowing. “…Why?”

“I don’t know. To be nice?”

Though Taylor looked confused, she kept holding out the blanket. And Estela took it, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She looked up to the stars-- stars that seemed to be… in the wrong place? “Where I’m from, people don’t do things for you without expecting something in return.”

For a moment, Taylor didn’t appear to quite know what to say to that. “Well…. Maybe people just want to be liked in return.”

“Isn’t that pathetic?” Estela quietly scoffed. “How lonely we all are?” She shifted her gaze from the night sky and smiled at Taylor. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

Again, she woke up. What the hell was going on?

________________________

The next week was unbearable. Estela wasn’t sure what it was-- was she putting out some kind of signal to the universe?-- but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from running into Taylor. If her presence had felt inescapable before, it had been nothing compared to this. In the halls. In the cafe-- which after a few days Estela had simply started avoiding completely. In Introductory Chemistry, in which of all the people she could have been grouped with for their practical component… of course, Taylor. Even just walking across campus between lessons, their paths would inexplicably cross. And each night, Estela would find herself lost in visions too vivid, too real to be dreams in the sense she knew.

Taylor holding her hand as they prepared to step through a mysterious portal with a group of other students. Taylor kissing her passionately while they tumbled, weightless in what looked to be some kind of space station. Taylor reaching desperately for her as she fell out the gaping side of a helicopter.

Whispered ‘I love you’s, exchanged huddled in a tent beneath the starriest of skies.

Awakening with tears streaming down her face was fast becoming Estela’s normal. Some weird crush, maybe she could’ve been able to handle, but the loneliness… it sent an ache down to her bones, a sadness that engulfed her whole body. She’d felt Taylor’s arms around her… the warmth, the comfort. She’d experienced some higher plane of bliss. But in reality, she hadn’t. And that hollow space left behind when she opened her eyes each morning hit like a slap in the face.

She lay in her bed, closing her eyes and trying to think of anything that might distract her from imagining Taylor spooning against her back-- why couldn’t she just be kept awake stressing about exams like all the other students? It would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

With a groan, Estela hauled herself up and switched on the light. She poured herself a glass of water, and rubbed her temples.

I’m losing my fucking mind….

A piece of paper scrunched on her desk drew her eye. She’d thrown that thing out twice already, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from rescuing it from the waste-paper basket within an hour. Taylor had given her a scribbled note of her details; where her room was, her phone number. ‘Just in case you ever need a friend’ she’d said.

It was too late to call. Estela downed her water in a single long gulp. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m just gonna face her head-on.

What was the worst that could happen? This was just some girl she had a crush on, after all.

It was nothing but a very strange, very intense crush.

______________________________

The lecture theatre always filled up quickly for Introductory Chemistry. Estela never had to worry too much about finding a seat; as long as she didn’t leave it too late, all she had to do was move toward the area of her choice, and people would usually scatter. There was no denying that it hurt. Estela had gotten used to being alone; throughout her life, the only person who’d ever wanted to give her the time of day had been her uncle. And… well, the gentle-eyed blonde that she now found herself making a beeline for.

Painfully aware that her cheeks were burning hot and no doubt had flushed a bright red, she approached.

“Hi.” It wasn’t smooth. Estela tried to look anywhere but Taylor’s face. How was she supposed to look her in the eye when the things she’d been dreaming had been so… so… well, there hadn’t always been many clothes involved. “You don’t mind if I…?”

Taylor’s face cracked into a smile, big and broad and genuine. And the guy next to her-- Diego, Estela was pretty sure his name was-- looked, for some reason, almost as happy.

“Sit with us!” Taylor cried. “Maybe you can explain some of this crap to me. I swear these equations just go in one ear and out the other. Sorry-- I don’t think you’ve met properly? Diego-Estela, Estela- Diego.”

Estela nodded stiffly. It seemed that Taylor was around Diego a lot. A mortifying thought occurred to her… were they together? She couldn’t just assume Taylor was single. And… not straight. She certainly didn’t seem especially heterosexual in those blasted dreams….

God, my cheeks must be so bright-fucking-red you could probably see them from space. Joder.

“Hi,” she deadpanned.

“Hi,” said Diego, a little awkwardly.

And then, as if struck by a bolt from the blue, it dawned on Estela-- she knew his face. Not just from around Hartfeld; Diego had been there in the background in the dreams. He’d been one of the students. It wasn’t random… it was, aside from herself and Taylor, nine other people who were definitely Hartfeld students Estela knew by sight. Always those same students. And some other guy… and, uh, some tall elf-like man with blue skin, but that was probably just her dream-mind being creative.

All right. That’s very, very weird. Why those same nine people?

With the lecture beginning, Estela pushed those thoughts from her mind. She could ponder over her dreams later, when she didn’t have the woman who’d been on her mind all week sitting right there next to her.

As it happened, sitting with Taylor through a lecture turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps because their focus was not directly on one another, Estela found she could relax a little. Taylor just slipped into her companionship as if it were natural, as if it were something they did every day.

As if they knew one another.

Taylor dropped her pen, and instinctively, Estela ducked down to pick it up. For a moment she hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind hair, then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, lingering there… and Estela felt a pleasurable flip-flopping of her stomach. When their eyes met, Taylor’s smile was sweet and soft.

“You dropped this,” Estela murmured.

“Thanks,” came the whispered reply.

Okay, Estela thought to herself, maybe… maybe getting to know Taylor-- actually getting to know Taylor, not some dreamland bullshit-- wouldn’t be the worst thing.

___________________________

In the days to come, Estela would sit by Taylor for their shared lectures. It became easy; she’d just sit and quietly just enjoy the company. If Diego was there, he’d usually chatter on about something or other that meant nothing to Estela, but it was hard not to be happy when Taylor was laughing along with her best friend.

The dreams didn’t stop. If anything, they were getting stranger. She dreamed herself pummelling some woman from Rourke International into the snow… punching the ever-living daylights out of her. Why? Taylor had been there, standing by. And then… a great, lumbering beast staggered out of the trees.… And she woke up. Then there’d been sea monsters, and pirates, and a hulking sabre-toothed cat…. What was consistent, though, was Taylor. Always Taylor.

During their next Chemistry lecture, Taylor seemed oddly… uneasy, as if something was on her mind. She was twitchy, and stared off into space as if oblivious to every word the professor was saying. What was more, Diego was quiet. Estela felt a sinking feeling in her stomach; something was wrong-- was it her? Of course it was her. It only made sense that Taylor got with the program eventually; no one wanted to be around the scary loner.

When the lecture finished and all the other students filed out, Taylor lingered, even after Diego had hurried off to his next class. She looked so lost and confused.

Estela spoke quietly. “Am I, um… am I making you uncomfortable? You don’t have to be polite if you’d rather I sat somewhere else….”

Taylor jumped, jolted from her clearly troubled thoughts. “No! No, I… I’m sorry. My head’s a mess right now.” She offered Estela a shaky smile. “But I do….” She took a deep breath. “I so need to talk to you about something. Not here-- the next class will be in here soon.”

Estela followed Taylor to the shade of a big tree, out of earshot of the crowds moving between lecture theatres. Every instinct in her told her this was bad news. Something was wrong… really wrong. She waited for Taylor to speak, not having a clue what to expect to hear.

“So, what is it? Are you okay?”

"This... isn't going to make much sense, okay? But it's the truth. I swear, I'm not lying to you." Taylor looked as if she was on the verge of tears. “You don’t know me,” she said simply after a tense pause, her tone at odds with the pain behind her eyes, pain that made Estela’s drop, “but you did once. Not in the past-- in the future….” Frustration played upon her face, and something like… desperation? “The world wasn’t meant to be like this. Rourke wasn’t meant to be ruling over everything. It was everything; all of history, hell maybe even time itself-- he bent it to his will and made it his plaything. You… think I’m crazy.”

Estela’s face clouded over as she digested what she was being told. Slowly, word by word, letting it sink in.

Yes. Yes, Taylor was clearly crazy. Fuck. Is that why she’s got me so wigged out? She’s obsessed with Rourke; no damn wonder she’s been trying to stalk me.

“Do you remember, ‘Stel? You’ve got to remember something-- La Huerta? We were on Rourke’s private island--”

“Listen.”  Estela spoke with an ice-cold edge to her voice. She’d been taken for a fool. As if anyone could have wanted to be close to her simply for her. ‘Just want to be liked in return’?-- bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. How could she have been so stupid?

“That bastard is nothing, nothing to do with me. And if you come around talking insane conspiracy theories, it is not going to end well for you.” It wasn’t a threat, so much as a warning. Rourke was dangerous, and this weirdo was playing with fire. Whatever was wrong with Taylor, and clearly something was, it was messing with Estela’s head. She couldn’t be swept up in that bullshit. If she drew Rourke’s attention to herself, her very freedom could go up in flames. “Now, if you know what’s good for you-- if you don’t have a goddamn death wish… you stay away from me.”

She hadn’t been prepared for the look of utter devastation in Taylor’s face as it crumbled at those words. It threw Estela off-guard, and even through her anger, some inexplicable protective urge flared up within her. As if Taylor’s hurt was a knife twisting in her own chest. It was more than she knew what to do with. Her heart drumming furiously against her ribs, Estela pierced Taylor with a hard, lingering stare.

“Stay,” she growled, even as the effect of her words was terrible pain. Pain so all-engulfing that she could fall to her knees on the spot. “Away.”

And she fled.

[powerosewaterpuff]

this idea for a fic/short fic came completely from a tiktok from @ fixation_or_infatuation on tiktok who has such awesome content so P L E A S E go check them out!! and thank u so much for the idea bc legit this made me so happy hehe

(also soft dad Bruce rights ok? oK I CLOSE MY EYES AND EARS TO CANON AND SAY FUCK THAT NOISE BRUCE IS A GOOD DAD FIGHT ME ON THIS HE IS A GOOD DAD WHO IF HIS SON CRIED FOR SOMETHING HE WOULD TURN THE EARTH OVER ON ITS ASS TO FIND IT FOR HIM PERIOD POINT BLANK. HE LOVES HIS CHILDREN OK A Y?? OH ALSO U CAN RIP DICK BEING AN ESL KID OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS OK? OK :) )

“-uce. Bruce? Bruce! Bru-uce! Bruce, I adopted a chihuahua and named her Georgina, what’d you think of that?”

“Hn?”

Bruce shot his head up, realizing he had made the foolish mistake of zoning out through an infamous Dick Grayson tale, that always required every form of attention necessary at all times. He could feel himself chuckle inwardly, as he saw his ward’s little pout as he chewed away at his tortellini, directing a solid stare of expectation at Bruce.

“You really need to sleep more, do you know that?” Dick hummed, raising a little eyebrow at Bruce, which was a facial expression that looked far too adult on his baby cheeked face, and it looked far to Bruce-esque for his own liking.

“Even if I didn’t know that, I’d always have you to remind me, don’t I?” Bruce teased, stirring up a bright giggle from Dick that simply filled his chest with a rush of warmth that he had never really felt before. He loved hearing his laughter, no matter where or when and whether it was a rarity or not, but it always felt just a little bit more special when Bruce had been the one to cause it.

“At this point, I would consider myself your own personal alarm cloc-Bruce, can I please wake you up singing Christmas carols tomor-Why? I have a beautfiul and spec-tac-u-lar voice, thank you very much!”

Bruce didn’t bother suppressing a teasing eye roll, as Dick’s voice sounded like glass being rubbed against a cheese grater when he tried to hit all of Mariah Carey’s notes. He did, however, nod slightly at Dick to congratulate him on his proper pronounciation of ‘spectacular’, which was a word that Dick usually had a hint of trouble with. It was a small action, but one he hoped Dick would understand.

“Anyways, can I ask you a question?” Bruce’s eyebrows curved upwards in question, just a smidge, as he pushed his plate of food aside and leaned closer across the table to give Dick his complete focus.

“You already did,” Dick rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort but Bruce cut him off, “However, what’d you need?”

Then, there was something Bruce never really thought he would see for as long as he would live. It was Dick Grayson, the beam of passionate sunshine himself, squirming shyly in his seat and chewing on his bottom lip. If Bruce wasn’t the master of supressing emotions then he would’ve been throughly surprised by this display.

Dick Grayson was simply not shy, not in the very slightest. He was bolsterous and bold with just a hint of cunningness behind it, but he certainly was not shy. This, of course, caused Bruce to begin categorizing all the possible problems there could be. He ran through them over and over in his head, trying to suppress an inexplicable feeling of dread and fear that was coursing through his chest only slightly, but still present.

Dick took a deep breath, and Bruce could feel himself holding his almost inadvertently.

“When Superman comes today, d-do you think I could get an autograph,” Dick spluttered out, saying it almost too fast that Bruce barely understood what had been uttered. He did feel himself take a massive sigh of relief, even though what replaced the dread in his heart was just a prick of bitterness. Dick had never asked for Batman’s autograph.

“If Clark’s alright with it, then I don’t see why not, chum.”

Then, like a burst of light on a cloudy evening, Dick jumped out of his seat and went around the table straight into Bruce’s arms for a full koala hug.

Bruce, who still wasn’t fully accustomed to such open and loving acts of affection, froze for just a slip of a moment but then melted into Dick’s hold, as he usually did. There was just something magical, dare he say, about his wards (sons) hugs.

Dick then propped his head onto Bruce’s chest, and beamed up at him with stars glittering in his eyes, “Thank you, B!”

Bruce yearned to say something, to say anything along the lines of; Of course, I would bring the moon down if you asked me too or I love you so much that your very laugh eases this knot in my chest that has never been able to budge.

Bruce only managed a meager, “No need to thank me, chum.”

Dick, who had been completely content with the answer given even though he shouldn’t have been, placed his hands onto Bruce’s shoulders and flipped into a handstand position. He then curved his body around enough to sit onto Bruce’s broad shoulders, which in full honesty, didn’t surprise Bruce at this point. He had become labelled as the ‘jungle gym man,’ which was a nickname graciously given to him by Dick himself.

“Now, ride my steed! To Alfie!”

Bruce prayed inwardly that Clark wouldn’t have to be a witness to this mayhem, because it really would lessen his fearsome status in the Justice League.

•••••••••••

Bruce was not jealous.

He simply was not and it didn’t matter how many side eyed stares Alfred shot his way, Bruce was a perfectly fine without a sliver of jealously.

It’s hero-worship, it’s just complete and utter hero-worship.

From the moment Clark Kent had stepped through the Cave’s doors, Dick had been unable to contain his sheer excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The two had hit it off better then anyone Bruce had ever seen before, gabbering on about nothing and everything all at the same time. Now, Bruce was not upset about this, because Dick deserved someone who could give every inch of love he so generously gave back to him. Clark was just that person, as the Boy Scout himself matched wits with Dick far easier then Bruce had ever been able to do.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce swiveled his chair to face Alfred, as he sorted out the rest of his paperwork.

“Have you seen Master Dick since our guest left? I’ve been unable to locate him since then.”

His jaw clenched slightly, as he racked his brain around everytime he had seen Dick between the forty minutes since Clark had left and that moment. He felt his heart sink when he realized he hadn’t seen a trace of Dick since the Kryptonian had left.

Fuck.

Bruce hurried up to the third floor of the Manor, and felt his heart that had sunk into his gut shatter at the sound of a faint whimper slithering up to his ear from the bathroom across the hall. He gently walked towards it, slowly but surely turning the knob only to peer his head in, as not to startle Dick.

Dick was curled up into a ball across from the sink, small sobs heaving from his little chest as he desperately tried to push the oncoming flow of tears away with his palm. His cheeks were marred with fresh tear stains and his eyes were a leaning towards the pinker side as fresh tears began to bubble to the surface.

Bruce wasted absolutely no time as he skidded to the floor in front of Dick, gripping his wards shoulders tightly. Dick raised his head slightly, looking all the more ashamed for being caught crying which weighed down on Bruce like the weight of the ocean.

“Dick, what’s wrong?” Bruce whispered, wishing he could erase every inch of sadness off his face, “Please tell me what’s wrong, chum.”

Dick bit his lip, chewing on it for a bit, which Bruce recognized as one of Dick’s nervous habits. He made a note of that, just in case.

“I-Bruce, it’s stupid, alright? I-I’ll get up, I’m sorry for sitting on the bathroom flo-.”

“Dick,” Bruce huffed, firmly pushing Dick back onto the ground as he moved his hands to cup Dick’s cheeks, still filled with baby fat, “Nothing you say is going to be stupid. I want to know what’s wrong, alright?”

Bruce was not one to plead nor grovel, no matter how much life pressed its dirty heels into his back he never swayed. However, seeing Dick crying was such a weak point to him that it unnerved and horrified him. (It was probably why his nightmares had all had one consistent theme of Dick being in some sort of danger that Bruce could not save him from.)

Dick practically melted into Bruce’s hold, and nuzzled his face into his palm as Bruce wiped away stray tears. Fuck. Bruce needed to hug Dick more, or just show any shred of affection. He just wasn’t used to having to show an abundance of physical affection to someone, and had forgotten how much he had craved for it when he was younger, starving and hungry for shreds of affection he wasn’t expecting to receive, until he simply became numb to it. Dick really deserved someone better, and Bruce knew this more than anyone else.

After taking a shaky breath, Dick peered up at Bruce as he blinked away tears, “Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?”

“I promise,” Bruce vowed as he rubbed his thumb across Dick’s cheeks comfortingly.

“Do you remember how I wanted Superman’s autograph?” Dick mumbled softly, sniffling slightly. Bruce nodded but mentality cursed himself a thousand times for not realizing that Dick hadn’t asked a single time for an autograph from Clark.

“I-I really wanted to ask him! I kept waiting and waiting but I just couldn’t do it, b-because I thought he might find me annoying. I really, really wanted him to like me, Bruce! I thought he might get upset or get annoyed by me because I talk so much, so I just couldn’t do it and I don’t even know why I’m crying! He was so nice to me but I just really got scared a-and my tongue got tied like-like a knot! Does that make sense? My tongue was like this big heavy knot and it was stuck to my mout-Why am I crying!”

Dick tried to suppress a rising sob, as he covered in his eyes in shame. Bruce gently let go of his cheeks and spread his arms out gently, with the offer standing clear. Dick flung himself into Bruce’s waiting arms and buried his face in the crook of his neck, as he continued to try to mumble out a few words and hiccup. God, it was enough to make Bruce’s chest ache, as he rubbed soothing circles into Dick’s back softly.

“Clark would never find you annoying, not in a million years. Dick, can you look at me for a second? Clark would never find you annoying, and I don’t know a single person who would,” Bruce stated firmly, as he cradled Dick in his arms and shifted him so he would be facing him, “Dick, Clark would give you a thousand autographs if you asked, and do you want to know something? There’s nothing wrong with being a little shy, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all.”

Dick sniffled a bit, as he snuggled closer to Bruce but he stayed quiet, which worried Bruce more so then it should’ve.

“You know, I get shy sometimes too,” Bruce confided quietly, as if it would provide some sort of comfort to Dick. It proved to work as Dick sat up with a start, glancing up at Bruce wirh furrowed brows.

“It’s never this emotional, but you know what? I think it’s better you let it all out, then trying to bottle it up inside,” Bruce murmured, pushing Dick’s fringe back. He saw a pensive look set into Dick’s features, and was met with another soft hug.

Dick was going to being the reason Bruce’s heart burst, he was sure of it.

“You’re the best, Bruce.”

Oh well, Bruce didn’t need a heart anyway. Not if he had Dick with him.

•••••

Bruce leaned over his phone, dialing a number into it as he kept his ears open to the sound of the tap shutting.

He had gotten Dick to wash his face a bit, with Alfred stepping in to look after him while Bruce made some executive calls.

The phone beeped for a bit. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Hello? Bruce?”

“I’m going to say this one singular time, are we clear? You are going to fly over here and give Dick the best goddamned autograph you have given a person but you are going to let him ask for it first, then you’ll be on your merry way unless he asks you to stay for dinner, clear?”

“I-.”

Bruce ended the call, satisfied with the answer he was given. It still stung just a bit that Dick wasn’t demanding a Batman autograph, but he would make sure his ward (son) was as happy as can be, even if it meant letting the Boy Scout take his place as Dicks, ‘Favourite Adult.’

It was worth it, if he could make sure that brilliant smile was always there.

Fin

(P.S. Later that night, when Bruce was tucking Dick into bed after shutting The Vevlveteen Rabbit and setting it onto the nightstand, he noticed Dick was happily gripping the signed Superman card tightly in his hand. He shoved back his exasperation, but couldn’t help but give a raise of the brow when Dick asked if he could buy a Superman backpack.

“You already sleep in Superman pajamas, I think the commodities can stop at that,” Bruce suggested, ignoring the fact that Dick probably had no idea what that word even meant, “Would you not want any other hero?”

“Nope, he’s my favourite. Oh-Besides you, of course!” Dick hummed, as he used his other arm to grab Zitka from behind him, as casual as could be.

Bruce, on the other hand, had just had a bombshell dropped on him. A happy bombshell. A pleasant bombshell. A bombshell nonetheless, though.

“I wouldn’t get your merch, though. I have the real thing, and he’s my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Wally that though!” Dick exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce like the most important part of that sentence was the warning of not to tell Kid Flash, and not that Bruce was his ‘bestest friend in the whole wide world.’

(Not father. Never his father.)

Bruce was silent, but leaned over to give Dick a peck on the forehead and a rare but soft smile. One he really only reserved for Dick and Alfred. He couldn’t afford to be selfish, this was enough for him. This was absolutely enough for him.

Dick returned his smile with one that shone brighter then all the suns Bruce had seen in his life.

Bruce really adored this kid.)

AND THATS IT HEHE PLEASE EXCUSE WELL EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FIC I WROTE IT AT 2AM AND WHILE I CONSIDERED POSTING IT ON AO3 (my account is ordinarilyspeaking btw :) ) I DECIDED TUMBLR IS WHERE IS POST MY 2AM THOUGHTS ANYWAY SO WHY THE FUCK NOT SO YEAH IM GOING TO GO PROCRASINATE MY ASSINGMENTS SOME MORE SO THANK U SO MUCH FOR READING HEHE!

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Am i the only one who thinks that a pride and prejudice au with arthur and his s/o would be amazing. I mean it can even be modern but i find the idea (or some elements) great lol

Hello, lovely! I actually went ahead with a modern interpretation of the storyline for this one. Part of what I’ve always loved about both Darcy and Elizabeth was that they both came with their own prejudices and pride, and seeing them both grow through it- Anyway, I sort of wrote these with that basis in mind.

For this AU, I have a theory that the Nations are recognized much more prominently as politically significant, though most folks can't generally tell them apart from other politicians. The important thing is that people are aware that the Nations exist, and folks have a habit of forming their own perceptions of said Nations without having ever met them.

When you had first found out Arthur- this impeccably dressed, grouchy-as-all-hell asshole that you had been stuck sharing a doorway with during another unanticipated hailstorm- was actually a nation, you immediately assumed that his little prickliness lords his status over everyone.

He really hadn’t given you the best first impression; he was exhausted, cold, sopping wet, and was sincerely considering the benefits of crawling under a rock for the next century. It didn’t help that you were so expressive, each of you snipping at the other in those few moments where you were stuck together.

He honestly wished he could have cursed you to oblivion when you bowed at one of his complaints, tone entirely mocking. “Forgive me, your Majesty!”

Both of you had been hoping you would never run into each other again; your flatmate had agreed that he sounded like a “proper clotpole,” and Arthur had a new face to direct all of his frustrations onto.

Life’s a bitch though.

You kept running into each other- bumping into each other on Oxford Street, stuck in the same queue at St. Pancreas, and there was one blessedly quiet day you saw him outside St. Paul’s, both of you consenting to an uspoken truce, just for this once. You were surprised when you found yourselves talking about the book you had with you, and just how often you had to keep pulling your focus away from his eyes; you could have sworn they were actually glittering at times, almost alight from within with his passion and mirth.

Arthur was surprised by how much he had enjoyed your company when you weren’t arguing with him, and he started to grow paranoid by just how often he was hoping to run into you again. You were… You were spunky, held fast to your opinion. While he generally agreed with your complaints against the current government- many of which he actually shared himself- his position was too precarious; Nations usually have to play Devil’s advocate to avoid falling down a dangerous precipice.

He's observant, or maybe he’s a little obsessed. But how dare you keep distracting him! Human lives are so short and their scope so limited. He was too proud to admit how intrigued he was by your views of the world, how he clung desperately to each shiny tidbit of your story he was able to squeeze out. You were human; you had no right to vex him this way.

And yet, the moment he learnt that one of your flatmate’s visas was expiring soon with no hopes of affording an extension- He may or may not have pulled some strings. And, well- He maybe did a little more digging to try to subtly help out with the cost of rent in the coming months, helping ease the burden so you and said flatmate could focus better on your respective hobbies.

Each meeting found you with passionate theories about the world and your place in it; you knew from the first conversation that he was involved in politics, but it wasn’t until later that night when you saw him standing behind the Queen on the news just who he actually was.

When he needed advice- both on helping fix some of the glaring governmental issues you had debated with him, and how he could best approach you about a possible courtship- it had been Alisdair he turned to. He was really the only person Arthur could confide in anyway; Scotland had enough complaints about the current government to fill an entire library, and no other Nation really shared the same intimate knowledge on the current aristocratic drama as the redhead. Wales and Northern Ireland could be confidants as well, but Arthur’s always kind of trusted Ali to always be blunt with him.

It was only a matter of time for some of Arthur’s “coworkers” to notice his attachment. Many of them disproved his interest in you: “Couldn’t you settle for a noble?” “You could have at least chosen someone with a broader public image.”

Frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck, and politely, stiffly, advised them to piss off.

He knew he was falling in love with you with every short meeting, any small debate during those “accidental” moments you stumbled upon one another again. At first it had just been the way the city lights framed your figure, then it was the fire in your eyes whenever you bickered with him, and then it was finding out that you knew, knew for months, just who he was and not once letting it hold you back.

You were starting to find yourself looking forward to running into him again. He had started to open up a lot more, and your first perceptions of him being a prat had faded away significantly. He was so kind to others, even when he didn’t need to be. He had apologized eons ago for snapping at you that first night- why he thought that conversation was a good idea when you were just trying to get lozenges at Boots you’ll never understand- and you never again saw him as done with the world as he had been that first night. If anything, he seemed almost- Brighter? Happier?

Somehow- perhaps through a few offhand comments?- you find out that Arthur has been pulling a few strings with Home Office to get your flatmate’s citizenship application approved. You start to suspect that he’s also the reason your boss finally gave you a raise that was nearly three years overdue, why rent became inexplicably affordable for all the tenants in your building, and why the safety measures you’ve been fighting for for literally years are finally being put in place. You can’t prove any of this, mind, but you know it’s him. You can feel it.

His attitude in the last few encounters had changed significantly, the last exchange of insults- in Mr. Haddock's, no less!- far more wistful than normal. There’s almost a softer tone when he’s talking to you these days, a gentleness you’re really growing fond of. It had gotten to the point where you were usually dismayed to see him leave, and part of you kept cursing yourself for constantly forgetting to give him your number.

One particularly breezy spring day, one where you had a little more free time, you had settled to read on a bench in Inner Circle, Triton and Dyads offering a calming soundscape as you read. Whether by happenstance or, as you were beginning to suspect, design, Arthur was yet again joining you, seemingly quite content to scroll through Twitter while you kept at your novel. It was just as you were starting to tuck your bookmark away that a particularly strong gust was stealing it away from you, headed right for the water. Before you could even process, Arthur was bolting after it, tripping on seemingly nothing to fall face first into the water. You covered your face in embarrassment, bemused and mortified by the curses coming out of his mouth. He was victorious at saving the bookmark though; triumphantly grinning as he came back towards you, bowing with a cheeky grin. “I think all this heroism’s earned me a date, eh luv?”

Your first date completely shattered the image you had of him. You opened the door to find him in a fitted leather jacket and form fitting denim jeans, nearly giving you whiplash; you had never seen him in anything but a suit before. He had a wicked, self-satisfied grin, the arm he offered and the doors he held for you offering subtle hints that this was, indeed, the man you had become so fond of.

In the end, Arthur proved to be almost nothing like what you had expected. Seeing him laugh, so carefree, the rainbow lights from the buildings behind him setting his hair ablaze in an iridescent crown, his eyes closed in reckless abandon- You couldn’t help but be glad your opinions had been completely wrong about him.

I must say, Lovely- I absolutely concur with your theory here. If my muse sticks with me, I may explore this AU a lot further somewhere down the line. Thank you for the submission!

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 18

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play. 

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 3k

Parts 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Sam has always had a tendency to fixate on things.

As a kid, it was easier to hide. His teachers called him “special,” sometimes “gifted.” But really it was an all-consuming voracity to understand everything on any given topic.

When he was in sixth grade one of his teachers assigned him a report on ancient Greece. It was supposed to be a two-pager, easy peasy, something Sam could do in his sleep, but he got an F because he never handed it in. Not that it mattered. Two weeks later they were back on the road. He spent a month in the back of the Impala, reading by flashlight. He checked out copies of The Iliad and The Histories of Herodotus, only to drop them off at the next town’s library and pick up a copy of The Republic. By the time he was done, when he finally felt he had a grasp on the inner workings of the culture and the people of Greece, it was nearly a year later and the paper was long forgotten.

He knew he wanted to go to college and he knew where: Stanford. His future was in California and he could feel it. He had a plan. All he needed was to get good enough grades, he could fake the rest. The morning he left the motel where his dad and brother were sleeping, he honestly thought he’d never see them again. The guilt was real as he walked down the road, sticking out his thumb to every car that passed. It was an uneasy feeling that took residence in his gut and stayed there a long time.

That feeling lingered all through freshman orientation and well into his first semester. But then he met Jess and he found a new thing to put all his focus on. His family was fucked, he knew that without a doubt. But she was his chance to be normal, to be happy. No more monsters hiding in the dark; no more made up stories about the big bad to justify all the crazy his dad spouted day in and day out. No, Jess was all the good stuff in life. She was gentle and thoughtful and way too sexy to be with tall, skinny Sam. But inexplicably she loved him and he felt like he’d won the lottery every day.

Jess became the focus which seemed to help with his studies. She was everything and school was second which made things manageable for him. Against all logic, his girlfriend didn’t distract him, she allowed his brain to focus a normal amount, to move on instead of getting stuck on the details and needing days of research to answer every niggling question. Jess balanced Sam and he never took her for granted. 

When she died Sam thought he might die too. He’d never been in love before. Yeah, his dad and Dean were family and they loved him the way you love the people you also hate. But with Jess he’d been in love, ready to create his own family, to fulfill what he truly wanted in life, a normal job and a person to hold at night. Just when he finally believed the universe wasn’t so shitty, fate stepped in.

Dean came begging for him to join him on one last trip. Dad was MIA and Sam was powerless to say no. Dean needed their father in a way Sam never had. It was just a couple of days, he’d be back before anyone missed him and life would move on.

The police have maintained since the beginning that Dean killed Jess. They theorized that he stabbed her and then set the apartment on fire to cover up the evidence. For years Sam was so angry he let himself believe it. The anger would bubble up from his stomach, get caught in his throat and he’d think about how much he wished he could kill Dean.

So Sam did what Sam did best: he focused. After moving to the east coast he threw himself into law school. He lost himself in books and cases and facts. Anything but people.

Dean found him a couple of years later, showed up right after Sam graduated from Harvard Law. His brother told him how proud he was of his geeky little bro and that dad would have come but you know how he is.  

“Shouldn’t you be drunk or something?” Dean chirped good naturedly as Sam stared at him in the living room of his studio loft. “Celebrating with the rest of the class? Havard fucking Law School, goddamn Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam snapped back, folding his arms over his chest. He used to feel so much but as he stared at Dean all he felt was empty. “Why are you here?”

“Because,” Dean tilted his head, looking at Sam as if his brother should have already understood. “This is a pretty big deal. I’m proud of you.”

Sam stared at him in silence, both of them flinching as a car backfired outside.

“Did you do it?” Sam asked the question he’d wanted to ask for a long time. It didn't hurt to think about her anymore. Jess was just a concept now, an idea of what could be taken away if you let yourself care. It happened to his father, his mother died and his dad went batshit crazy. Sam understood now, letting people in was just setting yourself up for pain and misery. It wasn’t worth it.

“Are you really asking me if I killed your girlfriend?” Dean laughed, smile fading as he realized Sam was serious. This tall, beefed-up version of his brother wasn’t the wide-eyed, big-hearted kid he grew up with. “No, I didn’t kill her.”

“Good,” Sam nodded. “Was it dad?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean had had enough. “You think he’d do that? Why?”

“To prove a point. To get me to come back.” Sam dropped his backpack onto the table. “You should go, I have a lot of work to do.”

“You graduated three hours ago.” Dean watched Sam, realizing the extent of the damage. This Sam wasn’t his Sam at all, not anymore. “You got work to do?”

“I have to find a job, Dean. I have goals.” Sam waved his head. “Please don’t come back. This can be goodbye.”

“You mean that?” Dean asked, lips pursed trying to suss out if this was an act, but it wasn’t.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam turned, arms spread wide with desperation. “Just leave me alone. I want you and dad to stay out of my life.”

“I hear ya,” Dean looked at Sam one final time before walking out.

In hindsight Sam’s not sure what he believes truly happened all those years ago. His dad might have killed Jess, maybe to teach Sam a lesson about family and leaving. Maybe he was delusional, maybe he thought she was one of his demons. Who knows. Maybe it was Dean after all, the old man did a real number on his brother. Dean was, and is, a true believer, he always has been.

From that moment, Sam worked. He put in eighty-hour weeks, he took chances and he built an empire. With success, isolation came hand in hand. The more money and power he gained the more he saw the worst in people. Everyone wanted something from him. It was easy to become the infamous Sam Winchester he is today.

And then you walked into his hotel room.

He’s always been able to read people, a talent that’s served him well through the years. So when you looked at him that first time, pupils widening, that nervous swallow you still get when you’re excited, he knew you saw him.

For most people, the initial attraction to him is the celebrity of his success. He’s in an elite group of powerful men recognizable by the general public, which has always made him uncomfortable. Strangers in the street do a double-take, trying to figure out how they know him. Sometimes he can hear the whispers as a wife leans toward her husband.

“Tim Cook? No, but he’s someone, I know I’ve seen him before!”

But when you reacted to him, and he saw that pulse of excitement in you, there was nothing else but raw attraction that you didn’t even understand yourself. You didn’t want him, or his attention, in fact, you would have faded quietly into the background if he’d have let you. Something about that appealed to him.

For a long time, it was just sex. He meant what he said. He had needs and you were beautiful with that tight little ass. And to top it off you got wet every time he so much as raised his voice. It was just sex and then one day it wasn’t. It was something more, a small, excited feeling that he hated and denied.

There were two others before you. One woman he paid, the other wanted more from him. Neither of them sparked anything inside him.

But you did.

You asked questions, personal things that no one had dared ask in a long time. You touched him, held him after you came like you already knew he cared for you. The way you rested your head on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around him, dug up old feelings.

Sam hated those feelings with a passion. He still does.

Part of him wishes he’d never confessed them to you. He should have saved you from Brent and sent you on your way.

He’s not good for anyone, he’s a slow working poison. His cold, dead heart will leak its toxin like arsenic until one day you’ll be just as numb as he is. He’ll break you. And you’ll hate him for it, that much he knows for certain.

-

“She’s been like that for hours,” Sam explains, pacing back and forth in front of the bedroom door. “She can’t get warm.”

You woke up like this, shivering uncontrollably.

“Look at me,” the doctor shines a light in one eye, then the other. “Are you having any auditory symptoms? Sounds that shouldn’t be there?”

“There’s, um,” you pause, closing your eyes and honing in on the sound. “A ringing. It’s distant but constant. It started a few hours ago.”

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “What you’re feeling is normal. Everyone reacts differently and after what you went through it would be strange if you weren’t experiencing any repercussions.”

“What do we do?” Sam moves to stand behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at you. If you didn't know better you’d think he was pissed.

“Well, I can prescribe something for the panic attacks, but what she really needs is a support system and time. She should see a therapist and it should happen soon. Tomorrow at the latest. It’s vital to involve a professional as soon as possible. Will you be staying with her?”

“Yes,” Sam nods, his eyes shifting from you to the doctor.

“Good,” he turns back to you. “You may start to feel more acute feelings of loneliness and isolation. It’s normal, but you shouldn’t give in to those tendencies. You need to talk, to be around people. And I meant what I said, seek professional psychiatric help. It doesn’t make you strong to try and handle this on your own. It only makes you foolish.”

-

Sam settles next to you on the couch as a half dozen men and women mill around his living room. A tech sets up audio recording while another focuses a video camera on the two of you.

“I’m agent Ashburn with Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. This is Agent Murtaugh with the FBI. We’re a joint task force and we want to make this as easy as possible. Hopefully, we won’t need to speak with you a second time.” She offers a practiced smile, shifting her gaze to Sam. “We’ll probably need you for follow up. More than one I’d guess.”

“I understand,” Sam nods, crossing one leg over his knee, his arm extending over the back of the couch behind your head. “Do you know how many people were injured?”

“As of right now we’re looking at nineteen injuries and seven fatalities.” Murtaugh leans forward, both arms resting on his knees. “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t gotten to him.”

You shift in your seat, looking down at your hands. You want to ask about Max and Tim, but at the same time, you’re afraid of the answer.

“Did you see a doctor, Y/N? We have a lot of resources available.” Ashburn reaches out, tapping the coffee table gently.

“Yeah,” you look at her, feeling your heart speed up. You’ve been fighting these random panic attacks all morning and the medication only helps a little.

“We had someone come over this morning,” Sam elaborates, a hand squeezing your shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

“Just to clarify,” Murtaugh gestures with the end of his pen between you and Sam. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

That question is so complicated you don’t even know how to begin thinking about an answer but Sam picks up the slack without skipping a beat.

“Romantic,” Sam states simply.

“Right, okay.” Agent Ashburn scans through her notes, looking up to Sam. “We’re allowing you to stay with her, but these questions are for Y/N. I need her to answer, no interruptions.”

“I understand,” Sam confirms and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to focus.

“Prior to him being let go, did Brent ever say or do anything that you found odd or aggressive?”

“No, he was nice. A lot of the junior associates are assholes, sorry, jerks, but we all liked Brent.” You think back scanning your interactions with him. It’s all true, he seemed like one of the good ones.

“Would you say you were friends?”

“No. I mean, he was a work friend, but we’re not close. I said “hi” to him every morning for six months. We talked a couple of times a week. He was more than an acquaintance, less than a friend.” You look from the agents to Sam. You want to give them the right answer, to help. “I’m sorry, I’m trying, I just-”

“You’re doing great,” Sam gives you another squeeze, his voice more gentle and encouraging than you’ve ever heard him before. It’s almost unsettling.

“Yes, you are,” Murtaugh jumps in. “You’re doing what helps us most. Just talk, don’t overthink the answer. Sometimes we get the details we need when people don’t even realize it.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ever spend any time with him outside of work.”

“A few times,” you shrug. “On Wednesdays everyone goes to the bar, he went a few times. I never really talked to him though.”

“How about after he was fired? Did you have any contact?”

“Yes, I texted him. I can show you if you want.” You reach for your cell phone and Sam picks it up from the side table and hands it to you. Pulling up the text you read it out loud. “It was the only time I ever texted him. I just said We’re all so sorry about what happened. Hope you still show up for drinks.”

“He never responded?”

“No,” you hand Ashburn your phone and she reads it.

“We’ll need to keep this,” she explains, handing it off to a tech who drops it into a plastic bag. You shift towards Sam, looking down at your hands. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just, ummm, Sam and I text sometimes. There are private messages...photos.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“Well, I won’t lie. Our techs will comb through everything but we’re only interested in your correspondence with Brent.”

“God,” you sigh, trying to remain calm. You should have deleted the thread between you and Keith Campbell, some of the things on there would make Ron Jeremy blush.

“Don’t worry, they’ve seen it all.” Ashburn winks, trying to keep things light-hearted and you want to sink into the couch. “I have to ask. We’re unclear on Brent’s plan. We’re not sure if he was targeting specific people, or if it was random. We know he was upset with Sam, do you feel that he may have focused on you because of your relationship with Sam?”

“No,” you sigh, the very thought is unnerving. “No one knows about us.”

“I see.” Both agents ask question after question, right down to the mundane details of your breakfast that morning, and then they go through them again. It’s almost three by the time they’re done with you. Retreating into the bedroom you turn on the TV while Sam begins his interview. You doubt you gave them anything, any insight, but Sam might. You don’t know the details of his termination, it's possible he holds all the answers.

[ahgaseda]

to kill an empire || chapter 11

⇥ synopsis : when you agreed to marry Jaebeom, the heir to a lucrative but not quite legal organization, you never expected the boy who was once your greatest rival would inevitably become your most powerful ally...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language, recurring gang violence, mentions of drug or alcohol abuse, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Upon returning to the penthouse, you promptly stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door in your wake - making it abundantly clear to your husband that he was not welcome to join you.

Jaebeom stood in the hallway momentarily, his hands deep in his pockets. His disheveled hair fell into his eyes as he studied the door, listening for any indication of you planning to come back out. When all remained silent, he sighed loudly and turned away, discarding his jacket and calling for Jinyoung to make a run.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you folded your arms in defiance tightly across your chest. It took all of your strength not to march out there and give Jaebeom a profanity-laced piece of your mind. But the look on his face as he had begged you to return to the car... that softened you enough.

You let your hands fall into your lap. Maybe the whirlwind of marrying your estranged childhood friend and being carried off to Japan for a honeymoon plagued by business was finally getting to you.

Then you remembered it had been your idea to go to the gala in the first place. It was your fault Jaebeom came face-to-face with Yuto, which ultimately ended in a bloody lip and bruised knuckles. Guilt wallowed deep in your heart.

You decided to dress for a night of restless sleep, slipping into your favorite shorts and going in search of a top. When you found one of Jaebeom’s white button-ups in the closet, you held it pensively before pulling it on. The scent of him wafting into your nose was vaguely comforting and you rubbed your thumb over the lapel affectionately.

There was a slow tapping on the door. Suddenly worried about being caught in your husband’s shirt with nothing underneath, you didn’t open the door, but you did call, “Yes?”

“I got alcohol. Come and get some or I might just drink it all.”

You glared, unbeknownst to him. But when you didn’t reply, your husband retreated to the living room. An image of Jaebeom sulking lingered in your mind and you couldn’t stand it. Giving yourself a quick glance over in the mirror, you swallowed your pride and headed out.

There sat Jaebeom, cross-legged on the floor beside the small table as he unpacked a few bags Jinyoung had brought at his request.

The moment your husband glanced up at your arrival, an inexplicable look came across his face. When his gaze lingered where the shirt hugged your bare breasts, you resisted a smirk. Wearing his shirt had obviously thrown him.

Rather than say the borderline lewd comment that came to mind, Jaebeom bit his tongue and cleared his throat.

Lifting a brow, you eyed the spoils and questioned, “Sake bombs?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom replied levelly.

Amused, you watched your husband prepare two tall glasses of beer before plopping a shot glass of sake in each.

Taking the seat across from him as you watched the drinks fizz, you folded your legs beneath you and grabbed your glass. “Bottoms up,” you announced.

Another drink or two later, you knew you were teetering closer and closer to inebriation, but in much less classier terms. Jaebeom held his liquor fairly better, but his flushed red cheeks did nothing to help his case.

Naturally, the two of you had settled for a few rounds of “never have I ever,” until the beer ran out. At which point, the new punishment became straight shots of sake; a drink that is normally sipped and not chugged for obvious reasons.

Jaebeom poured himself another shot, “Alright, hit me.”

You stuck out your tongue and teased, “Never have I ever had a dick.”

Jaebeom glowered, but deadpanned, “Good to know.” Then, he downed the shot.

“Never have I…” you began, glancing up in thought.

Grouchy, Jaebeom interjected, “It’s my turn.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh, yeah.”

With no expression, your husband said, “Never have I ever thought about myself having sex with Lim Jaebeom.”

Bemused, you narrowed your eyes, repeating his words in your mind. “Wait, what?”

“It means drink if you have ever had dirty fantasies of me.”

“Fuck,” you huffed, throwing back a shot.

His brows lifted. “You have?”

“Duh,” you said, almost hiccuping. “You’re my husband.”

He pressed, “What about before we were married?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

Jaebeom grinned victoriously.

Determined to outdo him, you blurted without thinking, “Never have I ever been in love with my best friend.”

The air was suddenly heavier and the smile on his face vanished. His eyes were nearly sparkling in the dimly lit room. Without hesitation, Jaebeom poured another cup and gulped it down swiftly.

You stared at him, heart swelling in your chest. Then, you filled your glass and chugged.

“You…” Jaebeom trailed.

Avoiding his eyes, you huffed, “Yep.”

His voice wavered, “I…”

“Do something about it,” you challenged, flames of something other than liquid courage in your veins.

In the blink of an eye, Jaebeom was clearing the table, descending on you like a man starved. His hands went to your shirt, gripping the hem and the sound of ripping buttons caused you to cry out in surprise. Jaebeom silenced you with his mouth on yours, swallowing your noises.

When your back collided with the sofa behind you, you groaned his name and Jaebeom stopped the moment his bare hands roamed up your waist. Through hooded eyes you studied him. By sheer luck, one lone button had managed to stay clasped on his shirt and kept you from being completely exposed yet.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath,” Jaebeom commented offhandedly, his palms moving higher until they landed on your breasts.

“I was planning on going to sleep,” you told him, words stuttering as his thumbs brushed over your nipples.

He cocked an eyebrow. “In my shirt?”

You nodded. “That was the plan.”

“Keep it on,” Jaebeom murmured darkly. “While I fuck you.”

Your eyes widened, startled but pleased by the growl in his voice.

Jaebeom grabbed your shorts and panties, pulling them off at once. You gripped his arms for equilibrium, smirking at his hunger. Normally his shirt came to the tops of your thighs, but his needy hands had caused the material to rise higher.

You hooked your legs around his hips and tugged him close until he buried his face against your neck, kissing messily beneath your ear. A soft moan left your mouth when he began grinding himself into you. His jeans felt pleasantly rough when they rubbed against your lower lips and his erection was becoming painfully evident.

“Bummie,” you whispered, fingers tangled in his hair. Your body was craving more friction, preferably the kind that involved him deep inside you.

He rolled his hips into you a little harder, the warmth of his shaky breaths drawing moisture on your neck.

“Give me more,” you whined with an insistent tug of his hair, alcohol making you unafraid to speak your desires.

Jaebeom shook his head, sweat gathering on his brow. The words that followed were muffled by his wet kisses below your jaw.

You giggled, amused by how fucked out he sounded already. You roamed your palms down his back, slipping your hands under his shirt and raking your nails up his spine. He shivered against you and you quickly ordered your husband to remove his clothes or you would do it for him.

Jaebeom finally pulled away, rising slightly to pull the shirt over his head before moving to unfasten his pants. He pushed them down, but was far too impatient to waste time removing them all together.

You branded little crescents with your fingernails into his shoulders and choked out a breath when you felt him prodding at your entrance.

“You love me,” he murmured, almost more so to himself.

You said nothing; you didn’t like feeling vulnerable. Perhaps the little drunken game of never have I ever would be the closest you two would get to confessing your feelings.

Jaebeom’s hips moved shallowly in seeking thrusts and his gaze was fixated to your face, searching for indications of pain. You lost yourself in the endless pools of his dark irises, blown wide with need. Cupping his cheek, you lifted your head to close the short distance, meeting his lips for a breathy kiss.

You broke away to whimper when he bottomed out and your husband pressed his lips gently to the corner of your mouth in a rewarding kiss. You still weren’t accustomed to feeling so full. So hopelessly connected to another person.

Jaebeom tangled his arms around you and you felt yourself sinking deeper into the couch beneath his weight. There was nowhere to go and all you could was hold onto him as tight as you could.

Your husband bore down on your shoulders, keeping you firmly in place to take his thrusts. A wet slap resounded where your bodies connected, causing heat to rise behind your cheeks as you could hear how wet you were for him. Jaebeom noticed too and he was losing his goddamn mind for it.

“Right there,” you mumbled, your hands settling on his lower back.

Jaebeom propped himself over you, raking his cock back and forth at a lingering rhythm. “There?” he teased, watching your breasts bounce with each smack of his hips.

For the first time, you glanced down to see him disappearing inside and the sight provoked something carnal in you, making your walls clench around him.

“Fuck,” Jaebeom growled, pulling away from you and sitting up on his knees.

You inclined your head, eyes wide when you felt his length slip from your folds, and asked, “Why did you stop?”

“I’m gonna come,” he choked out, squeezing the base of his cock with a clenched fist. “You feel so fucking good.”

Giggling, you reached for him and fought a smirk, quite smug at his confession. With your impatient urging and mischievous hands, Jaebeom guided himself to sink back into your warmth.

A noise at the front door only a few feet away made you both come to a sudden stop.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom growled in realization, clamping a hand over your mouth none too gently.

You heard the turn of a key and shivered with adrenaline, eyes going wide at the thought of your husband’s assistant and the explicit view he would get if he walked in.

“Jinyoung, don’t you dare open the door,” Jaebeom shouted.

All sounds promptly stopped, but after a pause, Jinyoung called, “Boss?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

You could hear the hesitation in Jinyoung’s voice, “But you told me to bring the…”

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom snapped, eyes lingering on your spread legs and his shaft resting on your glistening pussy. “I’m literally in the middle of something.”

“Oh… Oh! So sorry, boss. I’ll be going now.”

Jaebeom deadpanned, “You do that.”

Despite his hand over your mouth, you laughed, eyes scrunching with amusement. Jaebeom looked down at you and his lips twitched, as if he was tempted to chuckle with you.

Though you opened your mouth to break the tension with some humor, you sharply cried out in surprise as Jaebeom flipped you over, hands heavy on your hips.

Without warning he was pushing back into your entrance, getting a solid hold of your hips and pounding into you at a rougher pace. Jaw unhinged, you latched your nails to the couch and held on for dear life, moaning through your pleasure.

Jaebeom brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping them inside and ordering, “Suck.”

Too distracted by how hard he was fucking you, you did as told without question, laving your tongue over his digits and closing your lips around them until they were moist with saliva. Satisfied, Jaebeom withdrew them from your mouth and dipped his hand underneath you, bringing the slick pads of his fingertips to your clit and rubbing intently.

Your legs trembled at the sensation and you shifted, hips moving of their own accord.

“Stay still, baby,” Jaebeom crooned, teasing your bundle of nerves a little more furiously as he throttled his length into your tight cunt.

You swallowed harshly, throat dry from panting and the lewd sounds you were making. Jaebeom bit down on his lower lip, grunting as quietly as he could get away with, but you heard it.

And when he hissed, “Come on this cock,” you knew you were on your way over the edge.

“Jaebeom,” you howled, eyes winching shut.

Your husband slipped a hand under your chin to grasp your neck, draping himself over you and muttering lascivious praises in your ear as you climaxed beneath him.

“I got you... always,” Jaebeom whispered, his words shaky as he chased his own release.

You sought his hands with your own, clinging to him for something to anchor you as the sensitivity made you grit your teeth. Jaebeom cradled you in his arms, jarring you slightly on the sofa with his merciless thrusts.

There was one downside to being taken from behind, you realized; you couldn’t see the look of euphoria on Jaebeom’s face when he finally came.

chapter 10 ⇤ chapter 11 ⇥ chapter 12

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[jcmorrigan]

Even Badasses Cry

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I’m now caught up through E6, and this was...blatantly inspired by E5. I mean, having written him comforting me during a breakdown, I wanted an excuse to flip it, but thanks to E5 breaking my heart, I had the perfect launching point. Also, timeline at this point is “You decide.” This doesn’t work with canon or postcanon so just...use your imagination for whatever.

***

           It was nice, that we had managed our own apartment. Sure, it was the bottom of the barrel as far as apartments went, but I was dying to prove my independence, and no disrespect to Mrs. P., but I felt Giovanni was a bit better off not having to yell back and forth with her five times a day.

           Also, I knew if I got in another shouting match with her, I wasn’t getting out of it with both Giovanni’s and my self-respect intact. Believe me, I know that your partner not getting along with your mom is The Worst, and that woman does not back down.

           Could I have done without the multiple flights of stairs and no elevator I had to hike every day? Sure, but I’d done a higher trek on my study-abroad in London. So long as I had the motor function of both legs, I’d be fine. Now, if I ever lost motor function of one or both legs, then we’d have to figure out a new plan.

           The stairs also gave a person ample time to sing whatever song was stuck in their head as they ascended, so by the time you got to the apartment itself, you’d have it out of your system and you wouldn’t look like a dork in front of your partner. However, being that my dorkness was already a known fact, I unlocked the door and swung it open while actually increasing my volume; “The paaaa-pers say! Johnny, won’t you come back home! But everybody knows you don’t! Wanna give yourself up; tell the truth and – “

           The apartment was dark, so of course, I had thought at first I’d beaten Giovanni home. When he stirred from the kitchen table, however, I was startled into halting the song, nearly dropping the grocery bag I held – my protective instincts regarding the carton of eggs taking over and forcing my grip to tighten.

           “Oh, COMPOSER!” He had been inexplicably sitting at the table in the dark, arms crossed on the tabletop and head down on them, until he became aware of my presence. Now, still in the dark, he scrambled up to his feet, leaning casually against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. “Didn’t hear you coming up! Nice voice, by the way! Anybody ever tell you that?”

           “Is…there a reason you were sitting at the kitchen table alone in the dark?” I asked with trepidation, walking toward said table to deposit the eggs somewhere safe. I kicked the door shut behind me, which I failed to account for lowering the visibility in the room even further. “Hey, can you hit the lights?”

           “I dunno, I think this feels more atmospheric. Can’t you just feel the villain aesthetic brimming in this room of abysmal void?”

           “What I feel is the sense that I’m about to run into the fridge.”

           Which I proceeded to immediately do. That was, however, fortuitous, as I needed someplace to deposit the eggs and the produce I’d scored. I pried the door wide, beginning to unload the bag into organized compartments –

           And as the meager light poured into the apartment, Giovanni retreated from it, scurrying along the wall like a cockroach.

           Well.

           I stuffed the bag in the fridge and shut it; it could get sorted later. “Is something wrong?” I asked as I turned to make out his thin silhouette, padded with that fluffy sweater he so loved, in the dark.

           “Wrong?” He laughed nervously. “Why would anything be wro-ho-hong? No, noooooo, I’m just in a DARK and EDGY mood because I’m a VILLAIN. Every villain has to go through their serious phase!”

           “Okay,” I said with a shrug. I turned back to the fridge.

           Which was a feint. Before Giovanni could catch me, I had whipped around and smashed that light switch, illuminating the room.

           When I looked him in the eye, I could see exactly why he’d wanted those lights down. The skin around his eyes was pinkish-red, somewhat swollen. Either he’d had a very localized allergic reaction to something he had yet to identify, or…

           “Were you crying?”

           “NO!” He folded his arms and turned his face away from me. “I was definitely NOT CRYING! It just looks like I was…because…I got punched in the face!”

           “Gio, if something’s wrong, you can tell me. I’ll listen. That’s what I’m here for, you know.”

           I saw his lip quiver. Then his voice cracked; “They really did punch me in the face. They beat me up, all of them. About twenty of them.”

           I could practically feel my own heart hurting. “Rivals?”

           “No. Other Blasters.” He sniffled. “They all think I’m some kind of loser freak or something. They just don’t get it! Or…or maybe it’s because…” His chest began to shake. “B-because I am one – “

           I didn’t need to hear more. I rushed to close the distance between us, wrapping my arms suddenly and tightly around him, one on the waist, one on the upper back. He clung to me in return, no longer holding back, heaving sobs.

           “Oh, God, sweetie…” I said softly. “You’re not a freak or a loser.”

           “But even YOU say you love how much of a loser I am, and I know you mean it as a compliment, but – “

           “I’m sorry. There’s a big difference between being a garbage fuckup and not taking life too seriously, or being a little spacey. Trust me. I’m the garbage fuckup here. Not that I want pity. Shit. Don’t make this about me now. DO NOT MAKE THIS ABOUT ME NOW.”

           “I’m trying, Rachel…I’m really trying, and nothing fucking works out for me…”

           I froze. He was using my actual name. Which meant things were worse than I thought.

           I wriggled out of the embrace, taking his hand. “Come with me.”

           He followed obediently, as though lost in the wilderness and trusting the guidance of a will-o’-the-wisp, until I brought him to the couch and sat down on it. For this, I would need him to have less of a height advantage on me, so I patted the cushion beside me, encouraging him to sit down. He did, still gasping as teardrops trickled down his cheeks.

           “Look at me,” I told him, softly yet firmly.

           “I don’t wanna,” he protested. “It’s bad enough already. Now you’re seeing me having a breakdown – “

           “Everyone has breakdowns, Gio. This is okay. You’re still an awesome badass. But I need you to look at me.”

           He pivoted to face me, slowly, gingerly, trying to stop crying cold-turkey to put on a show for me.

           I reached out, taking his face into my hands. “I love you so much,” I told him, then began the treatment process.

           First, tugging his head downward so I could kiss his forehead, right between the brows. Then delivering a line of kisses down each cheek in turn. A few along either side of his jawline. Then, finally, on the lips – he was far more passive than usual; I couldn’t feel the light prick of his fangs on my lower lip.

           As I backed off from his face, I put a hand up, palm out, to his chest. “Can I?”

           “Y…yeah…”

           I lay it right over his heart. It was something of a shared secret between us – a spot on his body he worried about, sometimes, because it still protruded slightly, giving away that it used to look much larger and softer and not at all like how he wanted his body to be. This was our arrangement, my reassurance that it wasn’t a flaw on him.

           “Does it still hurt?” I asked.

           “Yes,” he choked. “Emotionally AND physically. This is helping, though.”

           “Okay.” I was getting another idea. “Then follow me.”

           I lay back, stretching across the couch, and I tugged his forearm to bring him down with me. He obeyed, lying somewhere on the overlap between beside-me and atop-me, his head nestling into the hollow of my neck on my right shoulder. I was still shorter than him, so I supposed this would look comical to an outsider, me trying to play a horizontal sort of big-spoon with his legs dangling far past where my own ended. Here, I just let him be, not asking anything of him, just stroking a hand over his hair, down onto his back, over and over again.

           “They’re all pieces of shit,” I assured him. “Give me a list of names and I’ll annihilate them.”

           We knew it was an empty threat. I still didn’t have blood on my hands. I wasn’t sure if I ever would – but more frighteningly, I had the suspicion that the capacity was inside me, and I wasn’t sure how he would feel if it ever came out. But that wasn’t today’s topic.

           He didn’t say anything, just giving another choking sniffle. “It’s okay,” I told him. “Just get it out. It’ll get better. I promise.”

           “I w-wasn’t supposed to break down like this.”

           “It’s seriously okay. It’s just you and me. You’ll be able to come at them again swinging in a few hours.” I sighed. “I hate them. So goddamn much. Thinking about you getting pummeled makes me so goddamn mad – “

           I realized I had knotted my fingers into his hair and was pulling the locks rather hard out of frustration. Immediately, I let go. Well, that was a rather frightening thing I hoped wouldn’t happen again. I was angry because he’d been hurt; I certainly didn’t want to end up hurting him worse.

           “I have to stop talking about it,” I admitted, planting that hand firmly on his back, drawing circles with my palm. “Or else I’m gonna punt a chair into orbit.”

           “I just felt so…so fucking helpless…”

           “God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – “

           My free arm came up to wrap over him, keeping him tight against me. Protectively.

           “You’re amazing,” I whispered. “You’re beautiful. And you’re not a garbage fire. Don’t even think about it. Please. Just…let this be it. You and me. You’re safe here.”

           It was barely audible: “Thank…you…”

           “No. Thank you.”

           I placed another kiss on his forehead.

           Words were spent. We stayed like that for half an hour, lying adjacent, sharing the burden.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 154: The Inevitable

Previously on BnHA: Even though the previous chapter ended with Deku arriving to punch Overhaul in the face, the majority of the chapter somehow was spent getting up to that moment which we’d already gotten up to! But finally it happened, and Aizawa, Nighteye, and Deku burst onto the scene. Nighteye gave Mirio a big ol’ hug and told him he did so good, and it was one of the few highlights of this arc, and so deserved. Deku and Aizawa went to apprehend Overhaul, but one of Overhaul’s Endless Minions woke up and used his quirk to basically paralyze Aizawa, so that Aizawa in turn was forced to blink and Overhaul was able to reactivate his own quirk. He proceeded to straight up murder his loyal right hand man and fuse their bodies together to form some kind of grotesque monstrosity, but like, it’s not even the good, interesting kind of grotesque. It’s just the same old Overhaul with some extra demon arms that’ve got big claws on ‘em, and now his mask is fused to his face like a demon bird beak as a bonus. Whatever. Nine seven chapters to go.

Today on BnHA: Overhaul revels in his new power-up and taunts Mirio a bit, mostly just to make sure everyone knows that his quirk is gone for good. Nighteye tells Deku to take Mirio and Eri and get them to safety while he holds Overhaul off. He thinks about everything he taught Mirio and how strong he became and how proud he is of him, and that all he wants to do right now is protect him and Eri. As Deku hauls Mirio and Eri away from the carnage, the narration starts talking about how Nighteye spent so much time desperately trying to change the futures he saw, but that it never worked no matter what he did. In spite of this, and in spite of knowing that his actions are merely “drawing out the inevitable”, he continues to fight Overhaul until he is brutally impaled on some more spikes. Enraged, Deku turns back, leaving Eri with Mirio, and activates One for All at 20%.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 185 now, so any ETAs will reflect that. Posting this a few hours early since I won’t be able to later this evening.)

fun fact, Fallen Angels/Jaimini’s Box doesn’t have this chapter translated on their site. in fact they don’t have any chapters translated from 154 all the way until 167. I can only assume they were getting as sick of this shit as I am. can’t even blame them for bailing

so Mangastream, that leaves just you. the brave souls who stuck it out till the bitter end. you guys are the real heroes academia

unfortunately the FA scans were also the cleaner scans, so now we’ll have to deal with these kind of dark, smudgy-looking pages. on the bright side, if you squint you can almost pretend like what’s happening on the page is actually interesting

sorry to rag on you before you even get started, chapter. but let’s not kid ourselves here

so Overhaul says he’s in a bad mood but “this is a little better”

and the text is all “that form... grotesque!” but again, it’s just his normal form with a couple extra demon arms. nothing we haven’t seen from Shouji or Tokoyami. do you guys remember Shouji and Tokoyami. good kids. wonder whatever happened to ‘em

Deku is like clinging to one of the floor spikes and trying to assess the situation

oh?

if Aizawa gets a one-on-one fight with that guy it had better be sick as hell. do NOT fuck around with my Aizawa fight. I will not forgive you

(ETA: does it count as fucking around with my Aizawa fight if we don’t even get an Aizawa fight. given how they probably would have managed to make even that inexplicably bad, it’s probably for the best that we didn’t get this in the end.)

Overhaul is monologuing about how germophobic he is and how this is the first time he’s been pushed to this point

oh shit he’s bringing out the big guns

did Mirio even know that his quirk was gone forever? up until this point he had no reason to assume the effect wouldn’t just be the same as with Tamaki. he really drew the short end of the stick. poor baby

oh here’re the rest of the bullets

-- excuse me, they’re the ones dragging this out?? WHO WAS IT THAT ORDERED HIS SUBORDINATES TO CREATE A NEVERENDING MAZE OF MEDIOCRE SECOND TIER VILLAINS

now he says Mirio has gotten all his friends mixed up in this and that they’re all gonna die

why does he keep taunting Mirio even though he’s already basically out for the count. still sore about how badly he fucked you up huh buddy. you prick

Mirio is all

um, yes way. he was torturing a six-year-old on a regular basis just to make no-quirk juice. he doesn’t even have a deep-seeded reason for it as far as I can see. he’s just in the mob and wants to make money. and even his boss was all “dude I get that you wanna make bank, but that plan is too fucked up even for us.” but he went and did it anyway

so yeah, I don’t know why anyone’s surprised that he’s cool with callously murdering his own subordinates, or why that of all things would somehow be the straw that broke the camel’s back

here comes Deku again!

did he throw that spike at him? nice

he caught it, and it did nothing, but still. nice

he’s grabbing another one! and thinking of Mirio!

stab him in the face Deku. do it for senpai

you know who I miss? fucking Stain. I miss him so much. I’ll never say a word against him again. that’s a lie but my god it’s like how you weirdly appreciate George W. just a little more after dealing with Trump. even though W. was just the worst. still so bad. but like, it gives you a new sense of scale and an understanding that no matter how bad things are, they can always get just a little bit worse

anyway, Deku’s diving in still but Overhaul is creating more spikes, this time from his hands

they’re crumbling upon impact with Deku’s kicks, but he’s thinking that if it weren’t for his iron soles he’d have been done in just now

I’m sorry are those things not impressive? what else do you need? he’s got smarts too, for what it’s worth

what in the

was that another one of his stamps?? Nighteye is such a freak

yep. look at this

take that bitch. I’m gonna sign for you like a package from Fedex

we’re now flashing back to a conversation they had while running in the hallway for those five long hours

“don’t you DARE fucking break your bones again you little punk”

Nighteye’s asking what Overhaul did with Aizawa

oh shit this is the first interesting thing Overhaul has said in ages

(ETA: so what a surprise that absolutely nothing came of it)

yeah, I bet he’s interested. oh shit. so now he’s whisked him off to the “VIP room.” what’s in there, caviar and high-stakes poker tables?

you guys. Nighteye is piiiiiiiiiiiissed

yeah for real. because he used the permabullets even though he only had five of them. I was wondering about that too

now Overhaul is disintegrating his two right arms. what are you playing at now

look how fucking weirdly Nighteye dodges

the hell kind of dodge is this

Overhaul is thinking he’s not particularly fast, but that his movements are similar to Lemillion’s. “so this guy’s the teacher...”

Nighteye’s flashing back to Mirio’s internship when he explained to him that by accumulating experience he would learn how to predict people’s actions and move accordingly

I’m so sorry this asshole took your son’s quirk Nighteye

all right so now Deku’s reached Mirio and Eri and he’s asking if they can move

Mirio’s all “no sweat” ffff

ffffffffffffffffff

baby sweetie honey nooo shhhh. don’t apologize for being sad that he forcibly destroyed a part of you. something that was unique and that you worked so hard to perfect and that was going to lead you toward your dreams. fuck. you’re allowed to be fucking bummed out kiddo. it’s gonna be okay

so Deku’s grabbing them all and he’s kicking open the path that Overhaul just tried to close up again

and now Eri is clutching at him and crying ffffffffffffff

THIS IS NOT OKAY. HORIKOSHI!!! COME THE FUCK ON. WHAT IS THIS

and Mirio’s looking back over his shoulder as they retreat, and he seems to have seen something troubling oh shit

this is all very interesting, but I thought he could only do one person a day? I still don’t fucking get how his power works in combat

(ETA: as the next page clarifies, I guess he used it on Overhaul and that’s how he saw himself and Deku dying at Overhaul’s hands. and this must mean it’s been more than 24 hours since he used it on the babysitter guy. and this is also why it takes him a full day to die afterwards, so that he can live just long enough to look into Mirio’s future one last time. ...fuck me why am I thinking about that noooo)

OH SHIT!?!?

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. “THE INEVITABLE”!?!?

WHAT THE FUCK

DID THEY JUST FUCKING KILL NIGHTEYE WHAT THE FUCK

AT THE VERY LEAST WE ALL AGREE HIS ARM IS GONE, YES. STRAIGHT UP NO LONGER GOT A LEFT ARM

HOLY FUCK

AHHHHHHH EVERYTHING JUST SUDDENLY WENT BLACK

AND HIS EYES ARE LIKE

I’M FREAKING OUT!!?!?!?!?!

DEKU’S LOOKING BACK TOWARD THE SCENE AND HE’S TOTALLY BUGEYED

OVERHAUL IS SENDING SPIKES THEIR WAY

HOLY SHIT DEKU!?!?

OH SHIT

DEKU BE CAREFUL OF YOUR LIMBS!! ALSO YOU’RE THE BEST, HOLY FUCKING SHIT

even Overhaul has abruptly stopped his endless spike attacks and is now resorting to cautious trash talk

oh shit

CALL BACK TO THE ALL MIGHT PROPHECY OH SNAPPPPPP

DEKU YOU ARE SO COOL JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS SUCH A COOL MOMENT. I FORGOT THE MANGA COULD DO THAT

WAS IT WORTH 900 CHAPTERS OF BULLSHIT? AND MIRIO LOSING HIS QUIRK? AND NIGHTEYE FUCKING DYING FUCKING JESUS CHRIST? NO

BUT GOD IT’S SOMETHING, AND THAT SOMETHING IS ADMITTEDLY PRETTY COOL

I swear to god if he loses even with this. just...

just remember Deku. Nighteye literally died for this shit. probably. oh my godddddd

no bonus. because I’m pretty sure the next omake is supposed to go with tomorrow’s chapter. it’s really hard to figure this out tbh. but I guess I should be grateful that we even still have translated omakes right now, since even that will come to an end once we hit chapter 167. enjoy it while it lasts I guess

[divinion1990]

Things We Do Not Speak Of Ch2

~~~~CHAPTER TWO~~~~~

Read Chapter 1: Tumblr | A03 | fanfiction.net

Summary: Following the Alverez war, Natsu needs to talk to Gray. There is too much left unspoken, events that they haven’t been able to talk through, but he can’t even step through his front door without seeing his friendly stalker outside… Characters: Natsu Dragneel; Gray Fullbuster; Juvia Lockster Ships: Natsu x Gray, Gray x Juvia

On the second day, Natsu had known to expect Juvia on the bench outside Gray’s house. Instead of going directly to the home of his friend, he walked on the other side of the street and straight towards the rain woman. “Still no luck?” he asked absently, more to make his presence known than anything else.

Her eyes lit up seeing the company, though he did notice they dropped a little when realising it wasn’t who she’d hoped for. He tried not to take offense to that. “Natsu, you’re back!” she said, as she pushed away the bags and made room for him to sit once more beside her.

He grinned back and sat down, holding out what looked to be some kind of baton for Juvia to take. “What’s this?” she asked curiously, examining the thermos flask. As opened it slowly, the scents of warming spices and rich chocolate engulfed her.

“I figured even you could get sick of the cold sometimes,” he told her, watching as she took it close to her chest and secretly admiring how easily she could hold the scorching metal. “You been out here for a while?”

“Thank you, Natsu…” she said with a small blush. Not like the blushes she would so often have when experiencing her sweet girl crush, but softer and genuinely thankful. “Juvia doesn’t mind the cold. But she does appreciate the warmth too… Would you like a drink?”

Natsu couldn’t rightly refuse, nodding and beaming from ear to ear. Quickly, the two cups were placed between them and filled with the surprisingly thick hot chocolate, overpowering the air with a richly sweet taste.

“Sometimes, Gray-sama will bring Juvia a hot drink when it’s cold. Sometimes he will even come out and drink it with Juvia,” Juvia said into her steaming mug thoughtfully, looking back up at the house, warmed by her memories.

It was something Natsu had been thinking about over the last day or so, mulling over who he would be seeing that evening and what he would say to them. Time and time again, he found himself reflecting on Gray and Juvia, their twisted relationship and the adoration that struggled to come to the surface, all the while trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach. “Doesn’t that irritate you?” he asked, somewhere between confused and genuinely concerned. “His house is right there. He knows that we’re sitting here, and he doesn’t even think to come out? He just sits in there, probably all smug and warm and laughing at us!”

Juvia watched Natsu carefully, trying to pull apart his grumblings. It was a familiar tone, one that she knew all too well from years of studying Gray and Natsu’s friendship straining to the point of constant fights. Her expression softened. “Gray-sama has his own way of showing others that he wants them close,” she tried to explain.

Natsu turned back to Juvia, caught by surprise by her confidence. “Like what?”

She smiled again. “He bought Juvia a bench.”

He blinked. He stared at her again, for longer this time, turning his head to the side. “What bench?”

“This bench!” Juvia said brightly, looking back at the house and blushing again. “Juvia now can always have somewhere to stay if she wants to be close to her Gray-sama!”

Natsu decided that he was no longer sure which of the two was crazier than the other. He just had images of Gray finally losing his patience with Juvia standing outside of his house, knowing he couldn’t beat her entirely and reluctantly trying to make her as comfortable as possible. But then, maybe Juvia was right. Maybe he couldn’t bare the idea of her staying apart from him, even if he couldn’t gather the courage to let her inside.

“Juvia told Gray-sama where you were,” Juvia continued, hearing only skeptics silence from the dragon slayer. “Juvia said that you would looking forward to seeing him but he… said there was work to be done on the markets. Is something wrong…?”

Natsu pulled a face, sinking low into his seat until he was almost horizontal. “Who knows?” he grumbled, taking a sip of the hot liquid. “I haven’t really talked to the iced bastard for a while.”

Juvia nodded, a glimmer of deep understanding in her soft smile. “Gray-sama has spent a long time by himself since the battle. He spends time working, or with the guild… but in the evenings he is usually alone.”

“Not even with you?” Natsu looked up.

“Why would Gray-sama be with Juvia?”

Sometimes, Natsu felt like shaking her and her innocence. There was that horrible feeling in the back of his throat again, which he drowned with more hot chocolate before sitting upright. “Because he loves you!”

Juvia’s face went scarlet. Her hands went weak, barely balancing the mug and avoiding disaster.“Juv-Juvia doesn’t- Gray-sama is so very-“

“Seriously?!” Natsu shouted in disbelief, unable to see how even he had seen this! His mind was racing, staring between the girl stuck in the seat and the house to the other side. Only one road between them, coated with layers of uncertainty and miscommunication which just continued to irritate Natsu. It had been years like this, not moving anywhere, and he’d just assumed there was something trickling slowly but surely between them. The worst kept secret of Fairy Tail.

He couldn’t quite explain the rush of urgency that came from deep inside him as he grabbed her hand. The hot chocolate slipped from her hands and fell onto the ground, spilling dark steaming liquid into the cracks below and barely missing the water woman’s skirt.

“N-Natsu, what are you-?!” she gasped.

"I'm sorting this out," Natsu answered stiffly, dragging her to her feet.

All of Fairy Tail had hoped that Gray and Juvia would one day work their relationship out for themselves, but it was clear that even after all these years nothing had changed. And it was unhealthy. For both of them. Natsu had no idea when or where that tipping point had appeared, when the strange games they played between each other had started to cause damage instead of annoyance, but now it was obvious. Alvarez had made a lot of unpleasant truths obvious.

Natsu kept his expression stony as he crossed the road, walking up to the front door of his best friend. He ignored how intense his smell was here, how much Juvia tried to pull away from his firm grip and offer some explanation. His determination was as powerful as it was foolhardy, and he made no hesitation to bang on the door loudly.

"Gray! I know you're in there so get your ass down here right now!!"

Juvia's face was turning brighter and brighter red. She could feel the heat of Natsu's palms tightly gripping her wrist, growing warmer as his words became filled with an inexplicable anger and frustration. Even if she'd wanted to, there was no escape. “Natsu, you don’t need to do this-“

They were both silenced by the sound of heavy footsteps. Natsu took a small step back, letting the door open to show the Devil Slayer, running a hand through his hair and wearing a heavy-set frown.

It was only then that Natsu remembered that this wasn’t just the first time he’d spoken to Gray for a several days; it was also the the first time he'd seen him. Some broken logic had expected him to look exactly as he had at the end battle, bloodied and bruised but wearing the smile of victory they all proudly donned. He’d expected to see muscles pumped on adrenaline, an exhaustion that itched to take on the next challenge while dreading yet another. The difference made him temporarily forget why he was standing in his doorway. That strange lump in the back of his throat returned. Gray looked drained. His body slouched and hair fell flat. He looked tired. He looked-

Gray just blinked, looking between his two guests in confusion. "What’s… going on?"

Natsu swallowed hard, pulling Juvia in front of him like a shield. “You should know what’s going on!! You’ve been getting Juvia to sit outside your damn house for years without even letting her in!!” he yelled, realising that he was biting with more anger than he’d expected.

Gray just looked blank and dazed. His gaze now shifted from Natsu solely to Juvia, watching as her face continued to burn.

"Juvia tried to explain…" she excused herself weakly, eyes flicking up to Gray's and down to the ground.

Gray's mouth turned dry. He just couldn't even work out how to respond, though his hands were instinctively starting to curl into tight fists. "Natsu, what the hell are you-"

Natsu wasn't going to simply argue with words. He dragged Juvia forward and suddenly let go, leaving the young woman stumbling forward. She gasped, only realising too late that she was thrown into the strong arms of her half-naked crush. Her face when from rose to crimson red, a heat radiating from her cheeks and hissing in steam against his cooling touch. "Juvia-Juvia-" she mumbled, words completely escaping her.

"Natsu!!" Gray hissed at him.

"Work it out!" Natsu yelled at them both, taking another step back. His body felt ready to collapse with the adrenaline through his veins, his heart pounding so hard he could no longer hear the thoughts in his head. That was probably a good thing. This needed to run on instincts alone; instincts and anger. "Both of you stop fucking around. She loves you, you love her - so get over it and just admit it already!"

Gray and Juvia looked back at each other, a moment of shock written across both of their expressions. It was nearly impossible to read anything else but pure surprise when they were literally being pushed together, although Natsu couldn't miss the way that Juvia's body leaned closer against Gray's bare chest.

It was definitely time to leave them to it. Before either of them could raise a word of protest, Natsu had slammed the door on their faces. Whatever was going to happen now, he didn't want to see it. Didn't want to be a part of it any more than he already was.

For the life of him, he couldn't work out why his good deed had left him with such a pain…

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

Thanks for reading! If you wanna read a nice cute Gruvia, you can stop here. Otherwise, next chapter will hopefully be up and running shortly :)

[chiseki]

Figured I’d make this an intro post, since I’m pretty much using this alternate url as an “out” url compared to my usual vagueness.

I’m Joshua. Yes, that matches the sidebar, so it’s not really surprising here.

And that would surprise an entire two people following my main blog that know me irl because the rest were previously informed. Maybe three people, I forget if the last one is on tumblr or not.

Which is, by the way, ““““““““fun”““““““““

Yup, having like three local friend circles that had relations to each other outside of myself, and only one of them being in the know is fun.

You can basically stop reading at this point, because from here on out is just gonna be a massive time rewind to.....jeez, fuck if I know when, my childhood? I promise there will be time skips, we don’t need that mess played at normal tempo. (Also some funny stories after the giant gap in the text, if you want to scroll for that).

Most of this story is actually located in college, but the only real indicator (aside from having a general dislike of dresses) was way back when I was in all of second grade--apparently I was so damn insulted I burned all these facts into my memory--and an older kid was brought into the classroom, gave us this cool sales pitch about do we want to learn to shoot a bow, go camping, build campfires, etc

and then was like “OH YEAH THIS IS THE BOY SCOUTS IT’S BOYS ONLY”

I was so hyped lol.

Wound up being in a mediocre girl scout troop later, and my brother obviously got directed into boy scouts. At which point I got to find out that their camping trips were mostly getting rained on and finding black windows and getting taught woodworking by a dude missing a chunk of finger.

So more suffering than child me would have expected, but they still got to build fires and go REAL camping and shoot bows and rifles and shit.

Meanwhile, in girl scouts, we went to this one set of cabins every year. We never stayed in the damn cabins, because someone would find A Bug in there, or a spider, and then someone ELSE would have the same issue, and no one wanted to be in a cabin alone let alone be the only one in the cabins at all, and we always wound up sleeping in the air conditioned lodge that was visible from the damn cabins.

Except the one year where we went to a different camp, stayed in the legendary caboose, and there was a bat sleeping on the outside of the window so no one wanted to sleep there except me.

My scout group was weak.

I miss the cookies, though.

Anyway, due to not being forced into gender-targeted toys and getting to play with whatever the fuck I wanted, I also have jack shit for anything resembling an early warning sign aside from the above.

Actually, scratch that, I was not really a fan of dresses. I mean, this was fair in general, since they were usually scratchy, didn’t fit my arms/shoulders right, were designs I had no say in, and everyone would get on my case if the dress might get even a LITTLE dirty. Had some skirts I liked in middle school, but even that was a mess of having to wear tights because my genes have never resulted in anything resembling a thigh gap.

And I was like, constantly trying to play with the guys in grade school. And they’d periodically get that “NYEHHHHHHH GUYS ONLYYYYYY” shit going on. That was never not infuriating tbh.

Flash forward to high school, still basically left to my own devices. Only indicator here was that I was just tickled fucking pink whenever I heard that I either passed at cons or was at least tossed in the “maybe.......?” zone.

Flash forward to college. I honestly don’t remember what set me off on thinking about it, but started eyeballing my gender with a microscope. Unfortunately I couldn’t apply a litmus test like sexuality, so there was a lot of “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhfuck” going on.

Actually, I think part of it was that on the forum I hung out on, a lot of the old regulars had assumed I was a dude until a childhood friend had dropped a pronoun several times in succession & asserted its correctness, which then led to a discussion along the lines of “whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat”.

But yeah, started testing the waters.

Also tried going to a LGBT+ club like, once. With the gal I was either dating at the time or was about to be dating, my memory is shit tbh. “HEY SO HOW ABOUT WE ALL JUST COME OUT TO EACH OTHER, A BUNCH OF STRANGERS <33333333″ still freaks me out, honestly. I get why it’s generally done, but like, no thanks. But I was horrendously obvious in ducking about the gender question and she totally called me out on it later in private lol. Also got me my first binder, but I digress.

Anyway, basically spilled on “I’m.....probably..............? a dude...........? jsyk??????” to my immediate friends, which was met with a lot of “.....YEAH ACTUALLY THAT MAKES SENSE” and a “hang on I need a dictionary........ok I get it”

I think I was the least smooth part of anything resembling a coming-out just due to like, me not wanting to have to tell people to do things for me? It’s something I find extremely awkward, like I know it’s that horribly stereotypical dating thing of “what’s wrong, bby, what do I have to do” “I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO TELL YOU WHAT TO DO” but.

And that’s an entire digression about how my relationship with my mother often included me saying a lot of shit I had to say convincingly, but didn’t mean at all, and probably led to me having fuckall faith in what people say, most especially when under a forced prompt. I could do an essay on that, but not here.

Which, admittedly, I’m gonna rewind here because I think it’s funny in hindsight, but it means the dictionary reaction went like “SO...........I’M.............TRANS?” “What?” [thinking this is pushback on the idea] [PANIC MODE] “UH” “Like, literally, what does that word mean, I've never heard it in my life.” “OH. WELL. Heh. Uh. That internal reaction I had was embarrassing then, oops.”

Anyway.

Then the collective action was, “well, have you picked a name what do you MEAN you haven’t picked a name, we can’t just run about calling you by your deadname after all that”

And I tossed some names out, that I’m not going to list, because they were just fucking awful. So I got interventioned and the method became throwing names at me until they stuck.

Adam? Nah I knew an Adam and I can’t unassociate with that

Noah? Violin teacher’s third kid was named Noah. Same issue with Gabriel and Caleb.

Benjamin? I fucking grew up with a Benjamin he would kill me.

you get the idea.

And those were like, actual reasonable rejections. At least half the time I was just like “I DON’T LIKE HOW IT SOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDS.” Take, for example, Josh. I 1) knew one in high school and he was a piece of work and 2) I just, inexplicably, don’t like how the word sounds.

Which is part irony and part masochism that JoshUA stuck.

I mean, that name had pre-existing connotations for me. I had played..........a game.........in high school. And given that my options were pretty shafted to Stereotypical White Boy Names if I didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, some positive(?) pre-existing connotations were going to be needed.

Incidentally, I had a v. sweet trans girl offer me her deadname, which was a cool name, but just, like, didn’t fit me in particular so. She also picked her name by RNG tournament, with the top 10 baby names for her year being the competitors. Which was neat and worked well for her, but I know I would have just re-run the fucking tourney if I didn’t like the winner lol.

But anyway, continuing on to a less flowery story. I’ll add some blank lines so it’s skippable. No need to set off every other person with gender issues here.

Decided to come out to my family. Apparently time fuzzed down my memories of being devoured by mosquitos outside while my parents were trying to decipher that their kid was holding hands with a girl in the back of the van and that girl had been planned to sleep over that night, and despite the fact that booth teens wouldn’t be jumping to sex that fast nor had the equipment to make a kid between them....it was Reason For Concern like a straight couple sharing a bed.

I mean, my mom was convinced that anything touching the nether regions was SEX and PREMARITAL SEX was EVIL. But I digress.....again.

So. I tell them. And the reaction ranged from “well ok I mean you’ve always been weird” (thanks, bro) to “uh I guess my last name’s odds of getting inherited just doubled........?” to “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME”

Yeah. That last one was word for word. Some stuff was thrown, lots of crying (”I CAN’T EVEN DO MY MAKEUP AND IT’S YOUR FAULT”)--both of which were not my doing, though I got shocked(?) into my own set of tears iirc.

I think I set a speed record for climbing back into the closet. Like, a week later, everyone was pretending it never happened. I sorta emotionally cut ties with my mom at that point--kept it civil, but Did Not Want to discuss my life or friends at all with her or in any way that would get back to her.

So obviously, no one in my family knows I go by Joshua. If they asked, I would tell them, but lo and behold, zero questions, they never brought it up again, etc. And I’ve been very careful about not letting that knowledge spread, not putting it on the internet in a way that connects back to my legal name, being primed at any point to pretend “Joshua” is a mutual friend and to not respond to that name if someone accidentally calls me by it.

Incidentally, during Yet Another Family Counseling that was at least performed at an individual level this time, my mom apparently told the counselor that she thought she handled that well. Last I checked, making the situation about yourself and doing the whole “woe is me, the mother, with a child like this” shpeal was not “well”.

And I mean the WHOLE shpeal. If you’ve ever had the misfortune to see the posts by parents of trans kids that wax soliloquy about losing their child and mourning their “death” (especially the ones that aren’t all “but I got a new kid!”) like, the ones especially cut from the same cloth that would be like “my child is autistic but ~I~ am the inspiration for waking up in the morning” like no, your kid is the inspiration for dealing with you.

And if anyone is wondering, this is basically the Midwest Stereotype for....LGBT, interracial dating, etc rejection imo. Seemingly ok with it, but NO WAIT HANG ON, NOT MY CHILD. Like, I legit had trans kids explained to me (albeit without terms for it) at a relatively young age by my mother and yet. “X exists but not in our good christian neighborhood” attitude. Ugh.

So where was I? Hmm, yes, funny Joshua stories. Ok I have like ONE story. One of my friends that was in the know finally got me to play Trails in the Sky. Now, this sucker has a chunk of text lead-in with a ~mysterious~ boy that young Estelle’s father has brought home, and the whole discussion skips his name, ending on “my name is....”. Then it time-skips to present day, finally casually dropping this dude’s name, which, obviously, is Joshua.

My friend did not tell me this.

No warning, nada. Only Estelle had really come up in conversation.

And then we collectively dragged another friend into the abyss with us, except he wasn’t in the know. We also had him streaming his playing sessions when our schedules coincided, which led to--because of a shitty accuracy stat--him yelling (as we did) “JOSHUA!” frequently in combat.

I debated on just responding “Yes?” randomly one day in the most casual closet-exit possible. Then procrastinated by deciding to just be out with it at the end of the first game since he’d also played twewy.

Some of you have probably started to eye my avatars with judgement in your hearts. That’s fair.

Anyway, we had forgotten about another character that practically had his name, so at least I had someone to share my weird feelings with.

And then, he started the second game, and I didn’t hold back on responding “yes?” every time “Joshua” was used as an interjection.

Also because of that one post about biblical names, I will respond to any use of “Jesus”.

[mazecraft]

Rachel in the Dark Room Ep 5

Warning:

Spoilers for Life is Strange and Life is Strange: Before the Storm.

Trigger Warning:

This fanfic will have disturbing images, including scenes of kidnapping, date rape, drug use, violence, sexual content and adult language. Recommended for mature audiences and viewer discretion is advised.

Rachel remembered reading about sleep paralysis but she couldn’t recall if it had ever happened to her before. She felt awake, but she didn’t feel her body at all. She thought she must be asleep, but she was trapped unmoving in the darkness of a dreamless sleep. There were sounds that she could make out nearby though. A sort of whooshing roar that alternated pitch and tempo. After a while, it became quieter and then stopped altogether. Car doors were opening and closing. Muffled voices were approaching. Near to Rachel’s head, the sound of a trunk opened.  

Something moved across her face like silk flowing continuously. It took her a moment to realize it must have been a breeze. She wished she could breathe in that air, but it just flowed across her face and was gone. She tried to sit up, but nothing happened. It wasn’t like the dark room, where she could feel some part of her body struggling to comply. There was no response at all. Rachel focused her will with every fiber of her being on trying to move her arm, or stretch her leg, but not even so much as a finger twitched in response. She fought down the temptation to panic and focused instead on trying to open her eyes, but she couldn’t even feel them, much less tell if they were moving under her eyelids or not. She felt awake, but maybe her body wasn’t. She focused on trying to wake her body up, to even feel it at all. The only thing that stood between her and fear was her determination to keep trying.

“Hurry up,” said a man’s voice harshly. Shuffling feet on the ground was followed by a sharp inhalation of breath. More movement, then coughing and retching as someone violently vomited. “Oh Christ. You are pathetic, you know that?” Rachel knew that voice. It was Mark Jefferson. Her photography teacher, one-time seducer, and eternal tormentor. She would never call him ‘Mark’ again, even if it was only in her head. Motherfucker.

“I can’t do this!” It was Nathan’s voice. “Goddamn, it fucking stinks. I can’t breathe. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He disseminated into alternating cries of “I can’t do this” and “fuck” as he paced around.

“You wanted to be my protégé didn’t you?” Jefferson sneered. “What did you think, that everything would be sterilized and monochrome dreams like your beautiful photographs? This is what death looks like Nathan. Look at her! It takes work to make this beautiful!” Quick shuffling of feet and a thud as the voices got closer.

“Stop!” Nathan cried, his voice very near.

“You want to be an artist you’ve got to be willing to get your hands dirty Nathan! There put your face in it and take a big whiff. This is part of the process! Art requires sacrifices. And remember, we wouldn’t be here…yet…if you hadn’t fucked up.”

“Please don’t make me do this…”

“Quit stalling! We’re wasting time here. I still have one more surprise for you. One last shot of you and your beloved together. But if you keep stalling she’ll be too stiff to pose.”

“Can I frame it myself?” Nathan asked.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. Enough! Now be a good boy and pick her up. Just think of it as your wedding night and you are carrying your bride to bed.” Jefferson chuckled.

∞

Rachel stood on the edge of the junkyard watching Nathan and Jefferson make their way through the junk cars, old appliances and useless household trash. Nathan was laden with a heavy burden that he was trying to balance on his shoulder. But it was too heavy for his small frame and he stumbled and dropped it several times. Rachel found herself flinching involuntarily as she watched. As they got closer she could see that his burden was almost as long as Nathan was tall, but her eyes kept sliding around the object. Every time she looked at it all she saw was a blur that made her eyes water.

“Why do you hide the truth from yourself?” said the Doe. She looked around to see her companion was still there. She could hear Jefferson berating and mocking Nathan as they came around the tail end of the wreckage of the old school bus. Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath and forced herself to see her own body being hoisted clumsily and dropped on the ground in the corner of the junkyard underneath the old dilapidated hotel sign.

“See, Nathan,” Jefferson said. “A little hard work builds character!” He tossed a small shovel he had been carrying and pointed to the ground next to Rachel’s discarded body. “Right here will do.”

Rachel looked at her body while Nathan was digging and Jefferson was fiddling around with a camera he had pulled out of his bag. Her usually dark red hair was badly in need of washing and looked almost strawberry blonde. It was more ragged than she ever let it get when she could take care of it properly. She was still wearing her black t-shirt and denim jeans she remembered putting on a century ago. Had they always been that loose on her or had she lost weight? Her dragon tattoo on her leg looked vibrant against her pasty skin. She didn’t move toward the body. But one moment she was on the raised tree line above where her body was to be buried and the next she was kneeling before it.

Her skin which had once been tan enough to stand out in the central Oregon coast, looked ghastly white and almost translucent. Her eyeliner was smudged into dark circles around her eyes which no one had bothered to wipe off. Thin remnants of her “Autumn Cherry” lipstick still showed in the cracks of her severely chapped lips. A viscous white foam had seeped from between her lips and dried. Her arms were draped unceremoniously in front of her body, her star tattoo on her wrist facing up. Her fingernails were dirty under flaked off polish.

This was the closest Rachel had ever been to a dead body. And it was her body. It was her body. “This…this…” Rachel felt her spirit oscillating back and forth toward her body like when someone bounces a ball close to the ground. “This was my body. I didn’t know,” she said absently. “I am sorry.” She realized she was stroking her body’s hair and caressing her cheek.  “I am so sorry…” her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. One of her tears dropped and landed on her body’s collar bone settling into the hollow of her windpipe.

Suddenly her body exhaled heavily and shuddered, and Rachel felt herself inexplicably calm. Jefferson startled with a quick turn of his head but Nathan about jumped out of his skin dropping the shovel and yelping as he fell backward and scrambled away from it. Jefferson laughed and told Nathan it was normal, that it sometimes happens. Rachel found herself standing by the front of the bus watching as Nathan pulled her body into the shallow grave he had dug for her. Jefferson had set up a tripod and camera and allowed Nathan to compose the shot of her laying in the ground.

But she was surprised when Jefferson pulled out a small handheld case behind Nathan’s back and approached him from behind with a syringe. Nathan was so preoccupied with the camera he never saw it coming. Rachel’s eye twitched at a memory she wasn’t willing to allow to surface just yet. Nathan stumbled and Jefferson pulled him back so that he wouldn’t fall on the equipment and lowered him to the ground.

“I promised you a memento, didn’t I.” Jefferson said quietly without a hint of amusement in his voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll frame it exactly as befits your talents.”

Nathan wasn’t completely unconscious. His eyes rolled wildly as Jefferson picked him up and dragged him over to Rachel’s grave. He positioned Nathan awkwardly across the hole in the ground and laid Rachel so that the back of her head was resting on his lower abdomen, and her arm draped along his leg. Jefferson chuckled to himself at the awkward posing. They looked like two stiff barbie dolls some child had discarded on the ground. Jefferson took a few different shots, working silently. Finally, he packed up the camera gear and took it back to the car. He returned for Nathan, easily hoisting him onto his shoulder and carrying him away. On his return trip he brought a blue tarp and wrapped Rachel’s body tightly with practiced precise movements and dropped her back into the hole. He stared at the open grave expressionless for a few long silent moments, and then used the shovel to fill in the hole and pack the ground with clods of grass he had pulled off the hill. He whistled a tune to himself as he walked back to the car with the shovel. The last light of dusk seemed to dissipate as the retreating car drove away, leaving the junkyard dark and silent.

∞

Rachel was in the corner of the Dark Room with her hands and feet bound in duct tape. She thrashed wildly as the raven flew at her face and tangled its talons in her hair. She screamed as it dipped its beak into the spot on her neck where a needle had been stuck into her, over and over again.

Be still, girl.

Rachel’s eyes went wide with shock. In spite of the pain, she felt a poisonous miasma that had been subduing her mind and dulling her spirit lifting away from her. She knew this wasn’t her body, but the raven was ripping from her neck the taint of the GHB from her consciousness. It was as if the chemical and physical restraints she had spent the last hours of her life in had been dampening her vitality and power. The raven ripped a sinewy blood laden piece of flesh away from Rachel and she screamed again in spite of herself as the room began to spin wildly all around her. The black shadows swirled until they mixed with the overly bright white surfaces of the room and spun faster and faster. The floor seemed to drop out from beneath her. The raven was flying in the opposite direction of the swirling room and Rachel seemed to be caught in its wake, floating in the middle of the maelstrom. The duct tape tore and Rachel stretched her aching arms and legs feeling vitality radiating from her outstretched fingers above her head down to her toes that pointed toward the ground.

I’ve done what I can, the raven said in Rachel’s mind.

∞

Rachel’s eyes wouldn’t focus right. Whatever she looked at directly was clear, but everything in her peripheral vision was blurry, making her feel nauseous. Up ahead there was a golden light in the darkness. She could make out the shadows of trees around her as she got closer, and the rough shapes of ferns. The air smelled strongly of pine and the mustiness of moss. As she neared what she thought must be a campfire, she began to make out the silhouettes of three women seated in a circle around it.

One was old, with black messy hair tumbling down her shoulders and partly obscuring her face. Her sharp large nose protruded from the hair covering her cheeks, and the light reflected in her eyes like two yellow stars. She wore a cloak of bird feathers that glistened silvery one moment, and black as pitch the next. The second woman was neither old nor young, but in her prime. Her soft leather dress was embroidered with strange glyphs around the hem, cuffs, and collar. They seemed familiar to Rachel but she couldn’t remember where she would have seen them. Her hair was a rich brown color, like fertile earth. Her smooth sun-tanned face and full lips radiated gentleness which was confirmed in eyes that were completely black, ringed in dark brown under large lashes.

But when she saw the third woman, Rachel’s heart caught in her throat. Her pale skin and short bright blue hair almost made her cry out Chloe’s name. But then she noticed even sitting this woman was shorter than Chloe. She might have even been shorter than Rachel. Also, her hair was a ‘pixie cut,’ more precise and close cropped than Chloe’s ‘A cut.’ Plus, the blue of her hair was bright, like a neon, and as Rachel walked around their circle she could see that her eyes were as blue as her hair and had no pupils or irises.

Finally, she was able to shift her gaze away from the strange women and see the source of the light. She had expected to see a fire, but instead she saw a large hourglass filled with sand glowing with a warm golden light. Upon the top of the hourglass was embossed a spiral that seemed to be spinning whenever she wasn’t looking directly at it. The three of them were looking at each other in turns as if involved in a conversation that Rachel couldn’t hear. For some reason, Rachel had the impression that there was a great deal of hesitation or trepidation between them over the object in front of them. The older dark-haired woman suddenly turned her head away from the others and looked right at Rachel standing beside a tree.

“Why are you here? We did not summon you to this place. You have no business here skulking about like a raccoon!” Her voice was thin and coarse. The woman’s eyes glittered like harsh yellow sapphires behind her dark hair that covered her face like a veil.

Rachel walked out into the light toward them. So much of what was happening to her didn’t make sense. Her mind had been so clouded and lost in strange dreams and memories all mixed up together that she wasn’t sure what was real anymore. “Who…who are you?” She addressed all of them. She felt like she knew already, but she also felt like she was losing her mind.

The dark-haired woman cackled. “Dense as the stones of the earth and with half the sense. You have no right to be here. Leave!” The space between her and the women seemed to stretch in front of her. The shadows of the trees began twisting and morphing into a spiral. Rachel felt as if she were falling forward even as she was pulled away from them. She felt herself thinning, being erased, washed out of existence. In a flash of panic and determination she forced herself to remain whole, imagining herself as solid and unmoving. The swirling reality around her reversed direction and the trees and the shadows resumed their proper places. The sickening sensation that she had felt moments before when everything was twisting was gone. and she was standing back before the three women, feeling only slightly nauseous.

The black-haired woman turned to look at her again sharply, her pinpoint yellow eyes burning in her stoic face. The brown-haired woman laughed in a rich beautiful voice, putting a hand on the old woman’s forearm. Rachel wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a calming gesture or not, but she found herself hoping it was. “Clearly the child is here. So, her right to be here is without question. You may come closer, Rachel.” The way the woman said her name filled Rachel with peace and confidence. She suddenly felt like she had known these women all her life and was back among dear friends.

“I still want to know why the brat comes without being summoned,” the old woman said irritably.

“I summoned her.” The youngest finally spoke in a quiet voice that seemed to come from all around them at once, her voice resonating tightly like a chorus in a tin can, making Rachel want to wiggle a pinkie finger in her ear.

“Fool,” said the old woman. “I know this one’s heart and she is volatile. It is dangerous for her to be here.”

“Things can’t stay as they are. We have been quiet for too long. If we do not take action soon, then far worse will surely come,” the younger one said quietly.

Never in Rachel’s life had she remembered feeling this sense of comfortable belonging while completely confused at the same time. She knew she was at a total loss for words. Yet she abandoned the struggle when she realized it was perfectly ok not to say anything. The brown-haired woman smiled knowingly at her and gestured for her to sit beside her. Rachel sat down, crossing her legs under her. She didn’t mind being barefoot, but her wrists and ankles seemed naked for some reason. She thought she must look ridiculous next to them in her jean shorts and black t-shirt. She pointed to the women in turn calling them by name. “You’re the Raven that has haunted me so often. And you, you are the Doe that gave me a moment of peace. And you, Butterfly, I still don’t understand what you are, but you always remind me of Chloe.”

“You name us true, child,” said Raven. “We are the remaining sisters of a dying family. I am sorcery. My sister Doe is a matron of kindness. And finally, our sister Butterfly is maiden of transformation.”

“We are of this land and bound to it as you are also bound to it,” said Doe. “But unlike you we are bound by duty, not tragedy. This land is sacred to us. We are watchers, guides, and guardians. But our power is fading in this place as the world marches on without us. For all the change the sleepwalkers have wrought in the shallow world of day, the power of the ancient ones has grown stagnant.”

“Like all living things, transformation is vital to survival,” said Butterfly. “We have changed many times over the course of the ages through the imagination of Dreamers of immense Power. But there are few left in this place that can withstand the burden of such power, and so we are dying.”

“I don’t really get what any of this means. But I feel like I know all of you,” Rachel said. “Its like you’ve been with me my whole life just out of the corner of my eye. When I look at you, it reminds me of how I used to feel when I would stare out at the stars.”

“We are always around potential Dreamers but most are still sleepwalking, blinded by what is in front of them,” said Butterfly.

“Chloe said she doesn’t remember her dreams anymore. Is that what you guys are talking about.”

“Chloe Price was one whose grief was too strong. It has clouded her mind,” said Doe sadly.

“Never mind that one for now,” said Raven sharply. “It is your own predicament that should concern you. Your attention is trapped here by the unrest of your body. Until it has fully decayed, you will remain here reliving the moments that left the most significant imprint on your soul. It would be easier for you if you weren’t so arrogant.”

Rachel stood up to face the old woman that looked up at her through her black hair. “Oh fuck off! You’re calling me arrogant? You’ve been hella fucking arrogant since I first saw you, looking at me like I am nothing and mocking me in my pain!” Raven had the decency to look down. Wait…was she suppressing a grin? Rachel addressed all of them. “I may have made a lot of shitty choices but do I really have to be punished with them for all eternity? What is this, some kind of purgatory?”

Butterfly stood up and moved toward Rachel on light and graceful feet. She really was shorter than Rachel by almost half a head. The teal-blue color that completely filled her eyes was beautiful but also unnerving. Rachel noticed for the first time that Butterfly was wearing a simple blue dress of crinkled cotton with small white flowers on it that came down to mid-thigh with black leggings and bare feet. It was surprisingly normal compared to what the others were wearing. Rachel thought distractedly the whole outfit was something she would have worn going to a party in the summer.

“This is neither punishment, nor hell,” Butterfly said in her strange resonant voice. “This is gravity. Inertia. Momentum. Much of what happens to us is merely the logical result of our actions. Or inaction,” she finished with a pointed look at the other two.

“You said I am bound here by tragedy. Are you also saying that what happened to me was my fault? Did I bring this on myself?” Rachel gazed at the ground trying to remember, out of all her mistakes, which was the one that brought her here.

Doe stood up and walked over to her, stroking her hair back out of her face and laying a warm hand on her brow. “No one deserves what happened to you no matter what they may have done. You have been too hard on yourself as it is without taking the blame for that as well. You were young, and though wise in your years, still had much to learn about life.” She moved her hand down the side of Rachel’s face and gently lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. “What we mean is that events flow like water through time, and once that water is flowing in a particular direction, it will continue to do so unless something redirects it. There is no blame in it. Just cause and effect.”

Doe’s words were soothing and mesmerizing, but Rachel still felt troubled. The other women resumed their places around the hourglass and she had the impression they were silently communing again. She turned away from them and stared off into the forest. Her shadow stretched into the darkness in front of her and she stared at it bitterly. Once events are set in motion…

“Where is Chloe now?” Rachel asked turning back to them. “Is she ok?”

The three looked at each other confused as they often did when she asked questions. “Which now?” asked Doe finally. “Time works differently in this place then the world that you once walked.”

“Show her,” said Butterfly. “Show her all of it.”

“That’s madness!” said Raven. “You can’t be serious…”

“No,” Doe said thoughtfully. “It would be needlessly cruel.”

“She deserves to see the truth!” said Butterfly stubbornly. “And not just about her Lothir.”  Butterfly looked over at Doe. “Haven’t you always said that a lie is more cruel than a carefully worded truth?” Rachel was getting more and more anxious with every word, balling her hands into fists and tensing her shoulders and legs.

Raven stared at all of them expressionless, her beady yellow eyes glittering menacingly behind her hair. Doe finally sighed and agreed. She pointed to the ground next to her and asked Rachel to sit again. With Rachel sitting beside her she reached up and touched her forehead and began drawing a spiral out from the center of that first touch. Rachel didn’t just see. She saw and felt everything. At first, she heard herself gasp in shock, but before long she began to scream in anger, frustration, and grief.

∞

(to be continued...)

Mazecrafted ©

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 7

September 19

Chapter 7 is here! This time featuring your favorite, Nakahara Chuuya (obviously)!

As always, thank you to @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos for beta-reading!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

“I’m sorry, Chuuya,” Dazai muttered inaudibly as he watched an endless supply of enemies filter out from their hiding spots. There were supposed to be less than 30 of them according to Dazai’s intel, yet like a hydra, after the initial body was blown up, they respawned in greater numbers.

“What the fuck is this, Dazai?!” Chuuya gritted his teeth as he pulled out his knife. “I thought you said thirty.”

“I thought there’d be thirty.” Dazai shrugged. In the back of his mind, he ran through all his plans, all his sources, all his conclusions, looking for an error. His shame berated him ceaselessly. But in the front, he couldn’t worry about his mistakes nor his dignity; he pushed those concerns aside to deal with the copious enemies at hand.

One after another, Dazai shot down nameless opponents, but at the gravesite of one, another was born. The endless nightmare zapped the energy out of Dazai rapidly, and as the faces of his enemies blurred so did his vision. His unscathed body ached and weighed down heavily. Even so, he continued to work; the monotony of each kill became another body function.

A jolt brought the dream to an end. A cold blade churned in his back. Dazai whipped around and opened a hole in his attackers skull. Outside of the trickle of blood, he felt the presence of enemies on his spine. He glanced over his shoulder to get a better grasp of the situation, but by that time, the enemy had encircled him. From their ring, knife after knife was thrust at Dazai. Escaping one only lead to another. With his gun, he rapidly eliminated adversaries, yet the circle was constantly closed with reinforcements, and it only grew tighter.

Suddenly, gaps began opening in the ring. Dazai pointed his gun at one of the remaining enemies, finger near the trigger, but his opponent had already fallen to the ground. From behind, a man with bloodied, orange hair and a sharp gaze emerged, holding a crimson knife. Stuck with relief, Dazai fell on his knees.

“What’s the plan? I’ve killed about 20, and you… about 10—”

Only 10? Dazai stared at his feet, counting the pathetic amount of bodies. He was certain he had defended himself against an entire army, but the evidence suggested otherwise. Upon the realization, he was overcome by a defeated exhaustion.

“—There doesn’t seem to be an end to them,” Chuuya grunted as he crushed the skull of an opponent with his foot.

“I don’t know. There’s not much we can do… unless...”

Chuuya, who had been preoccupied with an enemy, snapped back to Dazai. “Oh.” He picked up the enemy and thrown him to the ground, creating a crater. “You fucker!” He shouted at Dazai as he utterly disfigured the corpse’s face.

“We’re out of options. Either way we might die.”

“You can say that because I’m putting my life on the line to save your ass!”

“Thank you.” Dazai exhaled.

“Huh?”

“I won’t let you die.” The brunet forced himself off his knees in order to add some weight to his words.

“Fine,” Chuuya scoffed. “But you better stop me right away. Otherwise, after I kill these fuckers, I’m coming for you.”

“Of course, partner.”

Chuuya snarled again then stepped to the side. Muttering a small comment, he slowly removed his gloves, hands trembling, and let them fall to the ground. With beads of sweat precipitating on his forehead, he inhaled sharply before exhaling slowly. “O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again!”

Although he had seen it several times, Dazai was always shaken by Chuuya’s transformation. A dark rash had crept over his partner’s body, tainting, but not entirely destroying, his soul. What was left was a killing machine.

In his normal state, one could have perhaps considered the redhead to be a machine—he was extremely powerful and efficient at his job and had unquestioning loyalty. But there was a spirit which powered him—one that stubbornly argued about every plan, one that never refrained from whining about Dazai, one that wore an obnoxiously confident smile with every victory. There was an unpredictable element too, which Dazai had given up on figuring out. This facet always caught Dazai off-guard, whether it was a surprise birthday gift or inexplicable determination to keep the brunet alive. Chuuya was a wild card, and despite the meticulous effort put into his plans, the Mafia Executive received a thrill when Chuuya contradicted them. Chuuya’s unpredictable nature gave him indescribable value.

Using Corruption, Chuuya lost all of that. His soul was replaced with a simple code, one with a virus. Corruption was neither cocky nor high-maintenance. It destroyed with unhuman efficiency, and despite its unruly nature, it was always subject to Dazai’s will. The perfect pawn. Yet, to Dazai, it was worthless, for it was never more than that. It simply obeyed the logic of the situation, which Dazai had already foreseen. There was nothing innovative nor exciting. It bored Dazai immensely.

Not to mention, it was an extraordinarily fragile machine. The rash had consumed most of Chuuya’s face by now, and blood dribbled from his mouth, nose and fingers. The ground at his feet was spotted with craters and littered with the body parts of former adversaries. Those who were still in one piece scrambled to get away, but the darkness inevitably devoured all of them without mercy.

Without a clear opponent, Chuuya was even more directionless than before, shooting black holes at random. Dazai needed to get to him. But the executive’s legs could hardly support his weight, much less walk. He lifted his right leg millimeters off the ground and slogged forward insignificantly. He repeated this process (alternating legs) several times until he crumpled onto his hands and knees and couldn’t lift himself again. As he crawled, his vision faded in and out, so he depended on Chuuya’s hollow laugh for guidance. He weakly grabbed Chuuya’s dangling hand before letting go.

Chuuya fell besides Dazai. He sputtered out blood. “You fucking asshole.” His body shuddered with every cough. “I almost died. Why didn’t you stop me sooner?” Dazai could hear his partner’s chest heaving, desperately expelling the blood from his lungs.

“...I’m sorry,” Dazai barely whispered.

“You better get me back safely, shithead.” Chuuya collapsed next to Dazai. His unconscious body continued to quake even though Corruption was over.

Dazai took Chuuya into his arms, but he couldn’t lift him any further. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t do anything. He was powerless. He stared with guilt at his helpless partner, wanting to help him, but he couldn’t even save himself. He was completely out of control. Was this what it was like? To completely lose control of your body? To be entirely vulnerable? Was this what Chuuya felt every time he used Corruption? Dazai had always assumed he felt nothing, but at that moment, a deep fear set in along with his realization, one that would cause ceaseless trembling. A fear of powerlessness, of vulnerability, of betrayal by your own body, and of death. But it wasn’t just a fear, it was Dazai’s current reality, one Chuuya must have confronted every time.

Dazai’s brain began glitching and eventually crashed as he fell uselessly next to his partner. I’m sorry, Chuuya...

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[kvhottie]

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Spring. Taisho Era Japan, 1920. There is a small percentage of the population that is born with mysterious, magical tattoos. When these people find each other, an inexplicable feeling runs down their spine and they somehow know the other person is just like them—especially if the tattoos have a pre-determined affinity to each other.

That is exactly how Kageyama, the young noble, and Hinata, the blacksmith’s son, met.

Rating: Mature |Pairing: KageHina |Tags: 1920′s, Magical Tattoos, Soulmates

[Read the full fic on Ao3]

Together: pages flipping, sporadic comments, and bodies next to each other despite the size of the bed—this is how they spent the majority of the next few weeks.

At first it was just shoulders touching. When they lay on their stomachs to read, Hinata would lean in just a tinge, and Kageyama would grumble, shoving him back with his shoulder in a playful manner. But Hinata never relented, each time flashing one of those shameless smiles as if that alone would let him get away with anything. And he was right, it did. With just that smile Kageyama carefully, with bated breath, leaned on Hinata as well and bashfully buried his face deeper into his book. Hinata was always so warm, and just from their shoulders touching Kageyama could feel that warmth enshroud him. He liked it.

Then, it was arms flush against each other. Each kept one by their side and the other holding the book up when they lay flat on their back. And even when the working arm tired, the next move logically being to switch to the other arm, neither of them budged from fear of being the first one to break the contact. But one of them had to give in, and when he did, breaking the contact to hold the book up, the other would turn to lie on his stomach and prop himself up on his elbows. They'd then touch arms this way, forearm to upper arm, again and again, cycling through the different positions until Hinata had to go home.

They never acknowledged this behavior. There wasn't a need to.

With them, everything flowed with such ease. From the beginning there was never a question or doubt—they were meant to be like this, it was natural, as if it couldn't be helped. Yes, this magnetism couldn't be helped.

It seemed to progress in increments. Like the lightness in Hinata's singsong laughter when they'd fight over a book, or the fluffy hair that brushed against Kageyama's cheek when either would lean closer to show the other a a passage. Gentle, like those rare moments when Hinata spoke quietly into Kageyama's ear, confused, asking Kageyama to explain the line that his nimble fingers were pointing to. Those very fingers that loved to trace the edges of Kageyama's tattoo at even the slightest taste of boredom—leisurely, lovingly.

Next was a timbre that was reserved for the other. Kageyama's steady, calm voice when reading aloud to a Hinata that was feeling particularly lazy on that day, and how it undulated from slight irritation when he assumed Hinata was sleeping, to tenderness when the smaller boy assured him, golden eyes wide and attentive. And Hinata's playful and mischievous ramblings, which turned to comforting whispers at the sight of a weary Kageyama.

It was so different from their voices outside of that room.

With others, Kageyama's tone was cold and harsh—but Hinata had never heard him be as frigid as when his parents attempted to kick Hinata out one unlucky afternoon. All Hinata could do was burn holes into the floor as his parents went on and on about the difference in their social class, and how Hinata just wanted to use their precious son, and that Kageyama had nothing to benefit from the relationship. Kageyama simply pulled Hinata behind him, as if guarding him from his parent's insults, and turned his eyes into daggers. With his chin held high and a voice so purposefully acidic that Hinata's hair stood on end he said that they 'made a deal' and as long as Kageyama eventually worked in the government, they had no say in his life. And that was that. Kageyama intertwined his fingers in Hinata's, gave his hand a good squeeze, and dragged him up to the safe heaven of his room. Never again did his parents revisit the issue; they merely treated Hinata like he was air. Sure, that also didn't make Hinata feel bright and peachy, but it was much better than outright disrespect.

And, well…by the end of the month, the slightest distance felt unnatural. Kageyama's lap became Hinata's favorite place to rest his head, and even though the backing of the bed wasn't the least bit comfortable, Kageyama would sit up and lean against it just to spoil him. It wasn't too bad though, after all, Kageyama would then absentmindedly run his hand through Hinata's hair as he read to him aloud. There were a few times where Hinata would fall asleep, his light snore an obvious signal, but more often Kageyama would peek out of his book to find gold watching him through wispy eyelashes, and a blissful smile gracing Hinata's face. He never quite understood what Hinata enjoyed about hearing him drone through textbooks of zumi history and tattoo cases.

Hinata had once tried to explain that he simply liked Kageyama's reading voice—the steady tone felt reassuring, and much like how his mood circle tattoo would be overcome with a pale blue, he would feel a calm take over him. It was drastically different from the yellow and red splashes he felt when they were bickering, or the icy gray color that tainted his tattoo when he heard Kageyama speak to his parents.

"To me," Hinata pointed at his mood tattoo one day, "this blue, Kageyama's pale blue, is the prettiest color I've ever seen."

Honest. And crystal clear, like always. It never failed to impress Kageyama how easily Hinata expressed his feelings.

Kageyama, on the other hand, had a harder time. Though his flushed cheeks and averted eyes were a big enough sign of those words' impact on him, Hinata mercilessly pushed him for more. He teased Kageyama, trying to get in a good poke of his reddened cheeks while asking why he was so embarrassed, but Kageyama just slapped his hands away, face growing hotter each second.

Heat—the effect of Hinata's touch bubbled like boiling water: warm, then hot, and now searing. And it lingered, clinging to his skin and mind for hours after Hinata had already gone home. It even stuck to his sheet, along with that sweet vanilla scent of Hinata's. Just like his breathing when asleep, that joyful laughter, and every little detail of Hinata's he had engrained in his mind, that scent seemed to follow him around, only stoking more fire underneath his skin.

He couldn't shake it off.

There was a fever and ache inside him.

Hinata was having difficulty sitting still. He kept shifting around in the plush black seat of the Kageyama's deep red Mitsubishi Model A. The four-door sedan was a rarity not only because it was Japanese-made, but also because it was reserved for high-ranking government officials to travel in luxury. Hinata almost felt ashamed that his butt was touching this moving treasure.

"You're going to give yourself seat burn," Kageyama cautioned, his slight amusement at Hinata's reactions to high-class items an undertone in his voice.

Hinata slid closer to the window, "But it's so freaking polished. And look how high up we are." He ran his index finger along the golden piping of the windowsill. "Where are we going?"

"On a date to Ginza," Kageyama quickly muttered, all of a sudden fascinated with his cuticles.

Fuck. His mind was just a chorus of 'fuck' right now.

"Ginza?!" Hinata gasped, whipping his head away from the car window and redirecting his wide-eyed excitement to Kageyama. "I've never been to Ginza! Oh—wait, a date?"

"Huh? The date?" Kageyama averted his eyes and turned his head towards his window. "Today's May 1st."

"No, not that. You said—"

"Why are you asking for the date? Did you have other plans today?"

"Oh, no. I didn't. " Hinata slouched back on the seat with a dry chuckle, looking down at his thumbs as they spun around each other. "Yeah…sorry, I thought you said something else. Thanks for reminding me."

"You should at least know the date, idiot," Kageyama grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. Jerk."

That was the last thing Hinata said the whole ride, and Kageyama knew it was completely his fault.

He was the worst. He was the fucking worst. This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing, romantic (but subtly romantic) break from all the research they had been doing. And he was already messing up.

"We're here," announced the chauffeur, who then got out of the car and walked around to open the door for Kageyama. "Where would you like me to wait for you?"

Kageyama hopped out and waved his hand dismissively, "You don't need to wait for me. Just return to this spot at 11pm tonight and in order to take me home."

"Yes, sir, " the chauffeur replied with a nod. He closed the door after Hinata, got in the car again, and quickly drove off.

Hinata stretched his arms over his head, a small yawn slipping from his lips. "So, what's your plan?"

"First, I wanted to try this place here." Kageyama pointed to the iridescent white, two-story European-style café right behind Hinata. "I hear it's really popular right now. It's got drinks and desserts.."

Hinata smirked, "Looks nice. What, are you trying to be a 'mobo' now?"

"A mobo?"

"Modern boy, Kageyama." Hinata explained with a face-up flat hand pointed at the café as if to display it, "You know, the counterpart to 'moga', or modern girl?"

Kageyama furrowed his eyebrows, "I have no idea what you are talking about. Why are you using English phrases?"

"It's what's hip now." Hinata walked towards an available round table in the front porch of the café. " I have no idea how you live with parents that are obsessed with western culture yet aren't aware of any of this."

Kageyama pulled out the pale green, metal garden chair and sat down. "I'm sure you can tell by now that we don't get along too well. I try not to involve myself in their hobbies."

"True…" Hinata sat down across from Kageyama and leaned on the table with his elbows, and brought the long white menu to his face. "Damn, everything is so expensive."

Kageyama read through the menu as well, trying to decide whether he wanted a cappuccino or a plain black coffee. "Obviously I'm going to pay, dumbass," he muttered indifferently.

Hinata put down his menu with a scrunched nose and pout. "But then it's like I'm taking advantage of you. Your parents would flip and say 'I told you so'."

"No, you aren't." Kageyama sighed, glancing up to meet Hinata's eyes, "I know you aren't like that. Anyhow, I'm using my own money, so who cares what they think. Just…" Kageyama looked down at his menu, his index finger playing with the creased corners, "Just let me treat you. I want to."

"Okay," Hinata relented with a grin. "But only because I'm super broke."

The waitress approached their table and pulled out her notepad. "Hello, sirs. Do you know what you want to order?"

"Can I get a large cappuccino and an almond biscotti?"

She turned to Hinata. "And you, sir?"

"Hmm…I want a fruit tart and a lemonade."

"Okay, your orders will be right up." She took their menus and left.

Kageyama leaned back on his chair, "You don't drink coffee?"

"No." Hinata scratched the back of his neck, "So, there was this one time my mom gave me some and I was literally bouncing off the walls. It doesn't really work with my system."

"That's true." Kageyama grinned. "You are incredibly hyperactive already."

Hinata kicked his shin under the table, "Oh, shut up."

"Ow. I'd punch you if we weren't in public. " Kageyama bent down to rub the spot. "You should have told me you don't drink coffee. I would have taken you somewhere else."

"I don't mind. There are other drinks on the menu." Hinata crossed his arms and gave Kageyama a curious look. "What's all this for, anyway? Are you just taking me along to places you've been wanting to go to but were too scared to go by yourself?"

"If that's all this was, I could just make Fumiko-obasan or my chauffeur accompany me." Kageyama tapped his finger on the table. "I just wanted us to take a break from all the research. I feel both of us were getting quite frustrated with the little we found."

"Your orders," the waitress interrupted, placing each of their items in front of them. "Enjoy."

Kageyama nodded as she turned to leave and took a spoonful of sugar from the ceramic jar in the center of the table, slowly mixing it into his cappuccino. He took a quick sip, his face overcast with strong displeasure, and then continued to add more sugar. Once he was satisfied with the unreasonable number of spoonfuls he had lumped into his coffee, he tasted it again and declared, "That's better."

"You are basically drinking pure sugar," mocked Hinata while sipping on his lemonade. "What's the point of drinking coffee if you don't like the taste?"

"I like the taste…" muttered Kageyama. "I just don't like how bitter it is."

Hinata chuckled. "Okay, sure." He plunged his fork into the fruit tart, cut off a big chunk, and joyfully munched on it. The kid always made everything he ate look particularly appetizing. And Kageyama couldn't deny the shiver that ran down his back with the way Hinata licked his spoon. "So, all that reading and we barely learned anything new."

Kageyama dipped his almond biscotti into his cappuccino, "Yeah, as I thought, there aren't any available records of cases similar to yours. But I've been reading the books the central library sent me on this ward and many of the neighboring wards' history around 1910, the year you were presumably separated from your family." He bit off the dipped piece of the biscotti and quickly chewed on it. "It was quite a messy year…"

"Really? How?"

"Well a few years before 1910 there was the war we won against Russia, and afterwards there were all those riots and that unsteady political climate. And 1910 was the start of us annexing Korea…"

Hinata chewed on his fork, "So you're saying either the war or some riot left me an orphan?"

"Maybe. Or—and look this is a stretch but it gives us more to work with—but maybe you were the child of the staff of some prestigious family?"

"And where the hell did you get this theory from?"

Kageyama paused to dip the remainder of his biscotti and inhaled it. "Well…" He took a sip of his cappuccino. "There was this really tragic event in 1910 in the Shinkawa ward were they murdered and set on fire the Akiyama household. The records said none of the noble family members survived."

"That's so sad." Hinata swallowed the last bite of his tart. "Did it say who killed them?"

"It didn't go into much detail, but supposedly it was some radical nationalist group. They all got caught and sentenced to death."

"And...you think I was the kid of a family that helped the Akiyama family?"

Kageyama nodded. "Fumiko-obasan's family has served my family for many years. I thought maybe you belonged to the family that served the Akiyamas. The records say nothing about what happened to the rest of the household. I'm sure some of them were also killed, but there had to be some servants who made it out alive."

"Still, I could be anyone. Why this family?"

Kageyama considered his coffee. "Well, they lived across the Sumida River."

"And?" Hinata asked. Of course he could sense Kageyama knew more.

"And because my tattoo morphed into the character for 'aki' when I was reading the records on the Akiyama family murder."

"What?!" Hinata coughed and grabbed at his lemonade, sipping the last bit before croaking out, "For real?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure this is more than just a hunch. If you were a servant child of the Akiyama family, it would explain why they found you by the river, and why you were injured."

"I'm sold." Hinata fiddled with his straw. "So what do we do now?"

"I need to talk to my parents. The head of the Akiyama household—Akiyama Haruto—was a viscount and also in the house of peers. And that means my father knew him."

"Whoa, that's crazy."

"Yeah, it is." Kageyama waved at the waitress for the bill. "I also have the town hall meeting tomorrow. I'll come by in the evening so we can talk about all this."

"Okay." Hinata beamed, then glanced down at his watch. "It's only four. What are we doing next?"

The waitress gave them their check and Kageyama stood up, leaving the bills on the table. "Next we're going to a tailor shop. My mom wants me to pick up a suit."

Hinata stood up and walked beside Kageyama. "You see, you are taking me out on errands."

"No I'm not," Kageyama huffed. "When's your birthday again?"

Hinata frowned. "What's that have to do with any of this?"

"Just answer, you idiot."

Hinata pulled at his suspenders. "June."

"Perfect." Kageyama grabbed Hinata's hand and quickened his pace. "The shop is two blocks from here."

"What do you mean, perfect?"

Kageyama just kept impatiently pulling Hinata towards the shop while racking his brains for a fairly smooth way to get him to try on new clothes. It was hard to concentrate, though. With every second that passed, Hinata's hand warmed up in his, and his own heart beat got just a little bit faster. And with his thoughts distracted, he wondered if his palms were sweaty, or if Hinata could feel his rapid heartbeat through their linked hands? Soon enough, they arrived at the door of the shop and Kageyama reluctantly dropped his hand. The bell overhead chimed their arrival, and they approached a middle-aged man in the corner.

"Hello, Sato-san." Kageyama extended his hand for a handshake.

Sato pushed up his glasses, a warm smile rounding his lips. "It's been a while, Kageyama-kun. Are you here to pick up the suit your mother ordered?"

"Yes. And something else."

"Something else?"

Kageyama pulled Hinata in front of him so Sato could get a good look, "Do you think you can help me pick out a new outfit for this guy from the pre-made pieces you have here?" Kageyama scrutinized Hinata's small frame. "Do you have things in his size?"

"Wait, what!" Hinata exclaimed as he whipped around to face Kageyama.

"Shut up. It's a birthday present."

"But—"

Kageyama covered Hinata's mouth. "Just. Take. It."

"Fine," Hinata mumbled through Kageyama's fingers and tugged his hand down. His cheeks were turning pink. "…Thank you. I'll accept it."

"Oho?" Sato chuckled. "It's rare of you to have a friend."

Hinata placed his hands at his hips. "Yeah, I'm his only one. Unsurprisingly."

Kageyama lightly shoved Hinata towards Sato. "Stop yapping so much and get yourself measured. Sato-san, you'll probably have to use the kid sizes."

Sato laughed. "I might have to. But I also think the styles we have in that section would suit his body a bit better." Sato pulled at the measuring tape that rested over his shoulder and started by measuring Hinata's shoulders. "What kind of clothes do you like …what's your name, boy?"

"It's Hinata Shouyou." He glanced at Kageyama, then around the store, and finally down at his own clothes. "I don't know if this stuff is gonna be my style. But Kageyama always looks really sharp and cool in his clothing…"

Kageyama bit back a small grin, his gaze moving with Sato's hands and taking in every inch. In moments like this he could unabashedly stare at the smaller boy, taking note of Hinata's slender neck, his toned shoulders and biceps, and that thin waist that would easily fit in Kageyama's embrace.

"Okay, all set." Sato patted Hinata's head. "Let's go look at the pieces and decide together. Right this way."

They walked to the back wall of the store, the section a few feet away from the dressing room. Everything was much smaller in size so it was pretty obvious it was for kids. Hinata crossed his arms and pouted, his facial expression an interesting mix of embarrassed and offended.

Sato chuckled with just one look at Hinata face. "Don't be too mad. The good news is that you only fit in the biggest youth sizes. I'm sure you'll outgrow it in no time."

"I hope," Hinata sighed.

"So," Sato clapped, "looking at the selection, what are we feeling?"

"I want to use a suspender…I like the look. Also, black slacks, 'cause I get dirty easily."

"So you are a kid," Kageyama scoffed.

Hinata glared. "Bakageyama."

"Suspenders and black slacks, huh." Sato examined the pants display "How about these?" He picked up black slacks with thin, light grey pinstripes. "They're black, but a little different from what you have already."

Hinata softly passed his hand over the fabric. "Yeah. These are nice."

"Good. And they go well with these black suspenders." Sato handed Hinata black leather suspenders with a silver plate across the front bands. "The leather is durable, and the silver detailing is quite fashionable right now."

"Whoa." Hinata beamed. "This is amazing."

"Hmm, what should we do about the shirt?" Sato glanced over at Kageyama. "Do you have any opinions?"

Kageyama took off his boater hat and scanned the wall, his eyes stopping at a light blue button up. "Is that one short-sleeved?"

Sato pulled out a shirt in Hinata's size. "Yes. And a beautiful color, too."

"Hinata once told me he really liked light blue," Kageyama said with a smirk, eyes locked with Hinata's.

"I do." Hinata's eyes glimmered. "I love it."

They continued staring at each other, a heated tension sparking between their eyes, until Sato stood in front of Hinata to hold the shirt against him. He yet again nodded in approval, "Yes, this is a great pick, Kageyama-kun. Should we get a tie for him?"

Kageyama shook his head. "I think a bowtie that matches his pants would look cute—I mean, good."

"Oh, great idea." Sato flashed a wide grin. "I see all of Fumiko-san's nagging has taught you something."

"Yeah, I've learned a lot."

Sato held up two black pinstripe bowties by Hinata's neck to compare. "That's wonderful. You should let her know that, you know. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear you say it."

"I will."

"Well, I think we're all done here." Sato ushered Hinata to the dressing room. "If you have any trouble, just let me know."

Hinata took the pile of clothing into the dressing room and closed the curtain behind him.

"Oh!" Sato snapped his fingers. "Hinata-kun, what's your shoe size? You can't wear those lace up boots with that outfit."

"I'm 25 centimeters," Hinata shouted between the hushed curses he let out under his breath.

"As expected, his feet are also small…" Sato bent down in front of the shoes display. "Oxfords would be the way to go. But what color?"

Kageyama ambled to him and leaned over. "The dark brown ones look nice. Give him those."

Sato slipped his hand through the curtain to pass Hinata the shoes and Kageyama sauntered over to the plushy seat in front of the dressing room. He plopped down and stuffed his hand in his pockets, twirling a few coins in his pocket to pass the time. It was a little while until Hinata emerged from the dressing room. And when he did, Kageyama felt his heart get just a bit more full. Like his vest was too tight.

The first thing those golden, wavering eyes did once in full view of Kageyama was search for a reaction. Kageyama wasn't sure what Hinata found displayed on his warmed face, whether it was the suffocating desire to hug him, or that inner voice that was screaming you are so fucking cute, but whatever it was, it made Hinata's face burn a deep crimson. And he snapped his head down, looking at the floor to hide his face, but Sato didn't let him off easy.

"Aw, are you feeling embarrassed?" Sato teased as straightened Hinata's bowtie. "You look good. Hold your head high."

Kageyama cleared his throat and stood up, trying to think of ice cream, the Antarctic, ice baths—anything to get the heat to leave his face. He walked over to Hinata and pulled off his newspaper boy hat. "Here. It's better this way."

Hinata combed his fingers through his hat hair and let out a tiny laugh. "My hair probably looks horrible." He quieted down, biting his lip, lowering his gaze, and looking up at Kageyama through those thick eyelashes of his. "Help me fix it?"

Oh my fucking god. This kid was going to be the death of him.

Kageyama simply nodded. For one because his breath was trapped in his throat. And also because he was sure he'd say something extremely stupid the moment he opened his mouth. He gently ran his hands through Hinata's hair, trying to fluff up the top that was flat from the hat, and sweeping the sides away from Hinata's face.

"Do you want some hair grease?" Sato offered, extending a small tin to Kageyama. "His hair seems hard to budge."

"Thanks." Kageyama took some and warmed it up in his palms, repeating the motions he tried before. This time the hair listened. "There. Now you look less dumb."

"Even with the insult, I'm still thankful."

Sato strolled over to the bag on top of the register counter. "By the way, this is the suit your mom ordered. I'm assuming Hinata-kun will be wearing what he has on out of the store?"

Kageyama blushed. "Hinata, bring your stuff from the dressing room and we'll have Sato-san put it in a bag."

Hinata dropped his things into the bag Sato held out for him. "Isn't it a waste for me to keep these clothes on? "

"It's not." Kageyama grabbed the bag from the counter. "Our day's not over quite yet."

Hinata grinned. "Please tell me there is food involved. I'm starving."

"There is." Kageyama turned to Sato. "Please charge all of Hinata's things to my tab, not my parent's. I'll come pay off my tab some time next week." He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure my mom will have ordered something else by then.."

Sato waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry too much about it. It was fun."

Hinata bowed at the entranceway. "Thanks for all your help Sato-san!"

Sato chuckled and patted Hinata's head. "You're adorable. Take care of Kageyama-kun for me, okay?"

Hinata nodded and followed Kageyama, who was already hurrying to their next destination.

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