#(I actually kept this layout up well over a year for that reason I think also because it was 02 Hikari My Love based)

[bella-rose29]

The Greatest Thing - Lockwood x fem!reader

requested by anon: Hi, I love the way you write! I was wondering (if requests are still open) if you could write a Lockwood x reader where reader's mother died when she was little for some reason, and by taking on a case reader and Lockwood find themselves having to fight the ghost of reader's mother ? And maybe even Lockwood calming Reader down after the mission? Feel free to change parts. (btw: sorry if English is terrible, I'm Italian, English is not my native language)

my lovely you don't need to apologise for your English, it's better than a lot of actual English people I know (myself included) <333

sorry this took me so long, but hopefully you enjoy!!

for reference, the song that's mentioned is specifically Nat King Cole's version of Nature Boy from 1948 <3

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing (only a lil), brief mentions of cancer (not explicit though), idk if there's anything else

I did just copy and paste the tag list from DTH part 9 so feel free to not read this if you don't want to! <3

It was nearly one in the morning when the telephone rang. 

This was odd, because the phone had been broken for a little over twenty years. 

It was more sentimental than anything else, and it was kept as a reminder of someone long gone, as was the typewriter that sat on the shelves next to the telephone, on top of the case it came in so that it could be admired. There was a record player too, although that was in perfect working condition, unlike the other two objects. 

The ringing of the telephone woke up the inhabitant of the bedroom, and he groggily rubbed at his eyes as he sat up and turned the light on. The glare made him wince, but when he realised the broken telephone on his shelf was ringing, his eyes shot wide open. He scrambled for the working phone on his bedside table, trying not to panic too much and failing as he punched in the numbers. The line rang three times before someone picked up, and his breathing was shaky. 

“Hello? I think there’s a ghost in my bedroom.”

~~~

“Lockwood? You awake?” Y/n pushed open the door to the library, making note of the dim light that shone under the door. Her voice was quiet, just in case he’d actually managed to fall asleep, but as soon as she stepped inside she saw him sat in his usual armchair with a book.

“Everything alright?” he asked. 

“Not really. Dad’s just phoned me.” She took the chair next to him, watching as he put a bookmark in place and held the book closed on his lap. 

“Ah, that’s who was calling.” He frowned. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“He thinks there’s a ghost in his room. Said the old telephone that Mum bought ages ago started ringing just now. He wants us to come and check it out as soon as we can.”

“How do we know it’s not just… someone calling?”

“It’s broken, Lockwood. Has been for ages. Pretty sure it was broken when Mum got it, but she thought it looked nice.”

“Right. Well… you know the house layout, and where things are. And if you’re not too tired… I suppose we could head over now? Only if you wanted. Your father is welcome to stay here if he wants, too.”

“Thank you, Lockwood. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep, not knowing Dad’s in danger. And he won’t want to go outside at this time of night anyway, not without a safe route to somewhere else. You sure you’re alright with going on a case now?”

“Of course I am, Y/n. Especially for you.” She tried not to flush too much at how sincerely he had said it and pushed out of the chair. 

“Okay then. I’ll just… go and get changed.” She was still in her pyjamas from earlier. Lockwood was, predictably, in a suit, just without the jacket and tie. She was certain they were a second skin on him now. 

“Meet me by the front door in ten? I’ll get the kit ready.”

“Sure. Don’t forget the biscuits like you did last time.”

~~~

It took five minutes of quietly moving around the attic so as not to wake Lucy for Y/n to get changed. She wasn’t entirely successful in being silent, since the floorboards creaked every two seconds and she fell over trying to get her jumper on because she got stuck inside it and didn’t see the corner of her bed, but somehow Lucy slept through it all. Y/n headed downstairs, wincing when the steps groaned under her weight, and went to find Lockwood in the basement. He was nearly done packing up the bags, and when he caught sight of her his smile was blinding. 

“You all ready to go?”

“Yeah, think so. I’ve been thinking, about what the Source could be?” she said, although her voice lifted at the end to make it sound more like she was asking him a question. Lockwood nodded, zipping up the second kit bag and handing it to her when she reached for it. “I feel like the phone is too obvious, but if it’s some sort of Poltergeist it might be a good idea to check anyway. There’s quite a lot of things that could be a Source, actually. Mum loved collecting old stuff, said it reminded her of her childhood.”

“She wasn’t an agent, was she?”

“No. No Talent. Not with a capital ‘t’ anyway. She was amazing at loads of other things though.” They were in the hallway now, grabbing their rapiers out of the stand. Lockwood shrugged on his coat. 

“What do you know about the history of the house? Any murders or deaths that could result in a Visitor?”

“No. There was Mum’s, but Dad got the place sorted out as soon as he could. DEPRAC came in and cleared the room.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can find, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she said when he opened the front door and gestured for her to go first. Lockwood must have called a cab, because now there sat one just in front of the gate. “I told Dad to get into the kitchen and turn the table lamp on, ‘cause a couple years ago he got iron strips put in the floor, so he should be alright in there. We can get this taxi to wait for him and bring him here, right?”

“Of course. That was a smart move, both the iron strips and your suggestion. We’ll make the kitchen our main retreat, then.”

Ten minutes later they were pulling up outside her childhood home, and as soon as the taxi stopped Y/n was opening the door and rushing to greet her dad. Lockwood was talking to the driver, paying him for the journey they’d just taken and asking if he might stay a little longer to take a passenger back to 35 Portland Row. 

“Hi, Dad, you alright?” Y/n breathed, wrapping her arms around her father. 

“Been better, love. I’m glad you and your boyfriend are here though.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dad,” she said, feeling heat creep up her neck. “Lockwood’s my boss.”

“I just thought that since you talk about him all the time, y’know? Lockwood this and Lockwood that.”

“I’m gonna walk away now, I think. Have fun with the ghost!” she joked, knowing that she would never leave her father in a house where there was a possible haunting. “We, uh… we thought it might be best if you went to Portland Row for tonight while we work here. It’s a standard procedure to not have the clients in the house, but normally they’ve got somewhere to go and a bit more notice, and Lockwood said you can take his bed if you wanted. We have also got a sofa, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as a bed.”

“Alright, love. You’ll be alright, just the two of you?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it he’s keeping that cab for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning, love.” He must have known that she would ask him to leave the house because he reached behind him and picked up a bag, hoisting it over his shoulder and planting a quick kiss on her cheek. 

“Bye, Dad!”

She watched as he sent a small wave over his shoulder, shaking Lockwood by the hand and thanking him for the offer of a place to stay, and then he was getting in the taxi and going back the way that she and Lockwood had come from. 

Lockwood had the keys to the house in his hand, and before he unlocked the front door (her father had locked it when he’d seen the taxi approach) he turned back. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I can do this, Lockwood. For my Dad. Besides, if something’s only just surfacing now from one of the antiques, it can’t be too bad can it? I mean, it didn’t hurt my dad.”

~~~

As it turned out, it was quite bad. 

Not in a holy-shit-this-ghost-will-kill-us way, but more in a holy-shit-why-does-this-house-feel-worse-than-a-graveyard-at-night? way. 

Y/n had grown up in this house, had only really moved out two years ago, and she had never once felt unsafe or uneasy. Walking around it now, though, doing initial readings of sensations and temperature, she wondered how her father had managed to stay positive. Most things she just got echoes of her own childhood, her laughter as she ran through the halls while her parents chased her when she was three, baking in the kitchen and licking the bowl when she was five, crying when she tripped and slid down the last couple of steps on the stairs and grazed her knee at the bottom, and her mother pressing kisses to her hair and a plaster to her tiny injury when she was six. But underneath it all there was a malaise, something unsettling that seeped into Y/n and Lockwood’s bones and made them cautious. 

“Does it normally feel like this?” he asked when they made it to the top of the stairs and around most of the rooms, one hand on his rapier hilt. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time. 

“No. Dad would have said something.” The thermometer beeped, alerting them of a drop in temperature. Lockwood checked it where it sat attached to his belt. 

“Minus two. It was three degrees just now.” They stood in silence on the landing, both looking at the thermometer. “Well, only one door left, I suppose. Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” She made her way to the door of her parents’ bedroom and took a shaky breath before placing her hand on the doorknob. Immediately a rush of memories hit her, from when her parents first moved in after their marriage, to the day she was born in that room, to the countless times Y/n had crept in in the night because she’d had a bad dream, up to the point when her mother had last touched the handle. It went further, but the force of the memory of her mother made her push the door open and step over the threshold. 

Lockwood was right behind her, and she heard him draw in a breath and reach into his coat for his sunglasses. Y/n whipped around to look at him just as he pushed them over his eyes, catching the last of his squint while he warily studied the bed. “Why are you putting those on?”  she asked, not liking the wobble that accompanied it. 

“Death glow on the bed. Are…” he hesitated for a moment, and she imagined his eyes darting between her and the bed behind her. “Are you absolutely sure that your father got the house cleaned out?” His voice was soft, like he was trying to not agitate her too much, but she got defensive anyway. 

“Yes. He wouldn’t lie about something like that, not when he had a six year old living in a possibly haunted house!”

“But… and I’m not doubting you, or your father, I just need to know, were you here when the house got cleaned out after your mother passed?”

“No, Dad sent me to my friend’s house. He said it wouldn’t be good for us to be in the house while they were working.”

“So you never actually saw people cleaning out this place?” She froze, catching on to what Lockwood was getting at. 

“No,” she whispered, turning to look back at the bed. Her mother had died in it over ten years ago from untreated cancer, completely unexpectedly. She’d gone peacefully at least, in her sleep, but it had broken the two members of the family that had been left behind. Her father had told her that he’d call DEPRAC and get the house cleaned out, to keep the two of them safe, but now as she grabbed a hold of the doorknob again she realised there was no memory of people coming in to do that job. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

“Hey,” Lockwood said, sunglasses still perched on his nose. “It’s alright. We’re agents, and we’re Lockwood and Co. I know… I know this won’t be easy, Y/n/n, but we can do this. You can do this. Just breathe in, and back out. Good. Right. Have a think: what in here could be the Source? Hey, focus, Y/n.” His tone grew a little harsher as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. 

“Why wouldn’t he clean the house?” Her breath was coming too quickly now, and her eyes couldn’t settle on any one thing. “Why, Lockwood? Why wouldn’t he do it?”

“Because sometimes we love someone too much to have them gone forever.” Her eyes finally stopped moving around, instead meeting his and making her draw in a breath at the vulnerability in his eyes. His voice had been rough with emotion, and immediately she thought of the door on the landing back at 35 Portland Row. As quickly as he had opened up, his walls had snapped back into place, and he was leaning back and smiling softly at her. “Let’s try not to focus on that too much, yeah? Maybe the phone?” As though he had summoned it, the old telephone on the shelf started ringing as soon as he finished talking. “Okay… that was weird.”

“It’s not even got wires attached to it,” Y/n breathed. 

“Visitor is definitely a Poltergeist then. There’s no apparition which is good, because no ghost-touch. That’s also bad though. No way of really knowing what the Source could be.” She tuned Lockwood out, knowing that he would just be talking himself through the situation they were in, and kept on staring at the telephone. It hadn’t stopped ringing. 

Music suddenly started blaring out of the record player, despite there not being any record to play. It was a song that Y/n recognised, although she couldn’t remember where from. 

“Is that… is that ‘Nature Boy’?” Lockwood asked, glancing incredulously at the record player. 

“Oh my god. Yeah. It was Mum’s favourite song, specifically this version.” Her mother would often be found with it playing on the record player in the study downstairs, and she’d told Y/n the story behind it a million times. She’d been adamant that Y/n never forget the words, and now as it played she knew it was her mother haunting this room. 

“I think it’s broken,” Lockwood said when the song skipped back to repeat the last section of the song. 

“The greatest thing…”

“No, it’s not. Maybe it’s the record player? Maybe that’s the Source?” The music stopped, and she knew she was wrong. “Okay… so the telephone is the Source?” At once the music started again, but from a different point. 

“But very wise…”

“Is… is your mother helping us?” 

“I think so.” 

“… Why?”

“Maybe she just wants to move on?”

“But very wise…”

“Okay this is freaking me out a little bit now,” she said, moving over to the telephone. It stopped ringing when she got close enough to reach out and touch it, and she glanced at Lockwood. “Silver net?” He wordlessly passed her one, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. His face was impassive and she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but he was focused on the record player. It had continued playing from where her mother’s ghost had skipped back to help them, and was finishing up the last lines of the song. 

“The greatest thing… you’ll ever learn… is just to love… and be loved… in return…”

The room became silent after that, and both Lockwood and Y/n stood staring at the record player. Nothing moved until Y/n finally broke out of whatever world she had disappeared into, slowly placing the silver net over the telephone and wrapping it carefully. At once the temperature lifted, and just before she had finished containing the Source of her mother’s ghost she heard a sigh in the air, as though someone was finally being allowed some peace. 

“We should head over to the furnaces,” Lockwood finally said. “Unless you wanted to put it in a silver glass case?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it in the morning.”

“Alright. Here, let me…” he stepped over and gently removed the telephone from her hands. “Why don’t you go and sort out the kitchen, get all our things together? I’ll get a taxi for us.” Y/n nodded, not taking her eyes off of the bundle in his arms. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” She was unfocused, untethered to this world, and his voice was muffled. She vaguely noted Lockwood putting the Source down and coming closer to her, and then he was hugging her tightly, pressing her into his chest and his lips to her head when she drew in a shaky breath and sobbed. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

She wasn’t sure how long they were there for, her crying into his dress shirt and him rubbing her back and whispering softly to her, but by the time she pulled back, her sobs reduced to slight hitches in her breath, her throat was sore and her eyes puffy. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Y/n.”

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when the telephone rang. 

This wasn’t odd, because this time it was Lockwood phoning Portland Row to let them know that the ghost had been dealt with, and he and Y/n were coming back. 

Y/n had remained silent for the duration of the taxi ride back to 35 Portland Row, staring out the window with her eyes looking at something that Lockwood couldn’t see. He knew what it was like, to be in her position, but he had no idea how to comfort her other than just being here. She’d gripped him earlier, when they were hugging, like she thought he might be the next one to leave. It had broken his heart and made it swell at the same time that she had held him so tightly, but now he was left to wonder how else he might help. 

She was still silent when they walked through the front door. 

Her father came out of the living room to greet them, and Y/n had frozen, rapier mid-air while she went to put it away in the umbrella stand. Lockwood had put his own rapier away, and the sound made her snap out of whatever trance she had been in and finish her previous action before taking one last look at her father and running upstairs. Lockwood shrugged off his long coat, hanging it on the stand. 

“It was her mother,” he said, looking at the stairs instead of at the man he was talking to. “I think she’s upset that you lied to her, about clearing out the house.”

“I couldn’t-” he broke off, coughing slightly to clear his throat when emotion clogged it up. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I know.” He could barely look at that door on the landing most of the time. He turned to face Y/n’s father. “But you made that house unsafe. You got lucky. She was a Poltergeist, but completely unaggressive like they normally are. Very lucky, in fact, because there was no chance of you being ghost-touched. But still, you should have told her.” The man nodded, tears starting to fall on his cheeks. 

“I suppose you put the Source in the furnaces then?”

“No, actually. I asked Y/n what she wanted to do, and she said she’d talk to you. You could keep it, so long as it was in a sealed silver glass box. You wouldn’t have to lose her again.”

“That would be great, thank you. Is it safe here overnight?”

“I’ll put it in the storeroom downstairs,” Lockwood smiled, one of his classic customer service smiles, and moved towards the kitchen. “Whereabouts did you decide to sleep in the end? The living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, goodnight, sir.”

“You’re a good lad, Mr. Lockwood. I can see why my Y/n likes you so much. Goodnight,” he waved, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind him. Lockwood stood in the hallway, Source still wrapped in the silver net, and tried not to blush too much at the way those words had been said. 

~~~

“What are you doing in here?”

Y/n jumped at the sound of Lockwood’s voice, and immediately felt a little guilty for intruding on his personal space. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to wake Lucy up, ‘cause she hasn’t been sleeping well recently, so I came in here. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” He went to grab his pyjamas, then did a double-take. “Is that my shirt?”

“Oh.” She looked down and flushed. “I didn’t… I forgot that by not going up to the attic I wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, so… yeah.”

“Oh.” 

She wished he would say more, because his gaze was as heavy as the silence that settled over them after that single syllable. 

“Lockwood?”

A pause. “Yeah?”

“I can leave-”

“No!” He swallowed thickly, then repeated himself. “No. I mean, no point waking Lucy up, is there? I’ll be back in a bit, just… going to go get changed.” She watched him leave, and then five minutes later she watched him come back. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding anything but. He looked… nervous? Why the hell was he nervous? “You?”

“I’m alright.” She tried not to laugh, settling for an amused smile instead, and waited for him to get into bed next to her and turn off the light. Once it was dark (or as dark as it could be with the ghost lamp outside the window), she heard him shuffle around in his bed so that he was facing her. The outline of his face was barely visible, but it was enough that she could make out where his eyes were, and where his faint smile was. “Lockwood?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For earlier.”

“I already told you, anytime.” They went quiet, just enjoying the comfort of Lockwood’s bedroom. “I talked to your dad, by the way. He said he didn’t want to lose her again, so I’ve offered to sort out a case for the phone in the morning. I also told him off for lying to you, which terrified me, because your dad is not a small man.” Y/n let out a snort at the last part, and she saw the faint light from outside light up Lockwood’s teeth as he grinned. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Back at the house, you were… well, I’m not really sure what you were. But you weren’t you, and it scared me. It’s like you went somewhere else, Y/n. I just can’t lose you, is all.”

“Oh.” Now it was her turn to not say much, and she could feel him fidgeting. 

“Your dad said something. About you.”

“What? What did he say?” Her heart was beating faster, not knowing if he’d said something good or bad. 

“He said that you like me a lot.” Now her heart was thumping for a different reason. 

“Well, yeah. It’s difficult not to like you, Lockwood, you’re a very likeable person, you know? Very-”

“Why are you nervous?”

“What?”

“You’re talking really fast. You do that when you’re nervous. Why are you nervous?” Damn him for knowing her so well. 

“Uh… I just… I don’t know.” She did know, but how could she admit to her boss that she had the biggest crush on him while they were lying in his bed together?

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have- it just sounded like he meant it in a… in a like like way.” She took a deep breath, and decided to bite the bullet. At least if it was dark she couldn’t see his face when he rejected her. 

“He did. I… I’ve liked you for a while, actually.” There was no response, and suddenly it all seemed like a terrible idea. “Lockwood?”

“How long?” There was no discernible emotion in his voice. 

“About two years?”

“So… since you got here?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“You’re telling me,” he started, frustration seeping through, and she shrunk in on herself a little. “You’re telling me that we could have been together this entire time?!”

“Yeah, I guess so. Wait,” she frowned, “wait what did you just say?”

“It took us removing your mother’s Source from your childhood home and your father telling me that you really like me for this to happen?!”

“… Yeah?” She heard him bring his hands up to his face and groan, and then heard him shuffle around again. A moment later his hand was touching hers, tentatively at first, then lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him when he realised he’d found her. She ended up curled into his side, her head in the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around her torso under the duvet. 

“Well I know you’re free after we wake up, so right after we get the glass case sorted out I’m taking you out for food.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like that.”

It wasn’t long after that that the pair of them fell asleep, and before she drifted off in Lockwood’s arms, she couldn’t help but think how her mother had been right about loving and being loved, and how it was the greatest thing in the world. 

tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters

[mister-e-muss]

Alright. Time for another Backlog Report. May ‘24

As always, thoughts are below.

Etrian Mystery Dungeon

Being completely honest, I didn’t quite know what to expect with this one. While I know that Mystery Dungeon is a larger series than its iconic crossovers with Pokémon, I wasn’t sure how the formula would work when melded to a different series, especially one as anti-roguelike as Etrian Odyssey.

I enjoyed how the game played out as a shrunken-down version of EO’s team and character building. I liked the idea of locking a dungeon’s layout. IMO, that was a nice way to find a middle ground between EO’s mapping and MD’s random generation.

In a word, I liked it. Do I think it’s a good game? Sure. Do I think it’s a great game? Unfortunately not.

The narrative is painfully sparse. While Etrian Odyssey is known for its sparse narratives, I was hoping for something more along the lines of Etrian Odyssey Untold. It seems perfectly fine for most of it, but the ending feels distinctly undercooked, with the main antagonist not having even a single word of dialogue.

While I locked the combat, it doesn’t feel as deep as could be. For that matter, having the FOE’s require status ailments for any damage to be down just feels like an extra bit of restriction. I don’t like it when customizable games like this have a built-in wrong answer.

The soundtrack is also a mixed bag. This game does have my favorite rendition of The End of Raging Waves, many of the tracks are either unfitting, loop too often, or both. (EO2’s FOE theme was not meant to be an exploration track dammit!)

I enjoyed this game as a whole. But solid gold, it is not.

Final Fantasy XII; The Zodiac Age

To start with, who talks about this game?

No, really, who talks about this game? Who wakes up in the morning, offers their daily prayers to the Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca shrine kept in the closet, and walks out the door thinking “Oh boy, I cannot wait to spend another day telling people about my favorite game of all time: Final Fantasy XII.” (You can’t hear me through the post, but I’m laughing rn because that is a sentence that has never been said.)

FfXII is in a weird place in the series. It isn’t as foundational to the series as the first four, nor as widely popular as VI, VII, and X. It doesn’t quite generate the same vitriol from disappointed fans as XIII, XV, and to a lesser extent, II and VIII. (Btw, playing VIII, and it is just fine.) Even it’s immediate precursor XI is of more value as an object of curiosity in a “What would a FF MMO look like before they made XIV good?” Hell, even when discussing the more overlooked hidden gems among the series, it still has less fans than IX and V. The most people seem to think about this game, myself included before I actually played it, is “Well I know there’s a X, and XIII is supposed to be the Worst Game Evar, so logically there has to be two more in between there.” For that matter, I think the reason why XIII has so many design choices it does, is because XII is also so very much XII.

Looking at the game as a whole, I think it’s easy to see why this one slipped so hard under the radar. Final Fantasy XII is not a game that presents itself all that well. That’s not to say it looks bad or plays bad. If anything the world design is gorgeous. But it is a game that takes a while to reveal the true appeal.

Truthfully, this was one of my first purchases for the switch, alongside Fire Emblem Three Houses and Digimon Story CyberSleuth. (Incidentally, CyberSleuth is a really really good monster catcher game and you should go play it.) Over two years and 60 hours, I explored the world of Ivalice.

The gambits are a great bit of customization. They involve you in the decision-making and let you fine tune a party that functions well enough to tear through superbosses. But it takes until the third hour at least for you to get enough to really start playing around with the system, and even then, it sometimes isn’t as refined as you’d like it to be. Multiple times I wished I could add a second condition to a certain action. Sometimes when playing, I jokingly thought to myself “Man, this gambit system is groundbreaking. Now if only it could be included in a game where combat was fun in its own right.” Why hello there Unicorn Overlord :D!

Playing this game, it felt like I was in conversation with it. One where I wanted it to be something that it wasn’t.

“Do you want to play a game where the main fun of combat doesn’t come from combat itself but by refining your strategies and party-comp?”

“That sounds vague and abstract, but I’m willing to work with it.”

“How about an upgrade/skill tree style of system that restricts you from using equipment until you unlock the very specific ability to use it, and all of the would-be stat boosts are also abstract and don’t actually change your numbers?”

“That just sounds like the Sphere Grid from X, but worse in every conceivable way. Will I receive weapons that don’t benefit any of my party members’ jobs?”

“You’re guaranteed to.”

“Shit.”

“Okay, how about a political drama set in a diverse and expansive world, with a really cool magic-science aesthetic and a culture that isn’t just Europe-but-fancy?”

“That actually sounds pretty cool. You’re going to tie in this grand overarching narrative with individual character arcs that flesh out both person and world right?”

“. . . Kind of. Think less ‘Characters driving plot’ and more along the lines of ‘Plot happens to characters.’”

Briefly touching on the characters: I like most of them, but I wish there was more actually between them. Vaan makes a friendship comment to Ashe in the very late game at it feels almost completely undeserved because These People Don’t Interact. As for Vaan himself, I talked briefly with a mutual of mine about it, and I repeat here. I don’t hate Vaan. I just wish he had more going for him as a protagonist. I kept waiting for him to be an interesting or engaging character and he only had around three moments of substance in the whole game. He has a very undercooked revenge story that lasts for barely 5 hours with sidequests, and beyond that his main job in the party is to Not Know Things, and be wowed by all the pretty sights. There’s an argument to be made about how X did something similar with Tidus, but the key difference there is that Tidus is actually engaging of a character, with a character arc that lasts the whole game, and whose ignorance is used to provide the player and the party extra perspective, even coming to challenge the status quo.

The soundtrack is also not my favorite. Not that it has many bad tracks, just not many that really stick. I still hold that FFIV has one of the best soundtracks in the series. Both this game and Etrian Mystery Dungeon suffer from a common problem with the soundtrack, and it’s an unfortunate side effect of how these games are designed. Seemless integration of combat into exploration also means that there’s very little dedicated combat music, so you’d better enjoy listening to those world themes because they aren’t going anywhere.

For all that FFXII does that doesn’t jell with me completely, I should have hated this game. Either that or forgotten about it like everyone else. Honestly, if I had a wider selection of games in my early Switch library, I might have done just that. And yet for all my grievances with this game, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with it. I loved exploring the world of Ivalice. Even when I finished this game, I’m not entirely sure I was ready to say goodbye to it. However I also really really wanted to start on Harvestella, so off to the very short and underwhelming final dungeon I went.

If you enjoy Xenoblade as a series, I feel like you owe it to yourself to try out Final Fantasy XII. It might not be anyone’s favorite game of all time, but it is worth the time spent.

[jasonbehrs]

🍬 corollary 🍬

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

If you lose your food-obsessed fiance in a crowd, here’s how to find her in three tries or less.

fandom: incurable case of love, koi wa tsuzuku yo doko made mo characters: sakura nanase, tendo kairi ship: sakurendo genres: romance themes: introspective, character study, tendo focus, post-canon word count: 3.3k+ book: 2/2 rating: T

read it on ffnet, aff, wattpad, ao3, or below!

~~~

A/N (7.26.2023): "Another Sakura-Nanase-loves-food fanfic from airauralintensity? What gives?" Listen, there are so many plot points in the show that are driven by Nanase's love of food. More fan content needs to acknowledge that if she had to choose between a falling patient and a falling plate… well, she would still choose the patient, but she would hesitate.

If you happen to be reading this fresh off of finishing the show, I'm ignoring the timeline of Episode 10. This fic is set after she returns but before they're married, which isn't a very long time period according to canon.

This isn't a sequel to 'a delicious conspiracy of love' in the consequential narrative sense, but they're still heavily related, so I encourage you to read that one first. I named this fic 'corollary' not just because it suits the plot but because this fic builds off of themes from the first one.

~~~

Sometimes, Kairi still needs to offer Nanase a hand.

He doesn't just mean pulling her to the side so that she doesn't accidentally run into a tourist because she's too busy window shopping to pay attention to her surroundings (though that does happen with an alarming frequency), but he also means literally.

In the times when she is too conscious of him, she won't hold his hand herself.

Despite the many professional advantages her year of community nursing abroad has brought, one of the personal disadvantages was that it also sort of reset their relationship, at least where Nanase was concerned. She didn't break off their engagement or anything, but there is a certain composure present where there was none previously.

They kept in regular contact during their time apart, which did a lot to ease the longing and keep their relationship feeling like a relationship, but he supposes a year's worth of conversational intimacy doesn't immediately nor necessarily translate into physical intimacy, even one as simple as this.

She has never been shy around him—as her blatant overtures for his affection back when she really was just a rock in his way made abundantly clear—but they were the actions of a woman on a mission. All years considered, she has spent more time pining for him than actually having him, and the relationship habits they were building before she left didn't have time to truly settle in.

All this to say: when she returned, she still treated him like he wasn't completely and irrevocably hers.

Kairi has enjoyed reminding her (oh, has he enjoyed reminding her), but now he thinks he needs to work harder.

He will. Once he finds her.

The Sumida Park Farmers' Market isn't that new, but it's new to them. It started up while Nanase was gone, and Kairi didn't have a reason to visit until she came back. It's also in the half of the park that isn't on their side of the river, so neither of them were that familiar with its layout even without the influx of people and vehicles and vendors.

Unfortunately, these are not as good excuses as he wants them to be. He ends up losing her in any given crowd nine times out of ten. She's always bouncing back and forth, admiring the wares and sampling the goods and talking to anyone who makes eye contact with her like the extrovert she is—which wouldn't be such a problem if only she would hold his goddamn hand.

But like he intimated, this happens pretty often; and he wouldn't be the man he is today if he didn't learn from his mistakes the first time. When a quick 360 doesn't immediately reveal his favourite smile or the sound of excessive cooing over someone's baby, he doesn't panic. He just closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

More specifically, the scents he's breathing.

If you lose your food-obsessed fiance in a crowd, here's how to find her in three tries or less: identify the smell of cooking then follow your nose to the closest food stall. It hasn't steered him wrong to date.

Nanase is always so surprised to be found, mostly because she's always surprised that she's lost in the first place. "How did Sensei know how to find me?" she would ask. He never tells, though, instead affecting a burdened air and moving forward with their date, lest he accidentally sully the sanctity of his trick.

The scent of friend dough catches Kairi's attention first. He follows the lead to a baby castella stall. There is no sign of his fiance, but he does buy a basket for her and dusts it with powdered sugar.

Repeating the process brings to his attention a smell that reminds him of the sea on a hot summer day. The takoyaki stall he comes upon also has no Nanase, but he buys a half-dozen anyway and prepares it the way she likes: topped liberally with pickled ginger and accompanied by a dollop of mayonnaise on the side.

Finally, he smells fried vegetables with an undercurrent of something sweet. It takes him to a crepe stall, and he's finally run out of hands and composure. Nanase is still nowhere to be seen.

He stands in the middle of the path and forces the flow of people to go around him as he furiously thinks of what to do now. This strategy has never failed him before. Besides, what good are two handfuls of warm food when there isn't a fiance with a never-ending appetite around to eat them?

Kairi spins in a circle, looking for a place to sit and set down his prandial burdens but mostly hoping that Nanase would still appear and validate his methodology. He needs to be right about this.

It was his job to be right about things like this.

.

An enthusiastic "Tendo-sensei!" was the first thing Kairi heard when he answered the phone.

Nanase picked a good time to call. He had already eaten breakfast, and it's easier to talk when he isn't concentrating on not overcooking his food.

They realised pretty early on that her night shift ended just in time for his day shift to begin. This sweet spot when she's getting ready for bed and he's getting ready to go became the obvious choice for any video calls. They couldn't call every day; but when they could, it happened around now.

He chuckled as he set the phone on a stand he bought for this specific purpose. "You can start calling me Kairi, you know. Isn't it weird to call your fiance by his last name and an honourific? I'm not even your attending physician anymore."

"You still call me Sakura sometimes!" By the echo, he could tell she was in her bathroom too, and something about being in a similar place at the same time made the distance feel smaller.

"But I call you Nanase the other times."

"Awww." The pitying sound made him glance over from the mirror to see a cute little pout on his fiance's face. "I miss the sound of my name."

He leaned in closer so she could see his incredulity. "What do they call you over there if not by your name?"

"No, no! They do call me Nanase. It's just, with the accent, it sounds more like… Nan-ase? I don't know. I feel bad saying this because it's not like I get all their names right all the time either, but…"

"Nanase."

"Hm?"

He turned away from the camera to reach for a towel with the added benefit of hiding his smile. He didn't say her name to get her attention, but he could pivot. Flexibility was a strength of his. "Not too tired from the night shift?"

"Not too tired to talk to Sensei~ Besides, I had coffee in the second half of my shift. I'll be good until after the call ends!"

He stopped what he was doing and looked back at her. "Since when did you start drinking coffee?" He worked alongside her for over four months and never even saw her drinking matcha.

"It's recent! It actually surprised my coworkers that I wasn't drinking any. Besides the long shifts, Berlin has a huge coffee culture. I wanted to fit in, so I started ordering some from the cafes that my coworkers recommended in town. I like it! I think. There's a lot of variety, at least. They even have matcha over here!"

Kairi let her elaborate on her journey of discovering coffee and tried not to overthink. Sakura Nanase, more energetic than a fully-charged battery and sweeter than Japan's finest wagashi, was not the sort of person he associated with coffee. It wasn't something he thought she'd enjoy.

It's not that he was against her drinking coffee. It's not about the coffee at all. It's the fact that there could be things about her that he couldn't predict. Considering he fell in love with her for her transparency, the discovery unnerved him.

Kairi was a man who prided himself on accurate deductions. From the moment he received a patient's echocardiogram, he could map out their entire recovery journey in his mind's eye. Of course, when the facts changed, he changed his mind; but anticipating and addressing viable changes in condition were the cornerstones of his entire career, and he was only capable of such astute assessments because he was an expert on cardiology. He didn't become one of the most successful heart surgeons in the country by wasting mental or temporal resources on understanding things that didn't matter to him. Heart health mattered to him.

Sakura Nanase also mattered to him.

He knew exactly how much rain it took to dissuade her from her outdoor plans. He knew the earliest she could wake up given her bedtime the night before. He could narrow down to the minute the point at which she needs a snack to boost her blood sugar.

Nanase wasn't predictable, necessarily, but humans were creatures of habit; and he observed and studied hers to the point of expertise.

If he wasn't an expert on the things he loved, what was he?

This was why he wasn't nearly as worried about her study abroad as she was. The distance was immaterial. Whether she was right next to him or on the opposite side of the world, he remained the foremost, citable, preeminent authority on all things Sakura Nanase.

"Does this mean I'll have to start sharing my coffee supply with you when you come back?"

"Maybe!" She giggled. "I like sharing things with you."

But mastery wasn't a checkpoint. It was a lifelong endeavour, and his chosen field of expertise had a similarly lifelong intention to keep growing, evolving, maturing. He reminded himself that this was actually exciting, and he was actually lucky. He got to witness those changes in real time; he got to remain the expert.

Especially in circumstances like these, he needed that assurance. Their time apart wouldn't matter because when she came back to him, she wouldn't be a stranger.

"I'm running a little behind, but do me a favour before I go?"

He directed his full attention to the phone, as he always did for the last few minutes of their calls. She shuffled closer so that her whole face took up his screen, and he refrained from mentioning that he took a screenshot of it. "You name it!"

"What's the name of your hospital, again? I forgot."

The sight of her fond eye roll did more to wake him up than his own cup of coffee did. "You didn't forget, Sensei. You just like to hear me butcher German."

He shrugged. "I forgot how much I like hearing you butcher German."

"Fine, fine. I'll say it so you won't be late." She cleared her throat. "Ge-ma-i-n-sha-fu-su-ka-n-ke-n-ha-u-su Ha-fu-hu-u."

"Oh, that's why it's so small? It's half of a real hospital?"

"One day, that joke will stop being funny," but the smile on her face said otherwise.

.

"Kairi! There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

He whirls around, barely keeping the food in their containers as he does. "What. No, you weren't. I was looking for you."

Nanase tilts her head. "Couldn't we have been looking for each other, then?"

He doesn't have an answer for that, still hung up on how his three-tries-or-less strategy failed him. "Where were you?" he asks instead.

"Oh! Here, have some." She opens her mouth, encourages him to mimic her, then plops something smooth and sweet onto his tongue. "Isn't it so good?"

Hard candy. She was buying hard candy. Hard candy does not emit an odour.

He doesn't know if he's annoyed that his strategy doesn't account for things like this or pleased that it still has merit under most but specific parameters.

"I saw a family back there holding a bag of something colourful," she continues, "so I asked them where they got it."

He follows her pointed finger to find that the hard candy vendor is literally right behind the castella stand, which is only a few stalls down from when he noticed he lost her.

He makes up his mind: he's definitely annoyed.

"Can I have some?" she asks about the food he forgot he is holding.

He offers both of his hands to her, looking down at the food both literally and figuratively. "They're for you," he grumbles.

Her eyes light up at the prospect of eating, and it says something that that alone isn't enough to lift his mood.

She points out a seating area with picnic tables a little ways away from where they're standing—which Kairi probably would have seen sooner if he were actually looking for those instead of blatantly focused on looking for Nanase instead—and he follows her lead. There appear to be no places for them to sit together, but a pointed glare at a pair of teenagers who are done eating rectifies that problem very quickly.

"Ah! I love pickled ginger with my takoyaki!" she effuses once they're seated side by side.

He waits until she takes her first bite—"It's the perfect temperature, too!"—before he brings up his concern: "Nanase, you need to hold my hand more often when we're in public."

"Really?"

"Yes…?" He meant to say that definitively, but the absolute delight and obvious relief on her face puzzle him. "That isn't a problem?"

"Not for me! I thought it would be for Sensei, though."

He ignores the reversion to an honourific. "What possibly gave you that idea?"

She does a quick, breezy shrug, more focused on preparing the next takoyaki ball for her consumption. "I didn't think you were happy to hold my hand when we're in public. You always looked burdened. I thought, 'Ah, he doesn't like it,' so I stopped," she explains casually, like she didn't just shatter his entire perception of their relationship in the ten seconds it took her to say that.

He, unfortunately, knows exactly what she's talking about; but the burden is fake!

Moreover: "That never stopped you before," he accuses. If there's one thing he understands about Sakura Nanase, it's that she chases after the things she wants without abandon or shame, even in the times when it would behoove her to exhibit more abandon or shame.

"Yeah, but I was pretty single-minded before, wasn't I?" she says plainly. This self-reflection is evidently not new to her. Where was he when she decided these things about herself? "I did and said so many things just because I wanted you to keep looking at me, even if it was in annoyance… which it usually was. You didn't like it even back then."

Sure, but that was back then.

"I was able to calm down in Germany, though," she reminisces. "Not getting to see you every day made me treasure the times I do have your attention, so it became easier to respect your boundaries."

"I don't have those!" he blurts out.

"Eh?"

He doesn't even know where to start. He was so misunderstood. He misunderstood so much. He's spiralling.

"I love it when you hold my hand. I love holding your hand. Hold my hand all the time."

"O-okay," she agrees with wide-eyes and an offered palm, thinking the directive started now.

He stares at her waiting hand, suddenly feeling like he doesn't deserve to hold it, but ultimately grasps it like a desperate man.

He is pretty desperate. He's spiralling, but her touch is a tether. "You're not a burden. You haven't been for a while, and I thought you knew that."

Her smile is brilliant. "Yeah, I worked hard to become an asset in the ward—"

"—With me, too," he interrupts. "It's an act; it always has been. I can't be straightforward about my affection; it feels weird. I'd rather be subtle about it,"— he gestures to the food—"but that only worked because I thought you knew to look past my pretense."

"I definitely thought it was real," she admits sheepishly. "Or at least coming from a real place. I just was willing to ignore it."

She didn't even know he was acting. He relied on the notion that she knew he was acting. Does he know anything about her, about this relationship?

"I thought you had become self-conscious," he confesses like a man who gambled everything he had and lost it all.

"I-I sort of did!" she gets out in a rush, a misinformed attempt to uplift her dour fiance. "I became conscious of how my past self behaved when I was pining after you and realised that I didn't need to do that anymore because I actually have you now," she ends optimistically.

He misunderstood so much. "What else don't I know about you?" he asks in all seriousness.

"Huh?" She chuckles in confusion. "What are you talking about? You know everything about me."

"Evidently not."

"Of course you do!" She holds up her half-finished takoyaki. "You remembered the mayonnaise!"

"Nanase, this is important!" he groans. "Just because I supplied mayonnaise for your takoyaki doesn't mean I know everything about you."

"And just because you misunderstood this one little thing about me doesn't mean you don't."

She doesn't get it. It's not just the hand-holding. It's the illusion of transparency, it's about inaccurate deductions, it's because she matters—

Nanase tugs his mouth open and puts in a baby castella. "Here."

For a split second, he considers spitting it out on principle before realising spitting it out would be disgusting. "I got those for you," he reproves once he's done chewing.

"And I'm letting you have some. I'm not the only one between the two of us who likes sweet bread, right?" she argues as she holds up another one to his mouth.

Kairi acquiesces on sharing the food, but he doesn't let her feed him. "See, you do have a limit on public displays of affection," she points out when he eats a castella of his own volition. "I just misjudged where that limit was."

He looks at her incredulously. "We're already holding hands," he retorts, covering the sight of his half-chewed food with one hand while the other waves their joined ones for emphasis. "Additional intimate interactions are superfluous."

"I would certainly appreciate 'additional interactions'."

"Appreciate what you have," he snarks on habit before remembering himself. He checks her reaction out of the corner of his eye. Will she start looking past his pretense?

Her exaggerated, coquettish blinks are answer enough. "So you won't hug me?"

He maintains a beleaguered veneer through the relief. "Hugging and hand-holding are mutually exclusive activities. One must replace the other; therefore neither will surpass my quotient for ardent displays."

She immediately releases their grasped hands and sticks her arms out in a low invitation. "How about now?"

He knows—he knows—his heart is not physically swelling from overwhelming fondness. His syncopated heartbeat is not arrhythmia. He requires no medical attention… but the sight of his adorable fiance and her cheeky but earnest ploys for his affection wreaks just so much havoc on his constitution.

He can't smile, or blush, or do something else with his face to betray that affection, but he doesn't have to. That isn't what she's asking for.

He wraps her up in intentional, unhurried movements, and he's rewarded with the squeeze of her arms around him. It's as grounding and reassuring as it always has been.

"I can't say I fully understand what you're worried about," she murmurs right below his ear, "but I can say I'm just as in love with you now as I was six years ago. I can also say that I know you love me, too."

He does. He doesn't say it nearly as often or as easily as she does, but he loves her.

"So how about this," she continues. "I show you love the way I know how, and you show me love the way you know how, and we can make up for the difference with honesty." It is framed like a proposal, but she speaks like she already knows how he'll respond.

Maybe she does.

"I can agree to those terms," he says as a formality, and she hugs him tighter.

Maybe she is the foremost, citable, preeminent authority on all things Tendo Kairi.

~~~

A/N (7.26.2023): Believe it or not, this was only supposed to be around 500 words…

The location I picked for Nanase's community nursing study abroad program is Gemeinschaftskrankenhaus Havelhöhe (Havelhöhe Community Hospital) in Germany, which is a small academic teaching hospital in a very suburban area of Berlin and actually practises community nursing. It's associated with Charité, one of Europe's biggest university hospitals and the primary hospital in Berlin, which makes it even more likely to actually host a study abroad nursing program. (It does not in real life, though. The Gemeinschaftskrankenhaus Havelhöhe mostly trains doctors, not nurses.)

Kairi's joke about it being half of a hospital is because the first two syllables of the neighbourhood it's located in, Havelhöhe (hæ-fu-heu-eh), is pronounced like how the English word 'half' is pronounced in Japanese.

[1358456]

The Return? ... Again?

Hi, everyone. So. It’s been a while. Again. Today is January 1, 2024, and the last post, Last Post 2.0, was from October 6, 2022, so… over a year. Again. Déjà vu~ I’ve just been in this place before~ Gone in October and returning in January~

… In hindsight, I should have posted the Last Post 2.0 on October 22. That way, both times, I would have retired on October 22 (Last Post and Last Post 2.0). And if I had done that, I would’ve waited until January 6 to return, thus returning both times on January 6 over a year after going away. Oh well.

… Also apparently, this Tumblr has become 10 years old. Hm. I guess I did make this thing in December 2013, so… yeah. That happened. 10 years of this Tumblr, and I’ve been gone for 2 of them.

So, what happened this time?

Well, nothing. I just enjoyed a long rest. Retirement, if you will. Unlike last time, where I spent the time either dying, comatose, rehab, or playing Yakuza games, this time, I just… lived normally, I guess. Spending lots of time with friends and family, going on vacations, working away in the store, playing Yakuza Ishin, playing Yakuza 7 Gaiden, crying like a bitch because of Gaiden (…), crying because of Yakuza 8 trailers (…), and so on and so forth. I rather enjoyed my long time off.

So, why return this time?

… It’s… complicated. Let’s just say that I’m returning now to undo the reason why I went away not-so-forever twice now.

Let’s see if I can point out the key parts here.

There’s a reason why I abruptly retired and disconnected from everything back in 2020. The impending death certainly played a part, but I didn’t have to “disconnect” from everything. But instead, I used that as an excuse to disconnect from everything and vanish.

It’s the same reason as to why I didn’t immediately return when I could have and instead, hesitated until 2022. Yeah, the pile of Yakuza games (3, 4, 5, 6, 7, Judgment, Lost Judgment) certainly kept me busy, but it’s not like I was busy literally all day every day. I certainly could have squeezed in some time to return to Tumblr. And is the same reason as to why I wanted to disappear as soon as possible upon returning. Though… that took some time. It took… what, 9 months, instead of the planned 2? Hehe…

And finally, it’s the reason why I came back now in 2024. The fact that I even wrote this out… I wouldn’t say that I stopped caring exactly, but… hmm… I guess you could call it a proof of resolve. I made a difficult choice, so to speak.

… Hopefully all this is irrelevant and will not be brought up again. But if it does…

This is kind of rambling, and no one would have any idea what the hell I’m talking about, so I’ll stop there. Normally, I would never write this out, out of consideration. But… well, subtle hints probably won’t work. They didn’t work last time. No reason why it should this time. But I have this out here… just in case.

… Now back to things that people would actually understand, because hell if I fully understand what I wrote. Hehe…

So, will I return to writing this time?

Banter? Yes. Short Story? Most likely though rarely. Full stories on FF/Ao3? No. I didn’t touch those last time, I have no intention of doing so this time. I’m still retired, after all. It’s like when pro gamers retire from a game. They still play it, just not in any tournaments or that regularly.

Meaning, I probably won’t be active that much… once the “stockpile” of post ideas runs out. I’ll post stuff whenever I feel like it, and… I just won’t when I don’t. Unlike last time, I have no obligation of any sort this time around. No post count, no objectives, no nothing. Once the “stockpile” runs out, the activity is going to be very sporadic. But at least this Tumblr will be open so that if I wind up with more post ideas that won’t go away, I have an outlet.

So, what’s different from 2022 this time?

You probably noticed the different layout. I messed with a bunch of stuff over time. Including disabling of messages. At least I think it’s disabled.

I disabled messaging (not “Ask”, mind you) because of a specific reas… I mean, whenever someone messages me, I have to ponder for a while how I’m going to respond when I don’t have any meaningful responses, so my responses always feel too detached or too forced. … And I really don’t like doing that since it feels rude. So… best to disable that entirely, but keep the ask inbox open for one-off responses. So… sorry, to those who have messaged me repeatedly in the past. No more. Spare me the effort of staring at the messages for a while, thinking of a response out of courtesy, and sometimes putting it off until later, only to forget that entirely thus not responding for an excessive amount of time, at which point, responding is incredibly awkward.

All in all, it won’t be much different this time than in 2022. I’ll post random stuff from… random rambles to banters and short stories, and you’ll read ‘em for minor enjoyment.

So, will there be another Last Post this time?

Last Post 3.0? Third time’s the charm? Heh. No. Not this time. At least, I’m not planning on it. If the reason behind this return goes off as hoped, then I’ll stick around. If it goes disastrously, then… welp. Back to the void.

So… I’m here again. It wasn’t “for real, this time though”. I doubt many noticed that my profile image has been changed from the old Mew to a Dragoon’s portrait for a while now. In the Last Post 2.0 post, I said that Mew would stay in the grave and not return in a Dragoon or Immortal or a Purifier platform. … Well, it’s been stuffed in a Dragoon shell now.

I actually tried to draw/edit a Mew image to make it look like it’s in a Dragoon pod, but… that didn’t go so well (some things never change), so I’m just using the SC Remastered Dragoon portrait for now.

I guess this post has gone on long enough. All I can say now is…

… For real, this time though… right?

Oh, also, Happy New Year. 2024, 甲辰年, Year of the Blue Dragon.

Woo~

... So, how've you been, everyone?

[silvershorthair]

Log cabin (WIP)

EMOTIONAL JUNK! SKIP IF YOU WANT

So, I've been feeling very discouraged about 3D artwork and my future and myself and all that fun stuff, and I think that I personally just want to lay down in bed and sleep until things just magically change to be better. At the start of the month I was planning on doing a really big animation for the end of the year with a script and whatnot, but I gave up on the second day of the month. I think yesterday or the day before or whatever, I decided I just wanted to make a cute little Christmas-y animation for the end of the month. And so I started working on it.

POSTING THE IMAGES NOW

So I decided that I wanted to make this animation take place in a cute log cabin in the forest.

So as you may have noticed, this doesn't look a lot like a log cabin. You might also be asking what's wrong with that snowman. Well, to explain, what I'm doing here is making a general layout using basic shapes and whatnot so that I can try and figure out exactly what I want. When I've figured out exactly what I want for this, then I'll start making it look actually decent. But while we're here, I might as well give you a little tour.

You aren't allowed to be mad about the lack of things to see, I said I'd give you a LITTLE tour. But wait, this cabin isn't the only thing that I've worked on.

THE TREE

Wouldn't be a forest without trees, right? Well, good news is we have trees. And look at how highly-detailed it is!!! Great tree, right? WRONG. Take a closer look at this tree.

Dear god. How low poly and horrid, right? Well, there is a valid reason for this. Polygons are expensive and we're going to be making a LOT of these trees. I tried following a CG Geek tutorial on easy low poly trees to get the branches right. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of great photos out there on pine tree branches covered in snow. I tried my best, but it just didn't look great.

Yeah, I bet you're appreciating the new tree now. Either that or you wish I kept the old tree in which case um

Point is now what I'm doing is using these little branch things as particles on the bigger branch things. Here's a photo of what the little branches look like by themselves, and what the big branches look like by themselves

The actual poly count of the big branches should be lowered because by themselves they're 33,840 polygons, which is probably not what I want for a low-poly mesh there'll be a lot of, but I'll deal with doing that later. For now, I'm going to rest.

OH WAIT I ALMOST FORGOT

THE SNOW TEXTURE

You might've noticed the snowman and the snowy tree, but there's more. I tried to mimic the way that snow is sparkly, and the way I did that was by throwing a static image I made in Gimp into the roughness slot of the material

This got me a very nice sparkly texture which I think looks close enough to snow (I haven't seen snow up close in like 2 years so cut me some slack). I'll be using this material on all the snow-related things, and I'm hoping it'll work well. I'm going to ramble a bit at the end of the post, so I just wanted to say thank you for reading this mess, and I hope you like the stuff I make.

CONCLUSION (yes I did just now look up Christmas light colors also the emotional junk is back)

I'm going to keep working on this over the next couple days, and hopefully by the end of it I'll have a cute little animation. 2022 has probably been a better year for me than 2021 in terms of good things that have happened to me. A lot of great things have happened this year which I should be happy about, but unfortunately I don't think I've fully been able to take advantage of that because of some personal problems. Joining Twitter probably didn't help that very much, but it led to me joining this site, which I do like a lot so far. I think I'm certainly going to enjoy being on here a lot more than Twitter. Anyways, that's all from me, I'm going to go lay down and be on my phone instead of going to bed like a normal person (bit of a lie, I think a normal person would've gone to bed about 6 hours ago). Bye!

[koraesrambles]

The Watchmen

The Great Reading Adventure Part 3!

It's time for the Watchmen, guys and hooooooooboy did I have a lot of expectations going into this one. Buckle up!

The Writing

I took notes the entire time I was reading this. It's only 12 issues long, so I decided to read it in its entirety.

I didn't like the first little bit. Don't get me wrong, I could see the crumbs in there, and I could see why people were drawn to it, but as far as gripping premise that pulls you in, it was a little lackluster to me. There were interesting moments in the beginning, but I didn't really become invested until Issue 9, which is 3/4 of the way through the story.

That said, once these guys gripped me, they GRIPPED ME. Issue 9 was beautiful, by far my favorite issue of the whole thing.

Part of the reasons things were confusing to me was because all of the "good guys" kept being compared to far right wing extremists and Nazis. Like, Rorschach is definitely supposed to become cooler and cooler throughout the books, and be kind of the moral backbone in a lot of ways. But like . . . I dunno. Hard to sympathize with someone who repeatedly got called a Nazi and blamed the dedregation of society on jews and communists. Like, I get it was the 80s, but the people in universe who defended him also defended the KKK. I just . . .I'm not down with that. I can't make myself think he's the good guy.

However, I had no idea that the famous quote "None of you understand. I'm not locked in here with you, you're locked in here with me." Came from the Watchmen. That moment . . . man. It gave me absolute chills. It was excellently built up to and brilliantly executed. I loved it. If I EVER have a moment in my writing career where I hit people as hard as that, I'll have more than achieved my dreams.

I also think that they pretty much nailed the ending. At least the atmosphere and feeling that I think they were going for. That horrible, sick feeling that the day is saved but actually everything is ruined and all it'll take is another day for everything to have been for nothing. It was a powerful ending, I liked it a lot.

That said, I did not like Adrian's solution. Maybe it's because I've lived through Covid, maybe because it's been 40 years since this was written and some tropes have been done more than others, but pretending an alien threat is coming in order to unite the world just . . . I dunno. It didn't hit for me. I didn't feel compelled by it. I get the reasons he did it, I understand what the writer was going for, I even can acknowledge that it does the job. But it felt incredibly lackluster to me, and not worthy of the really fun villain they had made to execute it.

The Art

The art is better than anything I am currently capable of, and I want to acknowledge that first, but also admit I didn't love it. It's ugly, which of course was by design. This is not a pretty story, it's not meant to give you warm and fuzzies. It also very much is in the style of many other comics I've seen from the 80s, which is just one I'm not as fond of. It did the job, but isn't something I'll be combing over looking for ways to emulate it.

The way the panels were laid out was also interesting to me. It was very repetative, just multiple square panels in a row. I imagine that this is also a result of being from the 80s, and as comics evolved so did the many different layouts, but it was kind of comforting to me as well. If it serves the story best to just have four panels in a row exactly the same size and shape to tell your story, by all means do it. I didn't even notice anymore once the story picked up for me.

As far as things I can learn from the art? Perspectives and the use sof perspectives were MASTERFULLY done here. Both with zooming in on specific details or zooming out. How it was used for emphasis. How it made you feel sick when something horrible was being said and something as mundane as the side of a coffee pot was being shown. It was truely masterful. It also helped make long conversations more interesting.

The Characters

This is probably where I have the most thoughts. The characters in this story are INTERESTING, full caps definitely needed. I mentioned in the writing section that it was kind of hard to root for the main characters when they were being compared to Nazis all the time. But over time they did grow to, at the very least, compel me, even if I still didn't "like" them.

My favorite character probably ended up being Laurie, who out of all of them seems to be the least crappy person. Not that she wasn't crappy, but she was at least trying, you know? I also liked her as Jon's tether to humanity. I feel like she was the audience surrogate in a lot of ways.

Jon was extremely fun, but it creeps me out that humans are like ants to him and he was having sex with them? I dunno, maybe it's the ace in me, but I don't understand when things like that happen. I love that he killed Rorschach at the end, I think that was absolutely the right call. I like how they showed us who he was and how he thought, all compelling and interesting.

Rorschach himself could be very cool one minute and a scum bag the next. He's an excellent character, but I'm glad he died. I think I'm supposed to be glad though. I also think he's the most clever of any of the characters. Not the smartest, but the most clever. He dies, but he's the only one who really wins in the end.

Dan was . . . he was fine. He felt like a knock-off batman and was by far the least interesting of all the characters to me personally. He was a good foil for Rorschach AND Laurie. He didn't compel me much though. That said, there was absolutely a lingering hand holding thing between him and Rorschach where i was like . . . "Are they implying something? what's happening here?"

This was after they revealed that two of the old superheroes were gay and a bunch of weird examples of homosexual couples and I just . . . I'm not imagining things here, am I? I thought things were going to go in a very different direction for a second.

Adrian as a character was utterly uninteresting until he was hypercompetant and defeated all of the "good guys" saving the world by essentially doing a really big trolley problem (greater good, and all that.) That said, nothing is sexier than a competant villain. I was on his side by the end, honestly.

The other background characters were all fairly well fleshed out and interesting. A lot of the women ended up being a little 2 dimensional, but every once in a while they'd surprise me. Almost everyone felt like a horrible person, or like they were just waiting to become a horrible person. They were all good characters even if they weren't good people.

Final Thoughts

I could write pages upon pages of analysis on this comic run. Which would probably be me just repeating what people much cooler and smarter than me have already said. I didn't get into the ways it's aged poorly or the homophobia littered throughout it. But, even with flaws, it was absolutely worth the read, if only to understand how it influenced the rest of the comic world. I understand other comics better now because I've read this one.

Concrete things I learned to apply to my own work:

Take advantage of differing perspectives, both to emphasize important background details and as a way to keep the audience engaged during long dialgoue.

If you need to put a few square panels in a row to get your point across, do it. Why fix what ain't broke?

Your characters don't necessarily have to be likeable to be compelling. You can make terrible people still worth reading about.

[hifilounge]

Historic Sports Car Club Finals Weekend Race Report!

Historic Sports Car Club Finals Weekend Race Report!

Hi Everyone,

I couldn’t resist one last run out in our 1961 Lotus Formula Junior before the season ends for the winter so I entered the Historic Sports Car Clubs ‘The Finals’ weekend, mainly as I wanted to give the car one more shakedown after its restoration and get some more seat time before we embark on a full season next year.

Friday Testing

I’d done loads of laps on the sim in preparation for taking the Junior round the Silverstone National layout and it really does help get you up to speed quicker, and to be honest it was just as well I did as the weather was so bad on the Friday that we only got one dry 30 minute session, which had 3 red flags in it, so in the end we did around 20 minute of dry practice but even with just that I still learnt a lot, basically I need to figure out what gear to be in at Becketts as with these older cars you really need to drive them, you can’t rely on the power to get you through corners, you have to be in the right gear which keeps you in the 6-9k rev sweet spot or the engine just splutters along, so after the Friday session I went back home and did more testing on the sim as the next session will be Qualifying tomorrow.

Saturday – Qualifying and Race 1

As I said this weekend was all about ironing out any problems before next season and it turns out we had a couple to deal with, firstly we didn’t actually get to qualify as our car failed the noise test, luckily the guys from Road to Race who are running the car had a silencer in their van but we didn’t have time to fit it to get out for Qualy so we would be starting race 1 and 2 from dead last, 28th I think it was, we certainly get big grids in Formula Junior. So although we didn’t qualify I still had to prove to the clerk of the course that I was capable of driving so had to complete 3 laps in another session, luckily I was put out with the front engine juniors which are a similar speed, we were only supposed to do 3 laps but I stayed out for the full 15 minutes and did a time that would have put me around the mid pack if the time was valid, but overall I was happy with that.

Driving into the pits after this session I was then pulled over to one side by a marshal and was told that I had to go to race control to report to the Clerk of the course, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done wrong, so feeling like a naughty school boy off to see the headmaster I walked down the pit lane to race control to find out more, luckily it was just to say that my transponder that records times wasn’t working so even if we had made qualy we would have still started last as I wasn’t being timed.

Race 1

Well I’m a firm believer that all things happen for a reason and it turned out that starting from the back wasn’t a bad thing which I’ll come to shortly. In true 2023 fashion as we were sitting in the holding area waiting to go out on track for our race a big black cloud appeared, now I had been checking the weather all week and Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be dry all day, but no, just like every other car event I’ve done this year rain looked imminent. This was to be my first standing start since 2018 as everything else has been rolling starts, So we did our out lap with plenty of swerving to get the tyres up to temp then took my last place on the grid, engaged 1st gave it around 6000 revs then the lights went red, then green, I pulled the clutch up and then the car nearly died and I spluttered away at a ridiculously slow pace losing the whole pack, looking back I was glad I wasn’t mid pack as that could have caused some real chaos, it turns out this was due to a slight engine issue but more on that later.

Anyway at least we were up and running but really last now, I got my head down did one lap then the rain hit, no surprises there, I came round Copse with a few cars off and pointing the wrong way, so I slowed down, kept things calm then after the shower the track dried pretty quick so we spent the rest of the race getting quicker, had a couple of good battles and ended up 21st, not great but I learnt that at low revs and pulling away there was something wrong that needed to be addressed.

Sunday – Race 2

We were out around midday for race 2 so I got to the track around 8am but was worried about the start after what happened yesterday so I went to speak to the organisers to make sure I was starting last again as I really didn’t want the same issue and to get rear ended, so with that done I went back to the garage and we started to warm the car up which turned out to be a real blessing as one of the other teams mechanics heard our engine and thought it sounded like it was only firing on 3 cylinders, a quick check and it indeed was, so a clean of the spark plug and that bought that back to 4 cylinders, also this mechanic checked out the twin carbs and they were well out also, this really reminded me of Biasing a valve amp, as he got out his carb tool and spent 20 mins setting the carbs so both were at the same level, just like balancing the left + right channel on a valve amp, now I couldn’t wait to get out on track to see if that sorted the engine issue out.

Thankfully this race looked dry for the full 20 mins, we did our out lap again and I took up my last place on the grid, selected first, upped the revs and waited for the green light and hoped for a better start and yes off we shot, the car accelerating beautifully and we overtook 4 cars before the first corner, this really fired me up to give it full beans, we had some great racing coming through the field, I even went 3 wide into Brooklands, came out in front but then heading towards Copse I missed a gear and lost both places but then a lap later took them back again, it was brilliant racing and we ended up making 11 overtakes, unheard of for me really, and bought our little Junior home in 17th which I thought was pretty good from where we started.

So overall another great weekend where we learnt a lot, better to get these niggles out the way now ready for next year, but I really can’t wait to do a full season now.

I have to say that after trying a few different racing disciplines I feel that I have now found my motorsport home with Formula Junior, firstly everyone is so nice, I mean the fact another team helped sort our engine just shows that but also the racing is clean and gentlemanly, exactly what I was looking for, I’m not looking to be the next hot shot, I just love being on track and to do that in a single seater Lotus with like minded enthusiasts is a real pleasure.

Roll on 2024.

Finally I just want to say a big shout out to Aced It Images who took most of these pictures, we met through Instagram where I saw he had posted a stunning pic of the 24 Nascar at Goodwood this year, so we got talking and he came along to this event to take most of the pics in this blog, he really has a great eye, makes it look like we are driving really fast, the first pic just looks like a video game capture to me, you can follow him on instagram at the below –

https://www.instagram.com/aced_it_images/

Cheers,

Paul.

[shintaroskeyboard]

Okay hard disagree actually. Ene's backstory being revealed when it is in the novels kinda signposts how the story is going to work. It's a template.

The basic layout of the Kagerou Daze novels is that there are two stories: the present and the past. The present takes place over the course of just a few days and it is the main focus of the story, though it gets less time. The past takes place over the course of years and gets more time, though it's mostly there to set up things that are happening in the present. The present story presents us with characters/plotlines/events, and then the past story either fleshes those things out or subverts our expectations of them, usually both.

Sure, Ene's character could have been a bit cooler if she was kept as a mystery for longer, but the first two novels set this up perfectly. We meet Shintaro and Ene in the first half of novel 1 and Momo and the rest of the Dan in novel 2. With Ene's backstory, we learn that the present-day storyline is irrevocably linked with the past storyline (Ene knows Shintaro only because of meeting him at the school fair, and she clearly fled to his computer for some reason), and that the past storyline is still happening in the present, though its nature is a mystery (Kenjirou is Momo's teacher in the present timeline after orchestrating Takane and Haruka's deaths in the past storyline).

This sets up how the books are going to work very well, as pretty much the entire series expects readers to engage attentively with both storylines and piece together the connections between them. The past storyline is constantly providing more context for the present storyline, but it isn't always perfectly obvious. Having that connection drawn clearly for you tells you to be on the lookout for those connections.

Also I don't think it makes Ene less mysterious! It just shifts the mystery from "Who's this cyber girl and why is she in Shintaro's computer?" to "Why is Takane in Shintaro's computer and what is she trying to accomplish?"

i wish kagepro withheld takane's backstory for a longer time.. i think the weird cyber girl in the protag's computer would do good with a prolonged air of mystery. its kinda lame that in the manga and novels, shes essentially the first character we learn the entire backstory of. in like a meta scale of things, i kinda get why it had to happen, bc it was important to establish that yes, ene also has an eye ability and shintaro's the only odd one out in that regard. im grateful that mca waited until episode 6 before they divulged into her backstory, which i feel makes more sense storywise (in novels and manga we see her backstory after shintaro meets mkd, in anime its after shintaro meets mkd + konoha and hibiya). god just reading the plot summary of mca and its like geez this makes so much more logical and chronological sense than the order of events revealed in the novels. not that i hate the way the novels is structured, i think its nonlinear storytelling made itself very interesting, but geez did it get frustrating at times

[beewritings]

our final night alive

Eren Jaeger x Reader one shot.

Afab reader, gender neutral pronouns used!

Content Warning: angst & nsfw. Slight violence, first time blowjobs, first time vaginal sex. Not spoiler free, manga is preferred to have been read.

Posted on my ao3.

Summary: You and Eren become lovers, but he disappears years later and it causes conflict on your relationship. I’m bad at summaries I’m so sorry

5.9k words. This is posted on my phone I’m so sorry if the layout is ugly lol. First story posted on here!! :) Feedback is welcomed!

you and eren got together not long after annie was caught being the female titan. you, eren, armin and mikasa became close friends during your cadet days.

you shared a bunk with mikasa, and seeing as she was always focused on eren and armin, you were scared to become her friend because you were unsure if she even wanted friends. you and her became sparring partners during training one day and she, obviously, kept beating you. at some point, eren walks over and tells her to give you a break and so she apologizes to you. from that point on, you always saw eren as a life saver. yes, she kept dropping you to the ground so much to the point where you were in pain so eren saved you. you accepted her apology, of course, and you even got to ask her if you could be friends. mikasa shrugged, but eren answered for her: he said he’d like that. he introduced himself and he called for armin and you introduced yourselves. the four of you never thought you’d actually join their friend group. these were the first friends you made and you never felt happier in your life.

“y/n, what made you want to join the cadet corps? you never told us,” you remember armin asking you one day.

“oh… um… it’s a stupid reason. it’s not worth mentioning… it’ll make it seem like i’m a joke..”

“no reason is stupid. except for that horse face’s reason, that bastard is a coward!” eren said, screeching.

“um.. well as a kid, i was neglected by both my parents. they were so focused on my older brother joining the military police and so happy for him that they basically forgot about me a lot. they always called me a disappointment and such and it always made me feel like shit..”

“so you joined to prove to them you’re worthy?” 

“what? hell no, i joined so i could get away from them. i was tired of being treated like i was a mistake child so my choices were either join the military to slowly kill myself or join the military to get away from my terrible parents. i honestly haven’t felt happy probably my whole life. but then i met you guys and now i feel like i have a purpose to be here? i want to protect you guys. all three of you…”

eren gives a slight smile and then it turns into a bright one. he leans to his left and wraps an arm around your shoulder and his other arm around armin and pulls them in. you and armin wrap one arm around mikasa and you all hug each other. you knew you were there to protect them all. even though mikasa is always there to try and protect eren, you know she needed someone to protect her, and you know for a fact someone had to be there for armin.

 

when discussing what branch of the military you guys were going to join, you four chose to join the scout regiment. then so much happened between when you talked about what you were going to join and graduating as cadets. there were days where you and eren would work together practicing and even though you were her friend, mikasa would keep watching you to make sure you wouldn’t get too close to him. she never told you that she would watch, but she was. when you and eren would spar, there’d be times where he’d pin you on the ground and straddle you with the wooden knife pointing to your neck. you started gaining a crush on eren, not knowing he was too, and you’d blush instead of defending yourself. at some point, you did push him right off of you and pin him instead, which resulted in him with a red face instead. 

when switching partners, you sparred with armin next while eren went to reiner. instead of sparring armin, you tried teaching him moves since you knew he was fragile and it wouldn’t have been a fair fight. armin brought up the topic of you and eren.

“so, you and eren? i saw you guys being flustered while sparring.”

“w-w-what??? nooooo, i wasn't flustered???? no one was flustered, armin. haha..” way to be obvious, y/n.

armin giggles and immediately drops the conversation.

eventually, time passes and the colossal titan decides to return, bringing titans with it. cadets are to help kill titans. you ended up on another squad, but you remind yourself to keep in contact with eren and armin. you couldn't keep sight of mikasa being she was with the higher ups, but you tried. you remember crashing into armin with ymir and connie. that's when you find out that… eren got eaten by a titan. it broke your heart, you felt the pieces inside of you tearing apart. you tried being strong but.. tears started to fall. mikasa made her way and she found out too, armin screaming in tears of all the members in his squad who'd died. mikasa was silently angry, calling everyone cowards. she soars off with little gas, and you immediately chase after her. she flew away so quickly, you couldn’t catch up with her. you had to protect her, you promised to protect your friends. one is already gone, you couldn’t have another one disappear. if she disappears, how can you trust yourself to protect armin? after you all made it to the building, killed the titans inside and got to refilling your gases, you find out that the titan who was killing other titans was none other than eren, the kid you started to gain feelings for.

time skip to capturing annie, the female titan, you and eren had finally gotten alone time. a time to talk your feelings out as eren heals from his fight with her. you went to visit him when you know everyone already has, but when you know he was still awake. it’s been a few years since you’ve met and started gaining feelings, being as you met when you were 12 and are now 15.

“hey, eren. how’re you feelin’, titan boy?”

“ugh, don’t call me that, y/n. that’s the least thing i wanna hear from you.”

“sorry…”

“.... y/n?”

“eren?” you both say at the same time.

“oh, you can-”

“no no, you go.”

you both give off small laughs.

“you go first, y/n.”

“um. well, i’m pretty sure this is the wrong time to bring this up considering you’re tired from fighting that female titan. plus this war isn’t near over and i shouldn’t be focused on feelings because we are soldiers but, uh. i have-”

“me too,” eren cuts in.

“feelings, i- what? i didn’t even finish-”

“it’s been obvious. well, not really. i didn’t think it was obvious, but i figured by the way we’ve been acting towards each other. we always get flustered when we’re close to each other. y/n, did you even realize that you’re holding my hand?”

you both look down and see that you’re holding his hand. you snatch it back with a flushed face and start stuttering.

“i-i-i always h-hold my friends' hands!!! i k-know you’ve seen me hold armin’s!! please, y-you’re not special, eren jaeger!”

eren giggles and blushes as well, leaning to grab your hand once more, this time interlocking the fingers.

“i agree. this isn’t the time for romance considering we are soldiers in the middle of a battle. but that doesn’t make me not want to further this relationship between us.. i-if you want that, that is…”

you bite your lip, looking away from him. you squeeze his hand and he caresses your skin with his thumb. you both kind of just ended the conversation there, but everything was mutual between the two of you. you knew what you wanted. a relationship, but never really having the title due to the war you all were going through. time flies and the battle with reiner and bertholdt to capture eren back from them happens. all you could feel about this battle was anger; you were going to get eren back. and you did. during the time where everyone was healing from it, that’s when you and eren both told both mikasa and armin about the little thing you guys had.

armin was supportive, he was easy. but mikasa took it a little hard, not showing it though. you pulled mikasa away and had a long talk with her about it, tell her you didn’t mean to catch feelings for the man she’d grown to protect with her life, it kind of just happened. but she couldn’t stay upset forever. she wishes for eren to be happy, and as she can see: you made him happy. the happiest he’s been. and she wants you, one of her best friends to be happy too, and clearly it was with eren. since then, you and eren have been open with your relationship. everyone knew, and no one tried to end it. when you guys told the crew, most of them basically said “we figured”. jean actually laughed and didn’t believe it at first, “really? in a relationship with that suicidal blockhead? yeah, alright .” so you did what any couple would do to prove their relationship, you kissed eren in front of them all, in plain sight. that was your first kiss. his, also. jean’s face turned red in embarrassment and he turned away. “alright, whatever. you’re both crazy.”

 

.

 

you miss him.

 

you miss eren. you all found out about what was truly outside the walls, and you helped eren cope the most. you know he really wanted to kill the enemy, they caused so much pain to his home inside the walls. he wanted revenge. you understood and supported his anger, you were there with him through every moment. his rants, his tears, his fears. you backed him up; you were on his side. so why did he still leave you alone? why did he disappear from you and your friends? why were you all in marley, watching his attack titan destroy it from above? you weren’t completely mad, you all were gonna infiltrate marley eventually, you just did it quicker and earlier than planned. when you saw him with your own eyes, his titan, your heart sunk. he looked so different.. has it really been that long? no way. and… he grew such long hair.. god. it was actually kind of hot, but you were too angry to admit it.

you sigh. you stood in the blimp, you didn’t do any fighting. you explicitly told commander hange and captain levi that when you arrive at marley, you refuse to fight. you were in gear, in case you had to, but you mainly stood in the ship with them. when everyone retreated after mikasa recaptured eren, captain levi kicked him to the wall. mikasa tries to run to them, but armin’ stops her. you were in a distance, out of eren’s eyesight but you could see him. you really hated his damn face right now.

two soldiers with guns run to him, pointing towards him. levi starts to speak to him once more.

“this brings back memories, eren. you have such a kickable face.” that earns a small chuckle from you. “after you’re tied up, let’s have a chat.”

“that’s fine, i explained everything in the letters though. did you not understand it?”

“tch. that face reminds me of the rotten shits who lived underground. never thought i would see it on you. but cheer up, everything happened like you wanted it to, right?”

eren just stares off into space, but then looks levi straight in the eyes and he mumbles out, “... where are they?”

“who?”

“you know who… where is y/n.”

“tch. oi, l/n. talk to your shithead boyfriend before anything else happens. i’m tired of looking at his disgusting face.”

levi walks away, tells the soldiers to chain him up and they walk away, leaving you finally in his eyesight. internally, his heart sinks. the look on your face was pure disgust, and anger. you walk towards him, and he looks up at you with his dead souled eyes. you clench your fists.

“y/n…”

you let out a huge breath. “eren.”

“... y/n, i’ve mis-”

you already know what he was going to say, and it just pisses you off. you growl and punch the wall behind his head. you lean your leg back and kick it right into his stomach. you grab a fistful of his hair, gripping it and bringing his face to yours. mikasa tries to push through armin, but armin manages to hold her back still.

“y/n, stop !” mikasa screams.

“do you have any FUCKING clue how worried i’ve been, eren?! HUH?! DO YOU??” you ignore mikasa, “besides mikasa, i probably was even more worried than her! YOU LEFT ME, EREN. are you stupid, eh? HUH? are you fucking stupid? you like knowing your partner is just worried sick about you? fuck the plan, if i wanted to i would throw you off this air ship myself. i don’t even like looking at how disgusting you look, you’re hideous. that dead look in your eyes. you’re not even eren! you’re some man who’s a fucking joke, you don’t care about us do you?! that time on the train? when you said we were all important to you? was that a lie? do you even think we are?” you bang his head into the wall and knee him in the face, bruising his nose and bleeding from it. tears start to well up in your eyes, “i missed you, eren… why’d you just leave us like that? i’m your partner… whatever, you’re not worth my time right now. i’m going to check on the others.”

you let go of eren’s hair, look at him a second more and make a disgusted face once more. “you’re not worth my tears.” you start to walk towards the back of the airship.

“you never left my mind the whole time i was there, y/n. i promise you. ”

you clench your fists and ignore him, continuing to walk to the others to see who made it on the airship.

 

.

 

“eren.”

“... y/n?”

you went to visit the prison before commander hange did. you needed to talk to him.

“we need to talk.”

“i’m all ears, my love.”

you hate that he’s seriously using pet names on you right now. it’s always been a weakness. my love, baby, lovebird. you loved them all.

“cute, we using pet names after i beat this shit out of you? okay, sweetie. i’ll call you titan man, yeah?”

“come on, don’t start that again. what are you here for, hm?”

“to talk.”

“okay.. so talk. come on, you know you want to start with how i look.”

“how you look? haha, okay. you want me to say that you look hot? that i want you to ravage me? bend me over and do nasty things to me?”

eren smirks, “actually, yeah. if that’s how you feel, i’d love to hear you say that.”

you chuckle, hating that he isn’t wrong. you do feel that way about him right now. him being really attractive right now, a man bun AND he’s shirtless? this is so unfair.

“well, too bad then. you won’t hear me say those words with confidence. but it would be nice…” you grin and lick your lips.

“oh? unlock these prison bars, and i’ll show you a good time then, baby.”

“no. let’s be serious now-”

“i am serious.”

“no, eren. we need to seriously have a talk,” you give out an exhale, “why’d you do it? do you have a plan in mind?” eren sighs, about to cut you off but you continue, “i’m being serious, eren. i’m not planning on telling the others. this is between us… why’d you leave me?” you start to tear up, “why, eren… you have a good reason for this, right?”

eren looks away from you, not wanting to make eye contact. “i have a plan, y/n. it’s going to work, i know it is.”

“what is it, baby? please, just between us two… i need to know why you left me for so long. i’ve been hurting so much. i love you eren, so fucking much. i literally can’t see myself without you, i see a future with you. please, eren. i want to be with you through it all, thick and thin. we are going to defeat marley together, right?”

“y/n. you are the light in my life, the reason i’m doing everything i am. i want you to live such a perfect life, whether it’s with me or not. i know what i’m doing. i’m doing it for you.”

“no.. no no no! you’re supposed to be doing it WITH me, not FOR me! we’re a pair, we do it together!” you bang on the prison bars, “please eren… i can help you.. yes, i’m upset with you, and i love armin and mikasa, even jean and connie! hell, i love sasha too, god rest her soul. i’m here to protect them all, just as i was in the cadets to protect you, armin and mika. but i love you the most, and if i had to choose… it’s always going to be you. i’d betray my comrades for you, eren-”

“no. no you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let you. i love you, y/n. with my life, my heart, my soul. i’m willing to die for you if i could, but i will not let you betray the others. they need you more than you need me.”

“eren…” you’re full blown crying now, tears running down your face and overall a crying mess. you reach your hands between the bars holding his face in them and he places his arms through the bars to your waist, “please, eren. let me be by your side. i know floch released information about you, us imprisoning you. it was a tough decision, but someone leaked information to me about how you’re going to escape and meet some of your, uh, followers? they didn’t know if they were supposed to tell me considering the fact i was so angry with you on the airship, but someone slipped up. i know that’s not your real plan, you have something else planned for this… there’s no way you want to be on zeke’s side.. right?”

eren laughs, “hell no. i fucking hate that guy.”

“then what are your true intentions, eren…” you run your thumb across his lips, glancing back and forth between his eyes and lips.

“... i can’t tell you. to protect you, armin, mikasa… the others. i can’t tell you. you’re not joining floch and my followers. you’re staying with the scouts.”

“eren, i’m not-”

“l/n? are you down there?”

you and eren pull away from your intimate hold, and put some distance between yourselves. you cough.

“yes, captain. sorry. i had to give eren another beating and more yelling.”

“well, get out. you’re not allowed to be alone with eren.”

“yessir!”

eren looks at you and looks away. you lean back in the prison bars, grab his shoulders and bring it between the bars. you give him a kiss, a light yet deep kiss. one that just screams, please eren. he kisses you back, putting one hand on your waist. you pull away from his lips.

“.... i love you, eren. please, reconsider,” you whisper.

 

“i love you, y/n. more than you ever will know, i promise to spend my last 4 years with you,” his words make you tilt your head in confusion, “you’ll understand later. i promise you .”

you start to walk back, but then you hear eren’s last words to you, “you gonna let me ravage you soon, right? don’t act like i know you don’t think i’m so hot now.”

you giggle and walk backwards to look back at him, “i’ll think about. maybe if you’re a good boy, you can bend me over and do nasty things to me. maybe more, yeah?”

“oh? is this a promise or are you a tease?’

“take your pick.”

you walk up the stairs, leaving the man of your dreams locked in the prison.

 

.

 

eren escaped the prison. he met with his followers, the jaegerists, just as you had known was going to happen. you and the squad went to a restaurant to talk with niccolo. you didn’t expect what happened to happen. sasha’s family were there to eat, niccolo found out that the girl who killed sasha, gabi, was upon them and he threatened to kill both her and falco, the young eldian boy with her. after a dramatic episode with sasha’s adopted little sister, the little girl she saved from a titan, you, armin and mikasa take gabi to a separate room. you have a small talk, only to see your beloved walk in, with a threat. but to see eren again made your stomach flutter with butterflies. god you can’t get over how hot he looks.

he tells you to leave, he needs to talk to armin and mikasa by themselves. as he sends you out, there's a soldier who leads you into another room. you assume eren told him to lead you into another room. you take off your green military jacket, leaving you in your normal day outfit. after a bit, eren walks in. you blush, because god damn he’s so hot.

“....”

“....”

“... why are you so quiet?” eren asks.

“i-i don’t.. i don’t know. everything that’s happening, it’s just. so confusing…”

“thought you wanted me to bend you over? is that not what you said?”

you look up immediately in shock, “eh?”

eren smirks, “ eh? ” he mocks you, “i said, i thought you wanted me to-”

“i heard you the first time.. seriously, eren? right now? i don’t think this is the right time to-”

“baby, i’m joking. well, not really. i kind of was hoping we would do something here, but you obviously don’t and i am not going to force you,” he sighs, “can we just… hold hands and sit in silence? everything is stressing me out and i don’t know what to do with you.”

“what to do with me..?”

“shh, just hold my hands and shut up.”

…

“eren jaeger, i know you did not just tell me to-”

“y/n l/n.” 

you immediately shut up, knowing you hate when he uses your first and last name. you look away and he reaches forward and places his hands out in front of him, on the table.

“hands.”

you hold his hands, fingers interlocked, and look into his eyes. those teal eyes… you could stare into them forever. you sit in silence for about five minutes.

“y/n.”

you hum in response.

“do you love me?”

“more than life itself.”

“... okay.”

they sit in silence once again.

“eren…”

“yes, my love?”

“.... can we… um…”

“hm? use your words, baby.”

ugh, you hate it when his pet names make you melt. and the way he uses them? UGH he just makes you want to just sit there and obey him forever if it meant him calling you baby. you started to blush and squirm in the chair. eren smirks and chuckles.

“is something wrong, baby? do you… need some release? you look like a pathetic whore in heat.”

you look at him with widened eyes. you’ve never heard eren speak like this to you before, but you.. kinda like it. like, you and eren haven’t even done sexual things so for you both to say dirty things, let alone imply sexual activities towards each other, was new. and well, it seems like that's going to change. eren leans forward with his body, taking back his hands and putting one on the table and one to grip your chin towards him.

“ are you going to fucking answer me? ”

“i-i.. i, um-”

“god, you can’t even speak. you’re so awestruck by the way i’m treating you? it was bound to happen sometime, all you do is cry about how much you love me. it’s annoying. i’m surprised you aren’t a jaegerist, on your knees kissing my shoes. begging for me to fuck the shit out of you. huh? is that what you want? for me to fuck the shit out of you? HUH? answer me, you fucking whore! ” eren slaps your face with the hand that gripped your chin, and he grips it again. he force opens your mouth and he spits in it, “ swallow it. ”

“y-yes sir,” are the only words that could come out, and it boosted his ego and the tent in his pants you didn’t notice until now started to show more. you swallowed the liquid he spit into your mouth and stared into his beautiful teal eyes. you know this is just foreplay, he’s not genuinely angry with you. because his eyes never changed. this is the love of your life… he wouldn’t hurt you. you know he wouldn’t hurt you. you open your mouth to show him you swallowed it and he chuckles.

“ good. ” he lets go of your jaw and pats your head. he looks you in the eye and smiles. a genuine loving smile. he speaks again, “are you okay with this? with what i'm doing?”

you nod, giving a smile back. “i feel amazing, eren. are we… are we gonna, y’know…”

“hm? what did i say about using your words?”

you groan and look away from his eyes. “are we, no, are you actually going to bend me over and do nasty things to me?”

“do you want me to?”

“…yes.”

eren smirks and chuckles. “your wish will be my command.”

on an instant, eren grabs your arm and yanks you over the table. he walks to where you were just standing, and then he drags you by your hair to get off the table. he forces you on the floor, on your two knees to face towards him and his bulge that was being held in his dark pants, screaming to come out. he leans against the table.

“well? what are you waiting for? i’m not helping you. you’re on your own.”

you roll your eyes and you feel like you just know what you’re supposed to do. your hands make way to his pants, unbuttoning it immediately. you pull his pants down to his ankles, and start to rub his bulge. eren sucks in a breath, leaning his head back. he’s getting impatient, he actually can’t wait. he pulls his underwear down, his girthy member slapping against his stomach. he backs up to sit on a chair and spreads his legs apart for you. you stare at him with a flushed face and widened eyes. because it’s your guy’s first time doing anything like this, he smirks and starts pumping his member. pre-cum leaking out. he bites his lip, tilts his head back and lets out a low moan.

“y/n. start. i’m not doing everything for you from here on. suck it.”

you stare at his member, not in fear because your beloved’s cock is big, but in shock. will i… will i be able to fit this in my mouth? let alone.. inSIDE of me?? you lean forward, trying not to let him wait any longer. you lick a long stripe from his balls to his tip, earning a strangled moan from eren. he doesn’t want to pull your hair yet, so he just keeps caressing his thighs. you lick it some more, and then you finally stick him inside your mouth, and he instantly thrusts into your mouth. you let out a choke and pull off to cough. he opens his eyes and puts his hand on your cheek, stroking it.

“i’m sorry baby, i-it was an instant reaction. i’ll try not to do that until you’re ready. j-just.. keep going…”

you nod your head after coughing, letting your mouth right back onto his cock. you slowly start to bob your head, letting your tongue glide against the veins. trying not to bite, you start to bob your head quicker. you use your hand for whatever you can't reach and you just do this for a few minutes. eren’s legs start to shake. you lick his tip a few times, and eren’s hands go to your hair, pushing your head down a little further. he’s close. you can’t tell, but he knows he is. he thrusts up into your mouth, making you gag but you also moan, because fuck it feels so good. the vibrations from your noises trigger him, and he thrusts up more.

“f-fuck, y/n… i’m… i-i’m coming-!”

he pushes your head down all the way, your nose touching his skin. you’re gagging as thick liquid spurts up into your throat, making you gag just a bit more. your eyes tear up from the pain in your mouth, but your body feels tingly, on the verge of an orgasm. eren pulls out of your mouth while breathing heavy. you pull back with lust-filled eyes and you know you’re dying to have him inside you now. you open your mouth to show him his cum on your tongue, then you swallow that and show him your tongue once more. he blushes and giggles, looking away from your face. if he looks again, he might cum again, he doesn’t want to. not yet.

“e-eren… i need you… please, eren.”

eren looks at you and chuckles, “fuck… get on the table. i can’t hold back any longer.”

eren helps you up and sets you on the table in front of you both. he pulls off every piece of clothing you had on, your shirt your undershirt, your pants and your underwear, all at once. he refuses to wait. he needs to be in you now. he looks at your wet folds, he knows you were on the verge of cumming. he gives one long lick against you, and you bite your lip, twitching your legs and holding in your moans. he gets up and puts both arms on either side of your head. his member sliding against your folds.

“oh no no no, you are not going to hold back. i want everyone to know who is getting fucked and by who. i want everyone to know my partner of four years is a whore, a slut for my dick. that they’d do anything just to have eren jaeger’s cock in their mouth, in their beautiful pussy. yeah? are you my little cockwhore?”

“yes sir! i’m your little cockwhore, your little slut. please ‘ren, i want you.. no, i need you!!”

“god, baby. say it again, one more time baby..”

“EREN.”

“oh my god, babe. JUST DO IT!”

you both giggle as if there aren’t soldiers threatening your friends and comrades outside that door. eren looks at you with a genuine smile, and he mumbles “please, baby.”

“... i’m your little cockwhore, ‘ren. your little slutty cockwhore.”

“yeah? who’s pussy is this? huh? who’s pussy am i about to fuck?”

“... mine?”

eren lifts an arm and smacks your face, gripping your chin tightly. “try again.”

“y-yours…”

“what was that?”

“it’s yours…”

“what’s mine? didn’t your mother teach you how to speak? what. is. mine?” he uses that hand that gripped your chin to slap his cock against your throbbing area, sliding his cock between your folds.

“this pussy is yours, eren! this virgin pussy is all yours, eren, now can you PLEASE - o-oh!”

eren laughs as he just slides his member inside of you, slowly. it’s both of your first times, but it feels like it’s not. your cunt is so tight, but it feels as though it’s been used so many times. he gets in all the way, and you reach over to grip his man bun. you pull it out of its hair tie because you didn’t want to bother working with it later. he stays in, waiting for you to give him the go. you clench yourself around him, and considering the fact you were on the brink of orgasm when you were sucking him off, you actually orgasm right then and there. you clench around him tightly, moaning and gripping his long hair. he puts his hand back down next to your head.

“y-y/n?!”

“eren! o-oh fuck… -i-i’m sorry… i was on t-the brink of coming, i’m sorry-! EREN!”

he starts to thrust in, using your juices as lubricant and he just goes for it. fuck waiting, you already came. and he was going to make sure you get another orgasm. he wants his baby to be spoiled with his cum. he thrusts in and out, seeing his cock become visible and invisible. you moan, scream, every verb in the dictionary. you move your hands from his hair to his back and chest, leaving marks all over. eren grunts, feelings so good from your nails scratching him. oh god, his baby is making him feel so good. and he know he’s making his baby feel so good too, it’s very well shown on your face. he keep thrusting until he hits the spot to make you wild.

“EREN! oh my god, please eren, i’m so close, please please! please treat me like your little whore! you’re hitting the spot i never knew existed, please don’t stop!”

“you want it? you want me to fuck a baby into you? hm? want your sadistic boyfriend to breed you?”

god, you were losing it. eren grabs your body, he keeps his dick inside and he pulls you down to the chair with him. he wants you to ride him. and god, it’s a new sensation. you feel like you’re seeing god when you ride him. you hop on his lap, and he holds on to your waist while fucking up into you. you stare into his beautiful blueish green eyes. you wrap one arm around his neck and the other to his cheek and you kiss him. he, of course, kisses back. he helps you hop on him while holding your waist. everything feels so good.

“eren… i’m close again..” you mumble to the boy.

“i know , baby, i am too. i am too.”

he leaves marks all over your chest, just as you left nail marks on his back. you guys just sit like this, you keep riding him until you both are on the verge of another orgasm. he holds you against him, fucking into you so quick and fast and it just keeps hitting your walls. you’re both about to orgasm.

“eren! i’m gonna come, i-i’m-”

“let it out baby, i wanna hear you. i want everyone to hear you! please baby, i love you!”

“eren! i’m- f-fuck.. i love you, eren!”

after you both orgasm for a second time, you both sit there. enjoying each other's hot air, finishing off the post orgasm and intimate moment together. you both stare into each other's eyes, sharing the bonding moment. you both smile at each other, and you nuzzle into his neck. you love eren, you loved him so much. you can’t picture your future without him. he helps you up and he sets you back on the table. he looks around the entire room searching for wipes or paper towels. fortunately, he finds paper towels and cleans your private areas off. he’s beyond happy to have shared such a moment with you, finally. he gives you a deep kiss. he loves you so much. he would love to picture himself in your future.

but,

he wasn’t in it.

.

2 years have passed since the rumbling.

 

you miss him.

 

you miss eren so much.

[hattiepins]

Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him. 

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything. 

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles. 

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it. 

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans. 

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery. 

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you. 

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest. 

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move. 

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.” 

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion. 

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner. 

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says. 

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn  my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous. 

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink. 

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children. 

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way. 

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching. 

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart  flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter. 

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute. 

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat. 

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.” 

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession. 

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man. 

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it. 

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels. 

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking. 

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment. 

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly. 

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating. 

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh. 

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share. 

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature. 

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers. 

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring. 

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances. 

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his. 

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature. 

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless. 

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does. 

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you. 

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra. 

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps. 

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin. 

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes. 

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you. 

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed. 

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers. 

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs. 

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now. 

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face. 

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you. 

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit. 

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.” 

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste. 

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. 

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric. 

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing. 

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust. 

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good. 

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks. 

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy. 

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall. 

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” 

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise. 

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch. 

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed. 

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own. 

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest. 

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again. 

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother. 

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right. 

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go. 

Every week you repeat it all like routine. 

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift. 

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made. 

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through. 

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate. 

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.

[heyitsyn]

Manager!Seijoh IWA ROUTE

a/n: uwuwuwuwuwu my mans iwa chan :’)

IM A SIMP FOR IWAIZUMI HAJIME (27) ATHLETE TRAINER

uwu filo!iwa in this :)

and also, listen to lauv while reading this since i wrote this and that song was playing on repeat O_O and also this song

this is my self-request uwu

HES SUCH A POUTY BABIE BLS LOVE ON HIM

onwards we goooo

hihihihihihi yey im so excited for this yall dont even know

ANYWAYS

so,,,,

when iwa first saw you, he thought you were just a cute little thing

your shorter height, your puffy cheeks, and the wide eyes you had whenever you saw someone, or him, do a really cool spiking move

he initially thought of you as a cute little sister hes never had

ehehe that finna change

then the,,,, bullying thing happened

if youd like to read this part, its right here

when he saw you bloodied, all battered,

dear lordie he was finna break some ankles

ONG I WAS JUST TALKING ABOUT SANGWOO YET HERE I AM

like that image of you will probably stay in his memory until he dies of the ripe age of 200

ngl it kinda traumatized him a little bit of how tired and pained you look with the tears rolling down your face and the blood that was escaping your body through your wounds

god you didnt deserve any of that

you deserved the world and the universe yet some people dared to take away your worth

ooo he was so mad

miyo was,,,, hurt??

can i say that??

i dont wanna,,,, explain bara arms iwa hurting a girl so youre gonna have to imagine that for yourselves

but at the end when they said slap, he didnt just ✨S L A P ✨ her

he ✨ B R O K E   S O M E   A N K L E S ✨

oiks is actually scared of him after that

like oiks had to peel him off of her and towards the infirmary where you and the team were

‘IWAIZUMI HAJIME, STOP!’

oof the first and last time oikawa tooru ever said that full name

he was breathing heavy and he was so ✨ A N G R Y ✨ with what she did to you yet he hears your soft scoldings, telling him off for hurting a girl

he wanted to see you

like right now

iwa tore himself from oikawa’s grasp and ✨ N Y O O M E D ✨ himself to the nurse’s office

there, you sat on the bed with the others scattered either on other beds or on the floor 

you smiled at the sight of him and he walked towards you and engulfed you in his arms

‘youre okay now. im here’

he whispered and you buried your face into his chest, breathing in his unique scent

lavender mixed with peppermint

he refused to leave your side so he ✨ M A D E ✨ some room on the bed beside you to sit and he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close

you held his hand while oikawa talked to you and as you shamefully bowed your head

but you were forgiven and everything was all good until the third years really got into plan

makki and mattsun promised to handle it all as they had family in the justice field while oikawa would go and get the girl suspended

‘but what about me?! i want-’

‘iwaizumi, you literally hit her. it’d be best if you’re not involved right now as you were the only one who physically touched her in a harmful manner like that’

ong when it come to y/n, the meme team is replaced by the assassin team

he tried to fight but in the end, 3 overpowered 1 and he was forced to sit back and opted to comfort you instead

he made sure you were safe to walk home but that day, you were the one who asked him to spend time with him

just you two

like after seeing him seethingly enter back into the room, you reached out and held his hand in yours, eyes trained on your fingers fiddling with his

‘iwa-san,,,, you said you downloaded the new godzilla movie?’

you whispered but he could still hear you and his heart swelled at your meek voice

‘yea, i did. and my mom bought those chips you like’

your eyes flitted up to meet his eyes and a soft smile spread on your lips and there was this thumping in his heart

maybe that was the first time that iwaizumi hajime felt differently towards you

a smile that seemed to be differently perceived than the rest

and it wasnt for the whole team

it was for him

and him alone

the trek to his house was quiet but you would hum nursery rhymes or the songs you heard earlier in the radio while skipping every few steps and tightly holding on to his hand

iwaizumi’s olive eyes watched you still radiate energy despite being so hurt for a long time

they then trailed to your linked hands and he unintentionally squeezed it, only figuring out he did it when you looked up to him and squeezed it back with a smile

he wanted to do something to make you forget of what happened

he didnt want you to think about the cruelty and pain so he was going to make sure you would continue smiling 

thankfully, his parents werent home so he wouldnt have to explain why he has a bandage-covered girl with him 

iwa led you upstairs to where his room was and your eyes widened when you saw what was inside

tiny action figurines of animes like bakugo from boku no hero academia or a tiny pikachu on his desk

there was a large country flag that you didnt recognize and a few godzilla posters and volleyball players decorating beside it

however, besides those normal things you wouldve expected,

there were many polaroids

polaroid pictures that were everywhere with no specific layout pattern and just placed anywhere that had room

iwa watched as you dazedly walked forward and entered the room to move towards the wall by his desk that had the most pictures against it

from pictures of him and oikawa to the third years to him and his parents or just the sunrise and human silhouettes

your fingers reached forward and traced the picture of him and the third years when they were still first years and took a spontaneous trip to the beach

‘mattsun stole his dad’s car and drove us to the beach without a license’

iwaizumi’s voice answered your questions and you looked back, shimmering eyes

this room,,, wasnt just a normal, teenage boy’s room

this was a room that represented iwaizumi hajime

from his natural character description like his love for volleyball evident in the volleyball player posters to the underneath description that was hidden like his love for godzilla and his love of taking pictures of the people he cares about the most

it was all that made up iwaizumi hajime

your feet took you to stand in front of him, still standing at the doorway, and you stood on your toes to try and be eye-level with him

‘youre really cool, iwa-san’

you whispered and his ears turned red, not from the compliment, but by the close distance between you two

iwa clearedhis throat and ruffled your hair roughly, pushing you down slightly back to the balls of your feet

‘i already knew that, brat. now go and sit over there and be comfortable or whatever while i go get the food’

he hurriedly turned to hide his growing red face but you stopped him

‘iwa-san,,, ano,,, can,, i borrow a hoodie?’

you mumbled, nervously thinking he might refuse 

but he grunted a response, not bothering to turn around

‘take your pick’

you smiled and thanked him before bounding over to the wardrobe that was pushed against the wall across his bed that was against the corner by his window

inside had so many hoodies and there were also shirts that were hung up on the other half

they were all graphic tees that either had american bands or anime or game references

opting for a mint green hoodie that says ‘SONIC NYOOM’, you had an undershirt under your button up and as you slipped the bloodied long sleeve off, he swung the door open, eyes focused on the tray of coke filled glasses

then he looked up and almost dropped it at the sight of you,,, like that

‘OH MY GOD SORRY’

he shrieked and carefully but hurriedly backtracked back to the hallway

ofc you were shocked too but you quickly put the hoodie on and went to get him

iwaizumi’s heart was hammering in his chest and he was VERY red with embarrassment 

how could he see you like that?!

a girl who wasnt his shouldnt be seen like that by his eyes!

a touch on his arm reminded him of his position and he was still holding the tray but it was clear from the liquid in the cups that he was shaking slightly

‘iwa-san, its okay. i still had a shirt on so dont misunderstand’

you reasoned and he nodded, still not looking at you

the beginning of the movie was quite awkward as you both were sitting next to each other on the floor, backs against his mattress while the laptop played godzilla in front of yall

but it seems it was just him who was feeling this way bc you were intrigued at this weird monster that was squshing building under its foot and you continued munching on the food

iwa stood up and coughed

‘im going to take a shower’

you paused it and stared up at him, a chip halfway in your mouth

‘oh? you want me to wait for you?’

he agressively shook his head

‘no! its okay i watched it already. just,,,, watch it’

at the end, his words came out jumbled in his hurry to go and calm his heart down

you shrugged and unpaused the movie to continue watching

iwa spent his time in the shower, thinking and trying to think of stupid thoughts like the time oikawa almost choked on a peanut when they were in middle school to distract him of thoughts of how adorable you were

ONG HE WAS JUST SHOWERING AND INNOCENTLY DOING SHOWER THINGS

‘no, i said she was like a sister to me. and a sister she’ll remain’

okay ngl even though theyre not related, im worried yall would be like ‘iNcESt’ but bls a lot of people have tried to sibling-zoned people yet realized they liked them in THAT way

as he wrapped himself with a towel, he then realized

oh my god he didnt bring clothes

LMAO NOOOO IWAAAAA

iwa frantically looked around and he saw his mother’s sakura themed robe and he paused, arguing silently with him if he should wear it

well, it was either that or he went back into the room and showed you,,,,,, this

sucking in a sharp breath, he kept the towel around his waist and slipped his arms through the tight arm holes and he awkwardly tried to keep it tied since he was so much bigger than his tiny mom

what is happening

you saw the door opening and excitedly turned to tell him about this one scene when your voice died down in your throat at the sight of him 

here was iwaizumi hajime, ultra muscle buff man who gets abs with a simple glance of the gym, wearing an all too-tight pink, cherry blossom print robe that was so tight the tie around it was shaking to keep it together

‘dont’

he whispered and that snapped your remaining surprise to double over in laughter

‘its so cute! iwa-san, youre so cute!’

you shrieked and he growled and hurriedly went to to grab grey sweatpants and a shirt before running straight back to the bathroom

when he finally came back out, his face was still red and he was pouting as he sat next to you back to his seat

he could feel you staring at him while looking constipated as you held your laugh in and the second your eyes met, your giggles fell out

iwa rolled his eyes

‘yes yes let it out’

‘hehe, iwa-san, i didnt know you had that style’

‘it isnt! i didnt want to walk in here practically naked with you in the room!’

he growled and you nodded, still not quite believing it

‘hai hai. just say you like pink, i wont tell’

you waved and iwa felt offended

‘what do you mean ‘hai hai’?! its really not!’

your lips pursed to keep more giggles in and iwa growled again before lunging to grab your sides and tickling you 

of course being careful to not touch your wounds

you shrieked at the ticklish feeling and iwa laughed as you made weak attempts to push him off

‘huh? what was that? whatd you say? cant talk anymore, can ya?’

he teased

‘NO!!!! IWA-SAAAAN!!!!!’

you shouted in between your laughter and he finally let up when you squealed out your apologies and promised to never say it again

you breathed air into your lungs and sat back up to recollect yourselves 

iwa saw the strands that escaped your bun and they were scattered everywhere looking messy with your flushed cheeks and teary eyes

oh my god you were beautiful

he was so happy that you still kept that smile despite what happened and he was going to fight to keep it there

forever

it was about nearly the end when you finally realized how different iwaizumi’s hair looked

‘oi, iwa-san, your hair is not naturally spiky?’

he continued eating the chips while still watching the movie

‘what would you expect? even shittykawa’s hair is like this. did ya know that he wakes up extra early to curl it into that shitty mess?’

your jaw dropped

‘EEEHHHH???!!!!!!!’

later, you asked him how he does his hair for school and he blindly reached for the gel that was resting on his desk before tossing it to you

‘here’

you looked at it and flickered over to his hair and then you had the greatest realization

‘GODZILLA-SAMA!’

you pointed and he stopped eating, turning to give you a confused look

‘ha?’

you shrieked in an another round of laughter

‘IWA-SAN LIKES GODZILLA-SAMA SO MUCH HE DOES HIS HAIR AFTER HIM!!!!’

you doubled over to the floor, clutching your stomach and iwaizumi’s flustered expression made you laugh harder

he knew you were smart but,,, not this smart

you figured out his secret

the secret he’s hidden since he was practically a toddler

even his best friend, the guy hes known since he was born, never made the connection

yet here you are, figuring it out not even a year of knowing him

was this part of the many reasons he,, felt his heart beat for you?

oikawa was relieved that you had the bright twinkle in your eyes the next time he saw you and you were actively talking to iwaizumi in that early morning practice

‘oh? y/n-chan, is iwa-chan your best friend now?’

he tried not to sound jealous for his own best friend’s closeness to you and he added a teasing smile for extra measure

okay that hurted me a bit

iwaizumi snarled and blasted the volleyball towards his face before he could even yell or shout

‘iwa-san, dont do that’

you chided softly, small hands wrapping around his muscly arm

but iwa patted your head

‘deserving people deserve things to happen to them’

you rolled your eyes but smiled at him

‘hai hai’

the next week, iwa still kept a close eye on you in case someone else decided to mess with you 

but you told him that you swear youd tell him if someone did and he trusts you so he backed off a little

one day, he was eating lunch with the other third years in their classroom when you busted through the door, excitedly holding your phone

‘iwa-san! i figured out what country your flag was!’

he was halfway of shoving rice in his mouth when iwa looked at you

‘oh? you couldve just asked me though?’

you pouted and went to pull a chair from another desk to sit beside him

‘nooo. i wanted to work for that information. so you’re from the philippines, iwa-san?’

he nodded proudly

‘yep’

your eyes shone with interest

‘really?! you look japanese so it must be one of your parents. hey, iwa-san, which island are you from? i read about them and they have like 7641 islands-’

the others watched as you read through the article in your phone and iwa wasnt even following your words, instead staring at you with a dazed look and a lovesick smile

mattsun, makki, and oikawa exchanged looks of surprise because in all the years theyve known him especially oikawa, iwa was never interested in girls and such

he was a straight forward man with goals and straight sight to get them done with no distractions like relationships or love

yet here he was

slowly falling in love with you without even knowing he is

he continued to fall with the simplest things about you

from the perfume that you wore everyday to the way you would tuck your hair behind your ear when you were talking to someone

little quirks he used to miss was now being noticed even if you were right behind him and not in his line of vision

now, the boys were starting to see the difference of their precious ace

it was as if when he started to like you, they knew immediately by how he was acting

then one day during practice, you were late and they were all looking around for you and when they couldnt find you, they met back in the gym with nervous looks

iwa was already pacing around, a scary aura radiating off of him, and kindaichi, who went with him to look around the school, warned the others of iwaizumi’s worry

‘he was slamming doors open and he was walking so fast i had to run to even keep up with him’

then you busted through the gym door

you were actually picking up food for the team and sweets and you were held up when makki’s puffs were still being cooked

they rallied around you to make sure you werent hurt and you assured them but iwa pulled them away like picked them up and threw them off to the side and took you in his arms

iwa thought you were hurt and he was so worried something happened to you again

the hug was bone-crushing with how hard he was squeezing you but you felt his worry though and you freed your arms to wrap them around his neck

‘im okay, iwa-san’

you whispered in his ear and he nodded

‘let me hold you for a second’

he mumbled and you nodded

‘oi, theres food in the bags so make sure you eat it all. coach paid for it all so dont leave behind anything’

the mention of the food distracted them from you and iwa and they piled on top of each other to reach their food first

iwa was grateful that you distracted the others from seeing him being vulnerable towards you

‘i thought-’

‘shh,,, you have me right here, right now. safe and sound’

you knew how much seeing you all battered messed him up and his attempt of making you forget about it has been

and his worry of you being gone without no sign of where you went will forever be there and he will always have that thought in the back ofhis mind

the next time you came over, you actually met his parents

since you went home early before, you didnt catch his parents when they came home around 10 minutes after you left

but this time, they were already home with his mom cooking dinner while his father was sitting on the dining chair reading a newspaper

iwa walked through the door, shouting he was home, and you did the same thing to be customary

oof his parents were surprised

his mom turned around to share a look of surprise with her husband

sure they havent seen tooru in a while but they were pretty sure his voice wasnt that high pitched

right?

‘hajime, did you hit tooru so much you ruined his-’

then his mother stopped talking at the sight of you holding iwa’s hand tightly when yall stepped around the corner

you sheepishly smiled at them and bowed your head in greeting

oh my

so this was why iwaizumi hajime-san was really really really handsome

his parents were freaking good looking

like his mother was aphrodite with her flawless melanin skin and doe shaped eyes with a mole under her left eye

and his father was like ares, so handsome yet still manly and his appearance was a special type of good-looking with his buffness and ruffed appearance

‘iwa-san, i didnt know your parents were gods’

you mumbled, still staring at them

iwaizumi choked and coughed, flustered

‘oh my!’

his mother placed a hand over her mouth

‘hello’

his father stood up to walk in front of you and held his hand out

‘i’m hajime’s father’

you let go of hajime’s hand to shake his own with both of your hands

‘really nice to meet you! i’m l/n y/n! seijoh volleyball manager! first year!’

you introduced then stepped aside to fully bow 90 degrees

iwaizumi thought it was so cute of how flustered you were at meeting his parents

‘ay nako! nak, i didnt know you had such a beautiful girlfriend!’

she squealed and hurriedly went to stand in front of you and gently grasped your arms to stand you back straight and took a good look at you

‘youre so beautiful, iha. nice skin, pretty eyes, ang ganda!’

even with your research of tagalog, you didnt quite understand what she was saying

iwa noticed your slightly confused expression and he laughed, tucking his hands in his pockets

‘sorry, my nay speaks in taganese when she gets excited’

‘t-taganese?’

‘tagalog and japanese’

you nodded in understanding

it was time to put your basic reserach to test

‘hello po’

you greeted her and nervously took her hand and pressed the back of it to your forehead before slowly lowering it down and letting go

her wide eyes made you think you did something bad or even offensive!

‘i-i’

‘HAY NAKO, HAJIMEE~!’

she shrieked 

‘YUNG-!!! YUNG-!!!’

okay im terrified

iwa noticed his mother’s malfunction and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder and veered her back to her kitchen

‘sorry about her, l/n-chan. its just,,,, hajime hasnt brought home a girl before. and you doing that mustve done it in for her’

you worriedly watched hajime calm his mom down with a smile and talking to her hushed

in their perspective,,,

‘shes so nice, nak! marry her, okay? shes very pretty and she made an effort to please your nanay, so go and marry her!’

ohmylord im nervous

initially, iwa only wanted to go and hang out with you and watch a movie

not have a full dinner with his family

lmao i shouldve told you that youve been friends for months now

his mother cooked sinigang and adobo and more filipino dishes, adding even more when she saw you were joining them

the dining table was covered with a large plate full of food and you were so fascinated because this was a side of iwa that you wanted to know more about

‘wow!’

you said, not thinking, at the deep-fried fish that still had its eyeballs intact

iwa genuinely thought you would’ve shyed away from it in disgust but your eyes were glistening with genuine interest

‘iwa-san! youre so lucky you get to eat this stuff!’

you told him, looking over at his direction

while mrs iwaizumi was lading in the soup into the big bowl, mr iwaizumi was sitting at the dining table, watching your interaction and hajime telling you what each food was and your noises of surprise

he watched his son laugh when you said the palabok reminded you of the orange boy hinata 

and he also watched his son look at you so lovestruck and exactly like how he looks at his wife

soon, his mother finished and they rounded the table before saying a quick prayer to bless the food and digging in

‘so, what do you want to start with, iha?’

mrs iwaizumi asked and your wide eyes looked around

‘hm, im not sure. whats your favorite iwa-san?’

you looked to your right towards hajime who was busy eating and stopped before pointing his lips towards a direction

‘that one’

‘hah?’

you asked 

mrs iwaizumi laughed at her son’s actions

‘sorry, l/n-chan, my son has adapted my traits. he was pointing to this, adobo. do you want some?’

‘yes please’

the smell made your mouth water and you started to tuck in

maybe it was your managerial instincts, but you used your napkin to wipe hajime’s lips and he was also used to this and turned his head to make it easier for you then he went to grab the water jug and re-fill your glass

once it was done, you both silently went back to eating

his parents watched his exchange and it was like watching a married couple taking care of each other

‘so, l/n-chan, you said you were their manager’

mr iwaizumi started and you nodded, wiping your lips

‘yes. i have been for a while now and please, call me y/n’

‘hajime actually told us he had a new manager for his team and tooru told us too. but we didnt know you were a girl. its just so interesting for hajime to bring you home as he has never really had any female friends’

mrs iwaizumi’s comment made you chuckle and iwa’s eyes widened in embarassment

‘nay! of course ive had female friends! ive had friends from all genders!’

he reasoned but you teasingly smiled at him

‘ah, im not really surprised. iwa-san doesnt exactly have the appearance that girls are brave enough to approach’

he sent you a betrayed glance

‘hah?! what’s that supposed to mean?!’

you shrugged, going back to your food

‘im just saying that you always have this intense look in your eyes and youre always frowning. but its cute so its fine. and besides, i dont think theyve seen you laugh since you dont really smile a lot, iwa-san’

‘but you’ve seen me smile!’

‘eung. but its only to me. if they knew the stuff i knew like you being a godzilla fan or your collection of succelents, theyd see you like oikawa-san’

‘HAH?! YOU SEE ME LIKE SHITTYKAWA?!’

mrs iwaizumi held her husband’s hand on the table as they watched you both bicker and tease each other with a smile

hajime has always been on the rougher side of things and he doesnt really have many close friends other than the team and even then, tooru is the only one he can really be himself around

yet here you are, bringing out the boy hajime really is and making him laugh, a sound his parents dont really hear outside the house

and your eyes

god, your eyes held admiration, life,,,, and you might not know this yet,, but love

her eyes trailed her son who teasingly headbutted you and you faking a surprise and doing the same

then you heard his father’s cough which brought you back to where you were and the situation and the people that were there

you felt embarrassment creeping up inside you and you bowed

‘im sorry for acting like that, iwaizumi-san. i-’

‘no, dont apologize, darling. please, dont’

her soft smile made the nerves in you ease and hajime’s father winked at him and he knew exactly what his father was trying to say

after dinner, you volunteered to wash the plates but they veered you away from there and towards the living room 

‘oh my god, pops! stop her!’

hajime whined because he knows what his mother was going to do

she was going to show him his baby pictures

you sat on the beige couch and watched as she reached under the coffee table and revealed a few albums that had iwaizumi hajime written on the cover

‘now, y/n-chan, hajime wasnt always this pouty. in fact, he used to always have a smile on his face and laughed at the littlest things! like right here! a leaf fell on him and he-’

stories of his childhood was exchanged throughout the night and you were laughing so hard that tears were falling out of your eyes while hajime wrapped your shoulders with his arm and he would squeeze you tightly whenever you made fun of him

‘oh dear! iwa-san! you-!’

you didnt finished as you continued to laugh and he sighed

‘nay, can we go eat dessert now?’

he asked his mother and she was beginning to feel sorry for him so she smiled and nodded

‘okay. hajime, come help me’

‘iwaizumi-san, i can-’

‘no, y/n-chan. dont you worry your pretty little head about anything and just look through more of these pictures’

hajime followed his mother to their kitchen before she stopped and turned around

his mother’s height was around 5′1 so she had to look up to meet his eyes and her hands were clasped around his biceps

she is definitely beautiful and he cursed at how little he got from his mother other than her skin color

mrs iwaizumi married her husband and immigrated to japan to have a family and your polite action from earlier moved her as she hasnt experienced that in nearly 2 decades

‘nay, shes,,,, just a friend’

he reasoned, a wobbly smile to cover up his want for that title to change

yet mothers def knows best and saw right through it

she gave him a firm look with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips

‘nak, dont lie to yourself. i raised you to never tell a lie and lying to yourself is considered lying to someone. she’s not your KAibigan, shes your kaIBIGan’

now, hajime knew a little bit of tagalog as his mother made sure he was able to at least speak to his relatives back home

so he got a hint of what she was saying yet was confused 

then he realized it

his blush creeped up his neck and he chuckled, ducking his head low to avoid his mother’s eyes

‘nak, listen to me. papunta ka pa lang, pabalik na ako. youre still growing and you may be confused right now, but make sure to think wisely and dont live with regrets. nanay doesnt want you to go through it all by yourself since she knows how hard it was. so please, listen to me and pursue her. shes special, hajime. she makes you so, so happy. i see it in your eyes, her eyes, god has fated you together. i feel it’

now if a filipino mother actually tells their son to go after a girl, thats a pretty big thing as its known that mothers are the hardest to convince and are fiercely protective of their sons, especially if its an only son, but mrs iwaizumi literally tells hajime to go court you because she sees how happy you make him and is willing to let hajime go to you 

definitely his mother’s words stuck to him and as he walked you home, he was busy thinking that he was quiet and you were worried as he would be talking right now

‘iwa-san? you okay?’

you asked and he blinked, taken back to reality from his daydream

‘hm, yea’

he answered to look at you

hes been pining for months now and he slipped his hand into yours, holding it tightly

uwu if you want to see iwa moments with y/n, read through the seijoh manager series as theres a lot of them in there

he wanted you yet, he knew it would be selfish of him to keep you in the future

he would be a college student while you’re in your 2nd year

would you want to be so far away from him?

could you handle it?

‘yanno, iwa-san, your dad told me something interesting’

you suddenly said, squeezing his hand and kicking rocks while looking up at the night sky

‘what was it? something embarrassing?’

he immediately feared that they told you that story when he was still potty training and he fell straight into the toilet 

‘hmm,,, no. he told me that he met your nanay when she was a high school student and he was a in an intern at your lolo’s company’

iwa listened and he had a smile at how you said the tagalog word for grandfather

‘he said she almost ran him over by her bike and she fled but they met again when she visited your lolo. through that, they became friends and then she confessed to him. apparently, he declined because she was younger than him, although just 3 years, and he was leaving for his own country in a few months so he didnt know if she would wait for him’

were,,,, you reading his mind?

iwa knew of his parents story yet with you telling it, it sounded a million times more interesting

‘yet she promised him. thats it, just a promise. that she would remain faithful to him, she would keep herself for him and when she finally graduates, she would go and find him and they could be happy together. he said it was the longest 3 years of his life yet when he saw in the airport, he felt like the wait was worth it. because he gets to hold the embodiment of happiness in his arms for the rest of his life’

you finished and he hummed

‘times have changed, y/n’

‘even you?’

you stopped walking and he naturally stopped too

‘would you wait for me like he did if i promised myself to you? if i promised you that despite the few years of waiting, i would still be yours and remain yours until we’re ready to be together?’

WHAT IS HAPPENING!!!!!!!

iwa’s heart was drumming in his chest and he wanted so desparately to look at you in the eyes but you were making that impossible as your head was bowed and your eyes were fixed on the concrete you both stood on

‘of course, i would’

your head snapped up and e/c clashed with olive eyes 

‘i would wait for you. we may,,, be young right now. and they might think we’re,,, being impulsive. but i dont care. because right now, all that matters, is you and me. we can think about the consequences later, but right now, i just want to kiss you’

he admitted, red ears seen by the moonlight

your body shook

‘do it, no balls’

well,,,, he has the balls

and under the moon, at 8:34 pm, iwaizumi hajime kissed you

OML THIS REMINDS ME OF THAT SEIJOH SHORT WHEN HE WAS TALKING TO OIKAWA AND HIS NEIGHBORS ARE LIKE ‘AH SHITE HERE WE GO AGAIN’

it didnt come as a surprise to the team when yall announced your relationship

well,, you both actually didnt tell them outright until like weeks later

what can you say?

you and iwa are very private people and you dont really like to show off in public

even though yall lit rally are stuck to the hip and he does things that he doesnt even think hes doing but he is totally doing

you were only caught by,,, guess who

mrs iwaizumi

it was weeks when she met up with mrs oikawa bc theyre totally best friends and thats why their sons are best friends

she told her of her son’s girlfriend and how sweet you were and how mrs oikawa should be jealous that her son doesnt have a girlfriend like that and the standards for oikawa’s future girlfriend was raised just by that teasing

oikawa literally came into after school practice after a phone call with his mother, fuming

you were talking to kindaichi and yahaba with iwa beside you, arm around your waist totally not obvious guys

and yall just saw an angry oikawa stomping towards yall

‘y/n-chan, iwa-chan, why the hell did my mom just call me and tell me that im not allowed to bring home a girl if she doesnt have h/c with s/c (skin color) and e/c and h/m (height measurement)?’

you shrugged

‘oikawa-san, i’ve never even met your mom before’

but iwa had a hunch

‘ahh,,,, my mom mustve been bragging to your mom. yanno how they are’

oikawa shot him a disbelieving look

‘IWA-CHAN! ITS BAD ENOUGH THAT YOU GOT A GIRLFRIEND AND I DONT! BUT ITS WORSE THAT YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS AFFECTING MY FUTURE ONE!’

he ranted, completely unaware that he just outed your entire relationship to the team

tbh they werent even surprised

like they were all ‘damn now shes taken. but cant say i didnt see that coming’

they took it pretty well too

they know how iwa is and they literally respect this mans and if anything, out of the whole team, he is the best candidate for your boyfriend

dating iwa is totally normal and yall just have increased touches?? like i dont know how to explain like he’s constantly holding your hand or arm around your waist or shoulder etc

literally nothing changed

you still have dinners at his house and iwa also knows your family and all that

and the most important thing is,

he kept that promise

even when he was literally at the other side of the world,

he still remained yours and you kept your own promise and waited patiently for his return

OOOOO TIMESKIP IWAIZUMI HAJIME (27) ATHLETE TRAINER

a little girl with bouncing dark brown hair was giggling as she maneuvered herself around the tall people

a shout from her parents and little sister was only making her run faster until she crashed into the legs of the person she’s been looking for

his blue jersey was similar to hers and she raised her arms up with a bright smile

‘uncle!’

she yelled and he chuckled before hoisting her up to his arms

‘ah, reyna-chan, didnt mom and dad tell you to wait for them? look! tala-chan is crying because you left her’

she followed his finger to her little sister, who was in her father’s arms, crying and reaching out for her

‘nee-chan!’

she screeched

finally, her parents were there and you were scolding her for running off

‘reyna, just dont do that again’

you said and she nodded, pouting and holding her uncle’s thumb

‘thank you, tooru-san. i dont know what i would do if she got lost’

oikawa grinned then gently patted the hat-covered head of the newborn baby girl that was strapped to your chest

‘hehe, its okay, y/n-chan. after all! uncle is always there to save reyna-chan!’

she shrieked when he held her up and hajime shook his head in his antics

‘where’s the others? i saw them in the stands but-’

he was cut off when he heard the shouts and yells from the other side that could only belong to your boys

‘woooo!!!!’

kindaichi’s voice echoed through the place and mattsuhana were rushing to greet their goddaughters

tala shyly accepted the arms of mattsun while makki was squealing quietly when darna was holding his finger tightly as she slept

‘taka-san, wanna hold her? she’s easier to hold when she’s sleeping’

‘oh can i?’

his eyes held the stars as the 11-month-old raised her fist then lowered it back down, sleep still heavy on her

‘waaa~ darna-chan is growing really quickly’

kunimi whispered, peering over his senpai to look at the baby whos eyes kept fluttering

you chuckled while looking at oikawa and him playfully bouncing reyna

‘tooru-san, congratulations on your win. it seems you’ve beaten hajime this time’

you complimented and the brunette smiled brightly at you, adjusting the little girls in his arms

‘ei, y/n-chan, i’ll beat him next time, and next time and the next time!’

every time he said ‘next’ he gave his goddaughter a kiss on her cheek making her giggle

your husband was pouting at the reminder of japan’s loss and you reached over to wrap your arms around him causing hajime to turn his head away from you

‘aww, my 4th baby is sad now’

you cooed and cupped his face delicately on your hands making him sulk and whine

the others, watching the scene, continue to be surprised at this side of their captain that remains to only be caused by you

‘ugh, nearly a decade later and theyre still sappy’

yahaba gagged and watari slapped his back

‘let them be happy’

‘come on! im in the mood for spaghetti! you like spaghetti, tala-chan?’

‘eung!’

mattsun cheered with kindaichi and she raised her hands to share the same energy

once everyone was situated in a restaurant and ordered, small talks were shared around the table of the past

‘haha, spaghetti is how your baba found out about you, tala-chan’

yahaba’s comment made the walking group laugh at the memory of seeing the video you sent in the seijoh group chat

‘i wanted to be creative with my second child since my firstborn was revealed by this loudmouth’

oikawa winced at the indirect diss at him

‘y/n-chan! i was really excited to find out i was going to be an uncle!’

‘youre already an uncle, bakakawa!’

hajime has toned down the insults to keep it pg for the children

‘but-!’

they started to argue, the oldest daughter looking disinterested as she sees this happening or hearing it whenever her dad and uncle video chat

‘it took me forever to find a ‘prego’ pasta sauce in the grocery store like i dont know why. was there a shortage?’

you complained, remembering the frustration

your fellow first years snickered at you and kindaichi prodded fun at you

‘is that why you just outright told him you were pregnant the day you found out?’

you rolled your eyes and watched makki and mattsun and tala watch the youngest as she wiggled her fists in the air and was awake enough to babble ‘makki’ over and over again

that was her first word and although she is now able to say a few words, she still repeats her first word over and over again

‘we had a fight and it just came out so of course i didnt have time to prepare!’

you defended and hajime finished his antics with oikawa just as you said that

‘what-what was your words again? ‘i really want to push you off the roof right now but i want my baby to meet their bastard father first?’‘

you gasped at that regretful statement and punched him in the arm

‘hajime! stop!’

you whined and covered your face with the sleeves of your his hoodie

‘hehe, y/n, you should do that again’

kyotani teased and you glared at him

‘shut up kyotani’

eyebrows were raised

‘eh? are you more hormonal?’

‘do you realize you already have 3 daughters?’

‘iwaizumi-san really wants to have a volleyball team family’

‘at least wait a year and a half, you animals’

‘so,, like hes that good huh?’

hajime growled and leaned over to intimidate but you snarled and jumped on your feet, being held back by the arms by kindaichi and hajime to stop yourself from leaping across the table to kill yahaba

‘keep talking like shite and i’ll make sure none of you become the godfather of this baby’

okay what

one, did you just curse

and two, this baby?!

‘im big sister again?!’

reyna ruined the surprised silence and then chaos ensued

‘WHAT!’

‘BABY?!’

‘THIS BABY?!’

you just realized what you said and smirked at the chaos you created and sat back down, leaning on the back of the chair and smugly taking a sip of your water

‘oh the power i hold in my hands’

you teased and oikawa pointed at you

‘when! how long!’

you looked at hajime who was so shocked that his eyes glazed over and a passerby wouldve thought he was dead

‘apparently 3 months’

oikawa started counting and his eyes widened at that thought

‘you-! you stayed in argentina! in my house! my house-!’

‘yep. both of them created under your house’

what 

!!!!!

hajime fainted 

oikawa screamed

a/n: okay i admit i got a little too carried away with this one. i just love filo!iwa and this was mostly written in his pov bc cmon we all know we love iwa and fell in love w him the moment we saw him

[voiceless-terror]

Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home. 

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case. 

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away. 

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy. 

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone. 

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance. 

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile. 

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine: Part 3

In honor of the new photo, I think I will post this now. :)

Warnings:  Nothing, the reader remains a blank canvass.  Might have cursing.

Summary:  The reader is working undercover where she things the next heist will be, while trying to figure out the Thief's ways…

Note:  There really are diamonds in all these colors!  I spent way too much time looking it up.

“Joe F. Gambrel and Co., how may I direct your call?”  I shifted in my seat a little.  The chair was not that uncomfortable, but I felt like I was definitely out of my comfort zone.  I listened to the person on the other side, put them on hold.  Started an email to my boss.  Took them off hold.  “I am so sorry.  Mr. Larsen is in a meeting, may I take a message?”  I typed the message in the email, hung up, hit send.

This was the shape of my day.  Take messages for my reprobate boss, who was never in the office, and try to look like someone else.  Act like someone else.

And, most of all, case the joint.  I wondered, briefly, if the Thief ever called his work that…casing the joint.  Probably not.  He did not look like someone who used twenties gangster slang.

As I wandered the office suite, I hoped I was not wasting my time.  I was working for a high end antiquities firm.  If you wanted something, they got it for you.  They did not have a lot of staff, and the bosses seemed to be out of the office more than not.  The floors directly below me were home to a large business dedicated to restoration.

I’d been studying, and I was ninety nine percent sure that this was the next place the Thief would break into.  The crown was — just a crown.  Pretty, historied. I suspect he took it because he could, not because he wanted it.  After all, it had been right there.

No.  He had come for the Star.  Almost a half a year prior, someone had stolen The Golden Queen.  And now, if I had guessed right, he would be coming for a incredibly rare, beautiful pink diamond called The Compass Rose.

I went and looked at it, not for the first time. At the top floor of the high rise, the company — and Keith Larsen — kept the Compass Rose on display in an act of hubris that was sure, if Greek Myth was any indication, to anger some God eventually.  It was in a huge room, the ceiling was all glass that arched up to a sharp point that was illuminated at night.  The floor was marble, the walls a warm sandstone.  Four benches, one on each side of the pillar that held the diamond’s display case.  One wall held a fountain and greenery, meant to look like a small, exotic waterfall.  The water trickled softly as I went as close to the case as I dared.  And there.  The largest pink diamond that had ever been discovered in Australia, glittering deep rose.  It was one of a kind.

My thief was collecting a full set.  There were three diamonds, including this one, in Midas’s Rainbow that the thief had not stolen.

He could have gone after one of the other ones.  I could be wrong.

But I wasn’t.  I couldn’t be. I had bribed my way in, under a new name with a perfectly wrought set of identification papers, even a credit card.  I dyed my hair and carefully applied my make up so that I made my face a little different.  So if I ran into him, he wouldn’t immediately know it was me.  It was not, probably the best plan, but my training consisted of books and watching Leverage.

I was staring at it too long, the security guard peeked in.

“Miss?”  The security guard peeked in.  Older man, with warm, friendly eyes and a lovely voice that seemed not to match his age.  We’d spoken a few times on my daily check of the diamond.  No one was allowed to be in the room too long, and he was gently reminding me it was time to go.

I went out the door, leaned against the wall next to him, and asked the question that I’d been asking myself for weeks, since I started working here.  “If you were going to steal the Compass Rose, how would you go about it?”

He stared at me for so long I thought he was going to go report me.  “That’s not a smart question to be asking, around here.”

“There’s no harm, though.”  I said.  His voice bothered me.  I wanted more, if I could listen to it a little longer…

He shook his head and didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry if I offended.”

He gave me a gentle smile, touched his ear and pointed to a corner of the room.  Then he shooed me towards the door.

Back at my desk I snuck out my steno notebook from its hiding place in a stack of unused notebooks in my desk drawer.  It was where I kept my plans.  Layout of the building.  Everything I learned.  Since my purse could get searched at any time, I only had it at work.  One steno pad looks like all the others, right?  Locked in my drawer, under a box of tampons.

The fountain has to be the way in. There needs to be a way to service the pipes behind the wall.

If I could break something in the fountain without getting caught, someone would have to fix it.  Someone would have to open the door or the hatch, and I’d know how to get in.

And the thief always liked distractions. But what kind of distraction would he manage to create?

My work day ended, I grabbed my purse, made sure my desk was locked, and started out.

“Honey?”  The first front desk receptionist called after me.

I smiled and crossed over.

“I just wanted to remind you, tomorrow they are bussing in a bunch of high school students to tour the floors so they can see what it takes to restore old art.”  She smiled at me.  “You’ll want to make sure to get here early before they get here…it’s going to be a madhouse.”

Cue distraction.

The next day I went to see the madhouse for myself.  I wanted to see the teachers.  Most were women.  I didn’t discount them completely, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t shave his mustache if he could avoid it.  There.  Curly, dark hair.  Tweed jacket with elbow patches.  What century did he think this was?  I followed him as he ushered bored looking kids, careful not to let me see his face.  Finally I went around a dented suit of armor and managed to get face to face with him.  “Hey!”  I said cheerfully.

It wasn’t him. Eyes too far apart, nose too small, just not him.

I apologized and walked off just as one of the teachers asked, brightly, “Can we see the Compass Rose?”

“Well.  There’s no reason why not.  The public are allowed to go in, but only one at a time, I think?” The woman who had gotten stuck showing the group around said.  I hid as quickly as I could, not wanting to be pulled into the conversation.

I walked back to my office, hoping no one had noticed I’d slipped out, to be sadly disappointed.  My boss was sitting on the corner of my desk.

“Where were you?”  He asked me.

“Just wanted to see what all the noise was about.”  Behind him, the lady security guard who switched on and off with the one I usually saw stood, looking that part angry, part unamused way only a security guard could.

“Open your desk.”

“What is this about?”

“The Compass Rose.  It’s gone.  I want to know if you have it.  You spent enough time looking for it…made jokes about stealing it.  So.  Did you?”

I unlocked the desk and the guard pushed me aside, dumping the contents on my desk.  I held my breath when she flipped through the notebooks, but they all were empty.

Empty.  Oh, no.

I let her paw through everything I owned.  Let her pat me down.  “Unless she swallowed it, sir, I don’t think she has it.”

“I didn’t swallow it!”  I let panic creep into my voice.  It was not hard.

I let them x-ray me.  I did.  I admit it.  The lab tech a few floors down gave me sympathetic looks as I stood there, shivering, in my gown.

And then I let them fire me.  The frustrating thing was the lack of knowledge.  They refused to let me know anything.  What happened?  How?  Why?  Was a playing card left behind?  I wanted to know.

But most of all I wanted to know where my notebook was.

Two days later as I packed up my apartment, I received a package.  My name…my alias, rather, in quotes.  Quotes.  I grabbed a letter opener and ripped it open with more force than I needed.  I suspected, already, who would be cheeky enough to put quotation marks around my fake name.

My notebook.

The last page, there was a five of diamonds tucked in like a book mark. The back of the card the same as the one I carried with me wherever I went.

Across the last page he’d written, “A five star card for a five star effort.  Not bad for your first try.  I wish I’d thought of the fountain.  That was clever, if a bit damp.”  A couple of crabbed notes along side my own.  Suggestions.  Not actual plans.  No, I’d need to catch him to find out how he did his theft, if he could be convinced to tell me even then.

I sat down, hard.  He knew where I was.  Where I lived.  Knew I had a steno notebook, knew I’d hide it because I could have my belongings searched.  How?  How did he learn so much about me?  I thought over the people I had met, since getting that job.

I imagined large hands carefully drawing things out of my purse, lining them up neatly on the marble of the entry way desk.  “Sorry about this, miss.”  The guard’s voice said, as he went through my things.  Large, but graceful hands.  A warm voice that bothered me because I’d heard it before.  The security guard.  He’d been guarding the damned diamond all along.

“Five star effort? Oh, I’ll show you.  I’ll show you.”

I worried about telling my family of my failure, then I realized.  He’d given me a clue.  The cheeky bastard had given me a clue.  Because one of the other diamonds was kept in a five star hotel overlooking the Rhine.

He was telling me that he was going to steal the Heart of the Rhine, a mossy green diamond worth millions.  Now, if only I could believe him.

Thank you to you lovely people for being on my tag list, if you want added or dropped just let me know.  <3

@grogusmum @mishasminion360 @hnt-escape @littlemisspascal @pedro4ever @writteninthestars18 @fromthedeskoftheraven @sharkbait77

@quica-quica-quica @eri16 @the-blind-assassin @ayoungpascallover-readings @songsformonkeys

[tenacityreturns]

aokaga drabble: post-nba

plot: kagami cuts off all his friends after forced retirement from the nba, and goes to live in japan again so that he can rebuild himself from the ground up. aomine’s girlfriend, sabs (whom we love), breaks up with him and aomine follows kagami to try and reconnect after a quiet few months. he’s worried as hell, he loves kagami, who he knows without hearing from him that he is miserable. it’s angst. word count: 5860 notes: sfw, future verse, aomine’s pov. it’s specific to my future verse hcs but hopefully it makes sense even if u dont know them lol. nijimura and kagami are ( thank you so much for reminding me about this. present tense. they ARE ) besties, i think that comes up. 

god, it's just too weird coming back here. everything is the same. same cream wallpaper, same dirty mirror in the lift. same buttons, circled with red once pressed. same shitty elevator music. it hums melodically, creating the pretence of relaxation, but daiki is anything but. he stares at himself in the mirror. not much taller than the last time he'd been inside, on his way to see an exuberant redhead in that same, ridiculous penthouse apartment he'd had by himself. would it seem small now that he'd seen the world? now that he had money of his own, lived in a big apartment himself? there are lines in his brow as he inspects it. he doesn't try to fix it. allows himself these nerves because they remind him that he cares. if he didn't, he wouldn't have come back to stay with his parents. wouldn't have followed taiga across the world despite the months of radio silence. missed calls ( ignored calls ). unanswered texts. daiki had tried everything. called taiga’s dad, asked if he'd heard anything recently from him. he never had. never gave daiki anything, anyway. all 'oh, I'm sure he's fine, he's probably just sulking about his injuries.' yeah, that's what daiki is worried about. asao had always got on his nerves. how is he so blind? why can't he see that taiga's devastated to be retiring? he still had as much fight in him as he'd had when they were teenagers. so much fight, and grit, and impossible potential.

the elevator dings. he doesn't move for a moment. ghosts surround him. that time taiga dragged him way too roughly into his apartment, only to kiss him like he's made of glass. the times they'd held hands in the full elevator and no one had minded. the time someone had, and taiga nearly beat him up for it. like, really nearly. all the occasions taiga found to cook meals for him. all the excuses. how the hell could taiga stand to come back here and relive all those memories?

the doors shut. daiki grunts and pushes the button to open them again. he has to buck up. he has to gather himself, all the courage in the world, and tell taiga everything. he was waiting inside, anyway. he'd buzzed him up. yeah, alright. he'd said at the door. yeah, alright. he sounds different now. colder. the knot in his stomach is eating him alive. tearing organs apart. his knees are weak, barely carrying him into the hallway.

how will he phrase it? Daiki makes his way to taiga's door. it's the same colour. same paint, it's peeling a little. he feels sick. so sick. it's fight or flight, isn't it? the nerves. well, he'd already flown away. already allowed taiga to think he didn't care. maybe he hadn't. maybe love had drifted between them, fluttering around like a butterfly in spring. sabina had been a flower daiki visited, she was everything he thought he'd wanted in a partner. funny, clever, interested in him. not like in love him, which she had been, but she'd asked how his day was. sabs was great, but she wasn't taiga. they fought a lot, but not in the same way he'd fought with taiga. and taiga had dated people too, like that hot business guy. older, smart, in love. daiki recognised the way he'd looked at taiga during that terrible doubt date they'd gone on. softly, in awe, like there had been no one else in the room. and taiga had been looking at daiki. saying something with a smirk, trying to get a rise out of him. daiki could have kissed him then.

but he's broken up with sabs when taiga retired. all daiki had done was call him, text him, trying to find out if he was okay. of course he wasn't, but daiki wanted to be there for him. sabs grew tired of it. he doesn't blame her for it. he doesn't blame himself for being in love with taiga, either. it's the natural way of things. and it has been the natural way of things to go back to Japan as soon as he could get a break away from work. he stayed with his parents, kept his head down. reconnected with other old friends from high school, tried to pretend it was just a social call. Tried to pretend he hadn't come all the over here on the off chance taiga might be around to see him, wherever he'd been. what a bittersweet moment when taiga first texted back a few months ago. all casualness, he’d said don’t worry about me, i’m fine. talk soon x and that had been it. he’d replied in english, daiki had texted in english. daiki called him about a week ago and taiga had answered. hearing his voice had been jarring. he’d been waiting so long, so patiently. always hoping taiga would call him for a change.

“i’m in tokyo visiting family,” daiki had said hastily, shocked that he’d actually get a reply this time. he waited. nothing. fine. he kept talking. “i get it if you don’t wanna talk to me, or whatever, but---

“no, i wanna see you. come over. i’m back in my old apartment, you remember where that is? come by next saturday.” and they agreed on a time like it was the most normal thing in the world.

daiki sees his hand raise to knock on the door, and he wonders how many times in his life he’d done this. his knuckles had met the door hundreds of times before, when they’d been younger. less experienced. happier. god, daiki’s scared. it’s too weird coming back here.

the door opens. it’s taiga. he looks tired. he’s put on weight, his bare arms are still tree trunks but they’re not showing muscle definition anymore. he makes grey sweats and a black t-shirt look classic for a reason. daiki stares at him, taking it all in, suddenly tongue-tied. he doesn’t have the right words, they don’t exist. there’s nothing to say. he shouldn’t have come.

“makes you feel old, don’t it?” taiga says, rubbing his neck.

"what?”

“being back here. i feel like i should ask you if you wanna play one-on-one then go to maji’s.” the joke hurts. red eyes hold such sadness in them. it looks like it hurts to look at daiki, too. he shouldn’t have come.

“taiga---”

“i can’t, i dunno if you heard. i can’t play again. i’m still recovering. i had to choose between being able to walk when i’m sixty, or playing basketball another year. i was so close to picking basketball.”

daiki trudges inside. he fights the instinct to sweep taiga into an all-encompassing hug. it’s awful being in this room again. the furniture is different, thank god, but the essentials are in the same place. the kitchen is the same. there’s the spot daiki would always perch when taiga was cooking something for him. the sofa is in a different position. how clearly he can see the old layout now that he stands amongst its replacements. daiki doesn’t know what to say to taiga’s crushing statement. could he speak if he wanted to? there’s a lump in his throat. he takes his shoes off. those are taiga’s jordans. it’s good he still wears basketball shoes. it’s wrong when he doesn’t. they’re like an extension of him, like the colour of his hair. scarlet in the sunlight.

“isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” taiga’s voice is so dark, he hasn’t shut the door yet. when daiki looks over, the hand on the door is tense, as if trying to make a fist through the wood. it takes daiki by surprise to see this rage. “isn’t that what anyone wants to know, whether i care if i played again?”

“i---” he blinks. “i don’t care about basketball.”

wrong answer. the door slams. daiki flinches. taiga stalks into the kitchen.

“i mean, of course i care, it’s just-- you scared the shit outta me. i figured you didn’t wanna see me of all people, then i heard you cut everyone off, all your old teammates. gave everyone the cold shoulder. we just wanna help you, man, you’re not alone in this.”

“i’m over it.”

“i wouldn’t be, if i was you.”

“you have no idea how i feel, daiki,” taiga pulls two beers from the fridge. daiki had half expected banana milk. the thought makes him feel worse.

“nobody does, you won’t talk to anyone.” it’s a leap, maybe he had been, but had avoided daiki’s questions when he’d asked them. did nijimura know how he felt? did satsuki, and they just hadn’t told him?

“i don’t want to,” he takes the drinks to the couch, and daiki follows. daiki sits in a chair where his beanbag had once been. taiga continues, “i don’t wanna even think about basketball. that’s why i never messaged you back. i knew it would all come out once i saw you.”

daiki doesn’t open his beer. he stares at it guiltily, but he can’t bear opening it. can’t bear disturbing the quiet falling between them.

“i would’ve left you alone if you hurt yourself,” taiga goes on, in too smooth of a tone to have been anything but the truth. “i would’ve known you wouldn’t want to see me because it’d remind you of the old times.”

silence. he really shouldn’t have come.

“i’ve always had basketball,” taiga says quietly, sipping on his beer. “all my friends were into it too. back when i had this place first, i figured everyone was only interested because i was good. especially you guys.” he clicks his tongue. “you, generation of miracles. i didn’t blame you, either. i got it. tetsu, ryouta, tatsuya. i’d think about whether you’d lose interest if i got hurt and couldn’t play anymore. i didn’t wanna face it.”

“is that--- is that what you think about me now?”

no reply. he drinks more beer. daiki shifts to the edge of his seat.

“taiga. answer me.”

“i considered it. at first, definitely. then you kept calling, i guessed it was your conscience or something. don’t feel bad about it, or whatever--”

“don’t feel bad? why would you think that? i--” he has to take a breath. it’s taiga’s mistake. it’s something in his past that caused him to think that the limits of his worth are tied with his ability to play ball. that’s awful. but it’s not something to argue over. it won’t help. “look, you’re wrong. alright? don’t ever think that about me again.”

taiga shrugs. “you wanted to know how i felt.”

it’s a blow. it hurts. no doubt about it. when daiki had said i love you, had taiga always heard i love your basketball? that’s ridiculous. daiki had loved taiga’s way of playing, but that wasn’t just it?! there are corners of taiga’s mind that daiki doesn’t like, doesn’t get along with. but despite that, he loves that, too. loves taiga. loves, loves, loves him. he always has, he always will.

“you once said there’s nothing a winner can say to a loser. ain’t that how it is here? what could you say to me i haven’t heard from everyone else who can still play basketball?”

“if you couldn’t walk now, do you really think i wouldn’t wanna be there to help you with your wheelchair?” it slipped out, almost venomously. defensively. taiga blinks, quiet as the dead. daiki sighs, setting the drink down unopened. “you’re one of my best friends, taiga. you’re more than that. i think i made myself pretty clear when i called you and texted you. sorry if that was the wrong thing to do... but... if you stopped playing basketball after high school, i’d still have wanted you around, you know. even if you were some boring ass banker in another country, i still would’ve kept in touch.”

daiki doesn’t look at taiga now. he can’t. it’s too much honesty. there’s too much weight to his words. ( if he had looked over, he’d see the shaking hand raising beer to lips, hiding that they too quiver under the threat of tears. )

“sorry if i’m just saying stuff you’ve heard before. i’ll leave if i’m making it worse. i didn’t mean to.”

continued silence. what does he say next? what can he say? he doesn't want to leave. he should have come. daiki sighs, sinking back into his seat with his eyes anywhere but on taiga. this chair is hard. it's a sand-coloured linen armchair with deep mahogany accents. the kind of chair that really isn't meant to be sat in. sabs had one like this. it was a glorified bowl. totally uncomfortable, and even he was never able to sleep in it. this chair is similar. its voice is loud and harsh: i am an adult purchase. daiki misses the beanbag. the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on. second most. he finally looks at taiga. the couch is different. it's also sand in colour, and cuboid, but the arm-rests are low and with the right cushion, their rounded corners would make for a good napping area.

the old sofa hadn't been comfortable. he'd convinced himself that it was, until taiga became the perfect cushion between sofa and daiki. it's a stupid thought, but is a toned body really that comfortable of a cushion? the soft lines of taiga's broad shoulders look just as enticing. but... the beanbag... daiki's bought beanbags for himself since then but they've never been the same. even the same brand (model discontinued) hadn't been the same. it wasn't just that it was oblong and firm enough that he doesn't touch the floor, while still retaining body-moulding softness. it was partly that. daiki had realised it the first time he settled into his new and immediately rejected beanbag years ago, when he and taiga had broken up for the second major time. it was that he'd been on taiga's floor, exhausted after an almost challenging one-on-one, waiting for his rival to make him his dinner. even before they'd started dating, daiki had felt a special sort of peace here. there's comfort in finding someone who you can be your authentic self with. daiki's basketball ability didn't scare taiga off.

"daiki?"

daiki had been staring at the window when taiga spoke. he immediately looked over, momentarily forgetting everything that was said minutes before. forgetting why he's here, what brought him, what chair he's sitting in. he's in the beanbag again. taiga's about to ask him to solve a history question, and daiki's half a second away from making up a completely fictitious answer so he doesn't have to bashfully admit that he doesn't know.

“can i ask you something?”

“shoot,”

“were you just thinking about your old beanbag?”

ah. busted. he blinks, dazed. taiga’s expression starts to change. his eyes search daiki’s from across the room and gradually, a smile forms. the sun comes out. literally. the shadow-stealing grey sky gave the city a brief interlude of hope in a few, impossibly long seconds of proper sunlight. the weather, daiki noticed, linked inextricably with a personal epiphany. it doesn’t matter whether he’s an easy read. at any given moment, daiki is thinking about his next meal or his next sleep. but that, in the depths of their conversation, taiga had pulled himself out of it enough to come to the correct conclusion on what daiki was thinking about. it wasn’t basketball, it wasn’t their history ( not entirely, at least ), and it wasn’t taiga’s injuries ( though maybe it should have been? ). it was his old beanbag. not taiga’s. not nijimura’s. his. and he’s smiling again, for the first time today. a wall has come down.

the future starts to fit into place. is that dramatic? it’s fate. it’s fate. does taiga see it too? does he knows that daiki could walk to the ends of the earth for him? daiki smiles too, now. he sinks deeper into his awful seat, shoulders almost meeting his ears.

“i hate this chair, taiga.”

“me too, but i hated the beanbag more.”

“you didn’t,” a critical insult! “why’d you keep it if you hated it so much?”

taiga sighs now, shifting in his seat so that his arm rested on the back of the couch, head against his hand. he stares with an unimpressed downwards turn to his mouth, and a double chin beneath his jaw. because you loved it, his eyes replied in words his mouth couldn’t betray, and i loved you. past tense, daiki can’t flatter himself into thinking that taiga is in any kind of place to be thinking about relationships. but they’d been in love before. daiki had been taiga’s first ( almost ) everything. it’s over in a split second, but he remembers thinking they’d be together forever.

“do you really think i could’ve been a banker?”

the question, offered casually under the guise of an innocent topic change, has weight to it. daiki knows this, but it doesn’t matter. his answer comes from the heart. their eyes meet.

“y’know,” daiki straightens up a little, “yeah, i do. i still think you could be a banker, dude. you’re one of the few people i’ve met who can really do anything you set your mind to.”

“i’m too stupid to be a banker.”

insecure words don’t suit taiga’s voice. they sound wrong. daiki doesn’t look away. “your tenacity outweighs your stupidity any day.”

taiga rolls his eyes and sips his beer. his smile fades. what’s he thinking about? daiki feels guilty realising he can’t read taiga as well as the other way around, but the last time they’d been in this room, it would have been a fair guess to suggest basketball was on his mind. it had almost always been on his mind. and now that his eyes no longer sparkle, basketball or lack thereof would also be a decent guess, but daiki didn’t think it was just that. does taiga think of the past? does he regret not paying attention in school and not giving himself any kind of backup career? daiki does. their parents do.

god, why can’t he think of anything to say? why is he so fucking silent all of a sudden? daiki’s usually quick as a whip, can spark a laugh or a fight at his whim. he usually knows just what to say when taiga’s not feeling great. or knows just what to do. all he can think of is a hug and what good has a hug ever done, really? he wants to wrap his arms around his old friend’s shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be alright. would taiga push him away? would he get mad?

“so,” taiga stands unexpectedly. is he about to tell him to get lost? “how are you doing?”

it takes him aback. uh, he’s been shit. he’s been worrying to death over taiga’s lack of communication, and fearing the worst with every phone call ignored. daiki exhales, watching taiga walk over to the sliding doors to the tiny balcony. it’s early evening and the city is starting to twinkle. does taiga admire its familiar beauty, or does he stare out with an empty gaze? for the love of all things good, daiki, for fuck’s sake! just say something!

“fine,” excellent.

“good. how’s sabs?”

“sabs?”

“yeah. i heard things were getting serious with you two.” his voice is impossible to hear, but he’s not mocking him. taiga’s ignorance at the situation is baffling, but he isn’t being spiteful.

“uh. we-- we broke up, man, ages ago. like, a few months.”

“huh.”

silence returned. daiki hates this. he understands not googling each other, but hadn’t anyone told taiga about sabs and him? had taiga really not asked? he’d been avoiding every other basketball guy he knows, why would daiki be any different? was it possible that taiga doesn’t care anymore? no, cool it. no talking about relationships right now, it’s not the time. fuck knows what conversation this moment does call for, but it’s not that. leave it. chill. have some beer.

daiki follows his own advice and finally opens his beer. it’s gross. he’s more of a wine guy, while taiga has always liked his beers. unsurprisingly, the drink does little to distract him.

“how are your parents?”

so is this what it was going to be? small talk? daiki would prefer going back to aggressively telling taiga how fucking amazing he is, just to fight the voice that had said i’m too stupid to be a banker.

“dad’s retiring soon,” daiki replies in a sigh, “there’ll be a party. you should come.”

taiga chuckles dryly.

you don’t have to, jesus. daiki doesn’t say it, and fights the irritation as best as he can. he’s using the same patience that taiga had used with him in the past when the world had felt like it was collapsing. “mom asks about you all the time.”

a grunt this time; it’s kind of like the surprised huh from earlier, mixed with a noise of amused rejection.

“how’s your dad?”

“he doesn’t get it at all. i tried telling him imagine you lost both your hands and couldn’t work anymore, but it’s not the same. he doesn’t love his work.”

daiki’s moving before he can help it. he comes to stand beside taiga to watch the city. he can’t see beyond the reflection of taiga’s sorrowful face in the glass. he’d been right, earlier. those gorgeous eyes were empty. if he was looking at the view, his eyes were dead on the horizon.

taiga continues without interruption. “he only works as an escape from everything he fucked up in his life. me, for instance.”

“taiga,” daiki’s heart aches.

“i should’a listened when i was a kid. that’s it. i should’a paced myself.”

“would you have joined seirin’s team if you paced yourself?”

silence.

“your intensity is a part of you, taiga,” daiki says gently. taiga’s distant eyes hone in on the reflection, too, and now they’re looking at each other in the glass. daiki is first to look away like a coward. “i think if you had paced yourself, you’d have come to one of seirin’s games. you would’a found out about the generation of miracles and thought i wanna take those asshole down a notch.”

“you told me my light’s too dim when we first met, though.” taiga turns his head so that he’s facing the city again. “even if i joined the team, we still lost before we got to finally beat you.”

“it was tetsu who lifted you up to my level,” daiki’s reply is barely a whisper. he’s falling into his own memories and his eyes drop to the windowpane. it had always been him. they both dwelled on it, he didn’t have to be a mind-reader for that. he misses kuroko like hell.

“you ever wish you hated basketball?” taiga’s voice cracks. he takes a sip of beer and daiki copies him.

“yeah,” before he’d met taiga, he’d been plagued with the idea of never meeting anyone up to his standards. anyone better. kise came close, but daiki had lost to seirin. that felt like lifetimes ago now.

“this fucking sucks,” he’d finished his beer now. daiki glances over in time to see taiga blindly toss his beer bottle over his shoulder. he looks back to see where it landed. it hadn’t shattered, but flown safely onto the sofa where taiga had been sitting. taiga doesn’t move. he doesn’t react at all.

daiki feels it keenly too, can’t taiga see? he’s not alone. sure, daiki can’t fully understand how it feels to be forced into retirement due to injury, but he’s on his way there. his body is tired and it is always sore. one of these days, he’ll land funny and never properly recover. and then daiki will isolate from the world until he can figure himself out. it will be like carving the basketball out of himself. having played for his whole life, what will be left? he comes to stare at taiga so gradually that he hadn’t noticed when it happened. he sees a strong man with a huge heart and the rest of his life ahead of him. he is awesome at cooking, maybe he’ll do something with that? he has enough money that, if he’s sensible with it ( which he always has been ), he’s financially secure. hell, taiga’s always been financially secure.

he sees a man waging a war in his mind. he sees broken pieces desperately held together. daiki sees himself.

“i’ll leave if you want me to, tai. i don’t wanna make it worse.”

taiga shakes his head. he looked, for a second, like he’d say something. his mouth opened, but he changed his mind last minute and closes it again. daiki can’t stand to see him this way. if they never talk about basketball again for the rest of their lives, he’ll find something else to say. they can’t just stop talking because they can’t play against each other anymore. unless that’s really what taiga wants, which daiki doubts.

it’s a bold move, perhaps, but he bumps his knuckles gently against taiga’s hand hanging beside them. the redhead glances between them, but it doesn’t put daiki off. he carefully offers his hand to hold, forgoing breathing lest it spark an outburst. there’s no rage this time. their hands connect like they had a million times before. daiki already feels better for it, selfishly, as if how he feels is what’s important right now. fuck, he just loves taiga so much. he’ll be fine, he’s taiga. of course he will. he’s at a low point and it’s weird to see him so lost, it’s unnatural somehow, but he’ll get through it. daiki believes in him. he believes in him with his whole goddamn heart.

taiga meets his eyes just as he’s feeling like he could just say it outright. daiki sees tired, teary eyes. he squeezes his hand. “what are you thinking about?” taiga asks quietly.

“how amazing you are,” he replies. “you’ll get through this. i know you will.”

taiga scoffs, but it doesn't sound like an outright rejection. not totally, at least.

a silence settles between them as they each think of something to say. daiki wishes there was something he could do to fix it. fix all the hurt. wrap it up in a ball and throw it outside. it's more of a distraction than anything, but hadn't that metaphor sounded like basketball? it would be impossible to cut the sport from himself. he doesn't think he'd be able to do it. this must be hell for taiga. he glances over and meets teary eyes unexpectedly looking at him, too.

"come here," daiki pulls his hand away, only to slide in and wrap his arms around taiga's waist. he hadn't thought twice about it this time. it's the right thing to do.

"i'm fine," taiga sniffs.

"then it's for my benefit," he snaps. it works, and he feels familiar arms wrap around him in kind. they stand in gentle silence, there’s a wall clock ticking somewhere in the background. cars beneath them sound like crashing waves. a siren. daiki runs his hands along taiga’s back soothingly, and notes that the form is softer now where muscles had laid careful marks of definition. taiga had always been bulkier than him, but this added weight makes the guy seem immovable. and here he is, hiding his face in daiki’s shoulder in the world’s saddest hug. he has to stop himself from kissing him there and then. as if that would help anything. it used to. enough kisses peppered on taiga’s face had always been enough to lift his mood. it’s strange to love taiga with restraint, but he will, if that is what he needs.

"you were right, by the way," taiga mutters, "I haven't talked this through with anybody."

"yeah. i'm here for you, tai. but we don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to. hell, we could pretend i'm the one who works at the bank and never talk about basketball again."

"you, a banker? that's just unrealistic." it's a joke delivered totally pathetically, with a shaking voice.

"shut up," and it's a defence without any bite to it.

“sorry about sabs,” daiki feels the words mumbled into his shoulder, feels taiga’s lips say her name against his t-shirt. taiga sounds guilty. he must know.

“don’t worry about it.”

“i heard you say in that interview that you were gonna have kids. i thought you were gonna end up with her.”

“interview?” daiki frowns. taiga breaks out of the hug and opens the sliding door. he comes to lean against the balcony, and daiki is still standing where he had been, racking his brain for what the hell he was talking about? he remembers an invasive question from a dickhead reporter along those lines, but daiki hadn’t said that he was going to? have them with sabs? he had never even considered it. really never considered it. hell no. “uh,” he finally replies, realising that he hadn’t yet, “no.”

“would you, in the future? not with sabs. i just mean, in general.”

daiki slides the door further open and steps into the cool air. he rests against the railing with his forearms, looking down and out at the city. for all that it could mean, he looks over with a gentle expression at the only person that would change his mind about it. “would you?”

taiga remains fixed on the horizon. his shoulders shrug. “i never thought about shit like that before. i think so, maybe.”

daiki hums. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t admit to being happy to hear that taiga is open to it, doesn’t admit that he’s always liked the idea of having kids. at least one, maybe two. being an only child is difficult, but then, the adoption process is difficult. hopefully two kids. he recalls a conversation they had had a long time ago, or maybe it had been a moment in passing that stuck out. taiga has changed his mind. back then, daiki distinctly remembers hearing that taiga didn’t think he’d make for a very good dad. he remembers, because he knows how much he disagreed. a guy like him with a heart like that? please. it’s a given.

“while you’re here, you should visit nijimura and his kids at teiko.”

daiki blinks. the speed at which the conversation was going is leaving him behind. he’d done that before, sure, but not as often as taiga. that makes sense though, right? taiga was always good at making time for shit like that. he shrugs his shoulders. “yeah, i guess. i hadn’t thought about it.”

“daiki?” taiga says quietly. when daiki looks over, their eyes meet. god, taiga’s eyes are so fucking sad. he can’t deal with it. daiki nods, taiga continues. “i’m gonna give you a word of advice. you should really think about what you’re gonna do when you can’t play anymore. i wish i had. there’s no point dwelling on the past, but if i can stop you from feeling like this, then it won’t all be for nothing.”

daiki categorically doesn’t like talking about stuff like this. his injuries will heal. they always do. and he will play again. he is not strong like taiga, he can’t just carve it out and build himself up again. taiga will be able to tell by the look on daiki’s face that he has taken the advice to heart, even if he can’t speak for the lump in his throat. when he can, after a moment, daiki replies.

“i get it if you wanna be alone right now,” his eyes drift back to the city, “and i’ll go stand on the side-lines ‘til you’re ready if that’s what you want, but if our roles were reversed like you mentioned earlier, i hope you would know to come find me.”

“of course i would,” taiga rests forwards on the balcony, mirroring daiki. their arms touch, neither move. “when you put it like that... i’m sorry i was so hard to find.”

daiki doesn’t tell him that he loves him now. not in words. he says it between the lines, in the diminishing space between his fingertips and taiga’s skin. any excuse to touch him, he makes. now, as his head comes to rest momentarily on taiga’s shoulder. can he stay there? taiga allows it. he does. on the arm, later, as a story is told, on the hand. taiga returns it in a drifting touch across daiki’s shoulders as he’s passing in the kitchen, or that one, affectionate moment where taiga had playfully scuffed his knuckles against daiki’s chin. god, it had driven him crazy. taiga is so beautiful. his hair is a little longer. the guy’s always wanted a mullet, maybe now he’s actually growing it out? his hands, his back, his thighs. they’d been friends with benefits a few years ago because they couldn’t handle being in the same room without physically reacting to it. then they’d started taking other people. and now, daiki feels that gut instinct to give taiga everything again. but he won’t. not tonight.

instead, he’ll confess his love in the respectful silences, in reassuring smiles, the changes of conversation, the nah, i’ve got nowhere to be when 11 o’clock hit and taiga was embarrassed to have taken up so much of his time. he says i love you in the way that they briefly hold hands. in the words unsaid because now isn’t the time. in the lingering glances, in the i’ll take the couch tonight. ( taiga, in his way, says i love you as he says no you won’t, you’ll sleep with me. or at least he says i know you love me, which is good enough. ) of course they sleep together. taiga’s head comes to rest upon his chest. they’re clothed. it’s weird not immediately making out with him now that all that daiki can smell is taiga. they are silent as their arms find comfortable ways to settle to sleep. daiki waits for the longest time before he speaks. he waits for breathing to even out, and grip to loosen where taiga’s hand had come to rest at his hip. and, when he does speak, it’s barely a whisper scraped through his tired, croaking throat:

“i love you, tai.”

nothing happens. taiga had been asleep. the night wears on and daiki’s mind walks through every sentence they had spoken. he falls asleep as the stars start to fade, wakes up again when taiga is getting out of bed, but doesn’t stay up. later, the smell of breakfast makes him stir ( it’s never failed before ). taiga tells him that he’s got a job at a bakery, so this bread is actually made by him. it’s perfect, but of course it is. it’s his.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 02

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Vague mentions of PTSD, spoilers for the Foyet storyline/mentioned character death. Little angsty, maybe a little OOC since Reid and Hotch don’t actually have a boss/subordinate work relationship in this story and I’m adapting that whole-heartedly. But other than that, it’s just grown men acting like dorks and Reid attempting to give parenting advice. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 4535

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link 

--

Chapter 02

--

May 2010

-

Hotch does, indeed, take Dr. Reid up on his offer.

They work on a few more cases together, over the course of six to eight weeks, and each time Dr. Reid proves to be an invaluable asset. His knowledge is unsurpassed, extensive, and astounds Hotch every time he opens a correspondence email from the esteemed professor. 

Have you ever thought about being an FBI agent? He teases one night, when they’d been sending theories back and forth in emails that had become less and less formal. Dr. Reid still sent dissertation-length assessments of the cases when they landed in his niche (which was often), but their replies had turned to a messaging template instead of the business-like format Hotch is used to writing all day every day. Quick, rapid-fire messages replacing the professional grade layout that felt so impersonal, with titles and headers and enough filler to give him chronic headaches.

This was much better. Informal as it was.

I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t pass the physical exams, but thanks for the compliment. Another life, maybe. Dr. Reid answers, and Hotch finds himself smiling and huffing a laugh behind closed lips, the kind that stays caught up in his chest. He’s not sure how much older the professor is, for all he knew he could be bordering on retirement, but it was an amusing thought nonetheless.

 I would get them waved, or curve the scores. I have that kind of pull around here. Never would he speak with his agents or anyone at the Quantico office like this, and it had taken weeks and dozens of emails to get to this point. But the freedom of it was nice, enchanting, like a little taste of his life outside of the office. Just confined to the response box of his email. Despite what everyone (ie: Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia) said about him, he did have a sense of humor. He just also had a sense of propriety, and he was their boss. He wasn’t going to make light with them in the place where they catch murderers.

Don’t tempt me. I have tenure. But Virginia gets so cold, I’d freeze to death half the year. 

Didn’t you attend MIT? What did you do during winter?

Froze to death. Pay attention.

Hotch outright laughs, and then snaps his mouth shut and looks out the open blinds of his office. Everyone has gone home, for the most part, but he doesn’t need JJ or someone else hearing him and coming to check on him. He hasn’t been getting much work done since Dr. Reid started replying to his emails that evening, and the little half smirk on his face is something he doesn’t think he can school as he rereads their conversation over and over. 

Apologies. Next I’m sure you’ll tell me how you had to walk to class uphill both ways in the snow.

No, I took the bus. And Froze. To. Death. I live in sweaters, and I’m from Las Vegas, I’m not meant for the cold. 

Las Vegas? Really?

Born and raised. My mother still lives there. 

Hotch’s eyebrows raise at that, apparently he’s not so old that his mother is still around. His own parents are gone, have been for years, but that’s under different circumstances and really not a situation he likes to reflect on.

Must be nice, only being a few hours from home. Do you go back often?

As little as possible. I should really visit my mother more, but that’s hard for reasons I won’t get into. I do write her, though. A letter every day, although not much happens around here for her to get invested in.

As in a real letter? Not an email, or a phone call?

She doesn’t do well with phone calls, or computers. Letters are more personal, anyway, and she likes being able to have the paper in her hands in my own handwriting. It’s the least I can do, not going home unless I absolutely have to. 

This is the most the man has ever spoken about himself, in a personal manner instead of an academic one, and Hotch isn’t quite sure how to take the evolution. It feels like a shift in their dynamic, an opening that could lead to a deeper level of friendship and -- it’s been a while since he’s had that. Allowed himself to have that. After Foyet, and even before when Haley started pushing for divorce and Hotch responded by isolating himself as much as he could to keep his work unaffected, he’d had trust issues. Hotch is man enough to admit that. 

But speaking with an old professor on the other side of the country might just be the stepping stone he needs. Who knows, maybe they’d even get the chance to meet one day.

I just grimaced at my own triteness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a maudlin review of my life story.

No, that’s okay. I don’t talk much about myself, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. Work and home are kept very separate for me. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, I know, but it works as best as it can.

In your line of work, I can only imagine. You do what you have to. 

Hotch pauses in their conversation, looks at the clock and the stack of paperwork he still hasn’t finished -- too busy lost in his talk with Dr. Reid -- and feels an itching in the back of his mind he wants so desperately to scratch at. To give into. Lists of things he knows he should talk about, but doesn’t trust anyone enough to do so. Hotch really isn’t sure he can even trust Dr. Reid with them.

At least, not yet.

Thank you. And thank you for entertaining me, as well. 

Anytime.

--

It’s not a month later that Hotch is sitting at his desk, after hours, once again. Head in his hands and his phone still warm, overworked from the hour-long phone call he’d just endured with his ex-sister-in-law, Jessica. 

Jack was being bullied in school. She’d had to attend the parent-teacher conference about it instead of him, because he’d been on a case in Florida for over two weeks. Which really just highlighted to Jack’s teacher what his home life is like and she expressed her worry. Adamantly. Jessica was in agreement, and she once again wanted to have the conversation on if Hotch returning to work at the BAU had been the right choice after Haley was killed. He’d taken his sabbatical for 30 days, passed his psych evals -- which didn’t mean much, he helped write the qualification questions -- and Jack was doing well with his therapist and in school.

Or so he’d thought. Until today. 

That ‘conversation’ turned into an argument, because Hotch gets defensive when someone questions his choices in regards to his family, and as much as he knows that she is right -- he feels awful about how it devolved. Jessica has gone above and beyond in taking care of Jack, to allow Hotch to return to work, and she is the last person that deserves the brunt of his frustration. He only has himself to blame, and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who might have answers for him, if there even was a correct answer for his situation. 

The Foyet case is classified. His assigned therapist is so easily played he hasn’t returned to her in months. 

Hotch just wants someone who won’t see through him, even when he pushes back.

He wants to talk to someone who he doesn’t want to push back against.

Who he trusts.

Dr. Reid, I need help with something no one seems to have an answer for, but it’s of a personal matter and not a professional one. Would you mind lending me your services?

Hotch sends the email before he can take it back. It’s late in Virginia, but Dr. Reid is four hours behind him in California and there’s a high chance he might still be in his office. He seems to keep longer hours, for an old professor. 

He won’t admit it to himself, but he feels a tightness in his chest as he awaits an answer. All the paperwork from the Florida case is completed, there’s nothing keeping him there at the office any longer. But it’s too late to go pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and he doesn’t think he would be welcome to come sleep on her couch like he often does on nights like this. When he wants to be there when Jack wakes up, and tonight he longs to do just that. But he isn’t sure he can even look Jessica in the eye right now.

So he sits there, and watches his computer screen, and feels himself distance from the ache in his bones. Knowing if Dr. Reid doesn’t answer him, he would have to spend however long it would take to compartmentalize his apprehension, once again, and go home to his empty house and not think about how he is failing in raising his son. In being a good father. 

The soft ping of his inbox is his single solace in the storm of his thoughts.

Agent Hotchner, You know I’m always happy to help, in any way -- personal or professional -- if I can. What is it you need an answer to?

That tightness releases, but it also gives way to the worry building up in his chest. An overwhelming, crushing amount of it that he didn’t realize was climbing higher and higher the longer he’d been left alone with his thoughts. Drowning in trepidation. Everything he doesn’t want to have pressing on his mind when they are hunting down serial killers, working with criminals that would see it as a weakness and exploit it without batting an eye. 

But this time, Hotch knows this is becoming something he shouldn’t try to hide away. 

Child psychology. Trauma, in particular, and the effects on children after the fact. 

It’s enough to describe what he needs answered, without telling too much of what happened. It’s still hard for Hotch to think about what happened, to fully realize what they had gone through. What had happened to Haley, what had happened to him. What Jack will have to grow up knowing nearly happened to him. What he almost witnessed.

(626)-595-0387 I have unlimited texting, and tend to stay up very late at night. Also, I have a feeling that you might want to keep this off government regulated emails. I’m not a practicing psychiatrist, mind you, but anything I can do to help you I will be more than happy to offer. 

Hotch is stunned. Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. He’s near speechless, staring at the phone number with a Pasadena area code, and hesitates in moving their correspondence off of the email platform. A drastic change in dynamic and expectations, but… it would be nice, to be able to message the professor whenever he wanted. The ease of access an alluring thought. 

Another soft ping in his inbox has him looking up from where he’d been glancing at his cell phone in contemplation.

Also, it goes without saying, but everything we talk about in our conversations would still be confidential. I have no one to tell them to, anyway. 

Hotch huffs out a sound that could have been a laugh, and he’s surprised he even can manage that. But he’s barely thinking about it before he’s picking up his cell phone and typing in the number Dr. Reid had given him. []6/3, 22:46[] This is Agent Hotchner.

He sends it, pauses in thought, then keeps typing.

[]6/3, 22:47[] You can call me Hotch, since this is outside work. Agent Hotchner just reminds me I’m abusing bureau resources for personal gain.

The whole interaction is causing this clawing, hot feeling in his chest that might be nervousness in risking the change in their work relationship, or residual guilt from the fight with Jessica about Jack, or just… the fear that Dr. Reid will tell him he is fucking this up and he should never have returned to the FBI at all. Because there are days, like today, where Hotch really starts to think that might be the case.

[]6/3, 22:49[] I figured as much. No one else actually messages me after 6pm except you and some of my more zealous students. 

[]6/3, 22:51[] And although I don’t think you’re abusing anything; in that same vein, you can call me Spencer. This is just two friends having a chat, nothing more. 

Hotch appreciates the gesture, finds himself almost smiling about it -- but then he remembers what he has to relay to ask what he wants to ask the other man. And he isn’t sure where to begin. 

So he just -- begins at the start. The case where Foyet fooled his whole team, posing as a victim, and managing to get away. Slipped through their fingers. Gotten away with murder and insider FBI information and more than he should have ever been able to access. Dr. Reid -- Spencer, please -- doesn’t say anything as he relates all of this, and Hotch commends his patience. Because from the start, this isn’t about child psychology at all. But it is certainly about trauma, and that becomes apparent when Hotch throws caution to the wind and describes what happened to him in his own apartment. Paraphrasing and dropping out intimate details, but explaining what happened is still brutal even stripped to its bare minimum. When Foyet had broken in, and blitzed him, and tortured him as he stabbed him nine times in the chest. Precise, practiced, indicative of letting him live with the knowledge of what that monster masquerading as a man could do. 

The details begin to bleed through the more he types. The more he remembers.

How he’d had to put his ex-wife and son into protective custody. How it hadn’t been enough. His late night obsessions all for naught. And finally, a brief -- or as brief as it can possibly be, for as brutal an event as it was -- summary of what happened when Foyet had found his family. How he had killed Haley, how they had stopped Foyet and Jack had been spared witnessing anything. Even the fight inside Hotch’s own house. He doesn’t… well, Hotch doesn’t plan on describing that and keeps it at bay. He barely remembers it. Blurs of fists and broken furniture and rooms he has memorized from years of memories flying by as they tore through his home like a hurricane. 

But he gives enough of a picture. Enough that, though he doesn’t say as much, Spencer probably knows Foyet didn’t make it out alive. Can guess it was by Hotch’s own hands. 

Which leads them to now -- to the part Hotch needed help with more than anything. His past and his trauma Hotch has a lot of practice dealing with, knows how to handle it alone. As he always has. But the part he doesn’t know how to handle?

He is raising his son on his own. His ex-sister-in-law, Jessica, has been a godsend and is helping with Jack so Hotch can be at work. His lifeblood. His identity. Everything he’s ever worked for. He almost left; Strauss had offered him an early retirement package that was too good to pass up, but he had in the end. Because being an FBI agent, catching the monsters that plague their world, that is what he does. And that’s what Jack knows him to do. 

It helps Jack, Hotch found, to know that his dad is out there catching men like the one that took away his mom. He probably would have taken the loss a lot worse, if Aaron had left the bureau. 

But he’s messing up. Hotch feels that in his bones. He’s gone so much, Jessica is taking on the role of parent instead of Aunt more and more, and Hotch does not want to turn into that father that shows up once in a blue moon and pretends he never left. He’s worried that what Jack’s teacher, and Jessica, had said is true and Jack’s home life isn’t going to be healthy for him. It’s going to make him suffer.

That what Jack has gone through, Hotch doesn’t know how to address correctly. 

It’s near a half hour later that he’s gotten the entire story out, and Hotch realizes that even though text is probably going to be easier to have a conversation like this… he probably could have written it in an email and saved them both some time. He apologizes at the error, because it’s late and his head isn’t quite screwed on straight whenever it comes to matters with his son, and he just… he’s at a loss. Doesn’t know what the right course of action is, or if there even is one outside of a professional’s opinion. 

Then Hotch waits for a reply.

It feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes. 

[]6/3, 23:22[] Hotch, the fact you are so worried about your son and how your actions have affected him through all of this, is all I really need to know about you being a good father. The consideration you are showing him is not something every parent can do, in the face of what happened to you and your family. You do not need to worry about that. You love your son, and that is the most important factor right now.

[]6/3, 23:25[] Secondly, I’m so sorry that this happened to you at all. You and your son sound like you have such a strong bond, and I know that’s what must have helped you through such a difficult time. It’s apparent that you love him very, very much. 

[]6/3, 23:29[] I don’t have a lot of friends that ask me the hard questions like this. Not that I don’t want them to, I just understand why, because I can recite statistics all day and give you textbook answers easily. Which I know you were hoping would give you a black and white response to your question. But in this there isn’t one, sadly. I know you are worried and I feel like you don’t need to be. And I don’t know how to express that in a way that won’t make you detest me. 

[]6/3, 23:32[] Your son just lost his mom, and you just lost your ex-wife, and there’s not going to be a straightforward path to healing. Everything you say you have done for him? It’s perfect, it’s exactly what you should be doing, and don’t stop. That’s all you can do and all you should focus on, in truth. Listen to what he tells you and watch for what he doesn’t, and hug him, because you are a great dad -- and this is coming from someone who did not have such an example. 

[]6/3, 23:33[] And I am very sorry about Haley, Hotch. I truly am. 

Hotch doesn’t even answer him for a good few minutes. It is a lot to process, to read through, and he does read through it more than once. But every single time he reads that final text, his eyes sting hotly and he has to blink back emotions he thought he had waded through plenty on his 30 days of leave. Apparently, not enough.

It’s so much, and yet he wants more. It’s not enough in the sense that he wishes Dr. Reid -- Spencer -- would keep talking to him. Keep telling him he’s doing a good job. That he hasn’t failed his son. 

That for once, he’s handling something right.

With a breath that feels like it shudders through his chest a little more roughly than it should, Hotch slowly types out a response that doesn’t even begin to feel anything close to adequate.

[]6/3, 23:41[] Thank you, Spencer. I could never detest you, in the slightest. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not screwing this up, but 

He pauses, not sure if he even believes what he’s about to type. 

At the last second, he switches tactics entirely. Feels a flood gate open. Just one, solitary floodgate in the vast Hoover Dam size wall he keeps up from the moment he shrugs into his suit jacket at home until he sheds it all away at the end of the night. In the confines of his home, with six physical locks on the door and two different digital security systems. With a weapon carefully concealed and childproofed in every room. With steel reinforced windows and no exit save for the front and back doors. A fire hazard, but a good precaution against anyone who would try to break in -- like Foyet had. 

[]6/3, 23:41[] ...I find it so hard to believe them. In some ways it’s hard to believe you, too, but that’s not personal. Your words have resonated more than anyone else’s, if that’s any consolation. Even more than the therapist they assigned after everything. 

[]6/3, 23:45[] My sister-in-law flat out told me I was failing my son, being away like I am, and his teacher believes his home environment isn’t healthy. He’s being bullied in school. I don’t know what to do.

Hotch types it all out and sends it. 

The reply is instantaneous.

[]6/3, 23:46[] Yes, you do. You know exactly what to do. 

And then there isn’t any further elaboration.

At first, Hotch is confused. He feels himself being pulled from that precipice of self-loathing and despair. Tugged by a string. The confusion forces him to look at Spencer’s response, nine words long, and decipher what they mean. 

Trusting his first instinct, once more.

[]6/3, 23:49[] I have to talk to Jack. 

[]6/3, 23:54[] You have heard all of this from everyone other than your son. He may be young, but he is going to know the answer better than his teacher or his aunt. Talk to him, before you start nailing yourself to a cross. You may find the answer to the situation a much easier fix than you are anticipating.

Hotch considers this, thinking about his son. Six-years-old now, first grade, smart as a tack, curious and kind. But so strong, a foundation that even he found himself clinging to sometimes, in the face of the storm of everything that had happened to them. Which is not healthy, and Hotch learned to not do that to him. To instead find solidarity in their relationship, withstanding the storm together. As they always have. 

[]6/3, 23:57[] He’s not one to let a bully have his way. He knows that’s not right. Maybe he has another strategy.

[]6/4, 00:01[] He’s young enough that trying to befriend his abuser would be a good tactic to counter the situation, does that seem like something he would do?

[]6/4, 00:02[] That sounds exactly like Jack. Hotch replies, with a smile finally easing on to his face -- and it feels lighter now. Easier to hold.

[]6/4, 00:04[] He sounds like a sweet kid.

[]6/4, 00:05[] He is. I’m very proud of him.

[]6/4, 00:07[] You really are a great dad, Hotch. I’m not just saying it to say it. 

That crushing, overwhelming feeling has ebbed to nearly nothing -- and with a sudden rush of vertigo it is replaced with gratitude for the old professor lending him his evening hours. It flashes warm and sudden and Hotch isn’t used to that, either. 

[]6/4, 00:08[] I would never expect you to, but thank you.

Even he feels lame for thanking the man for saying such a thing.

[]6/4, 00:10[] You don’t need to thank me, I barely did anything.

[]6/4, 00:11[] But if you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’d be more than happy to do so. 

[]6/4, 00:13[] I promise I can be good at that. The listening part. Day or night, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll always be around.

Hotch pauses at the offer, and then types slow and hesitant.

[]6/4, 00:16[] What if I just want to check in on a friend?

[]6/4, 00:16[] I am also around for that. 

The answer is sudden, without hesitation, and Hotch feels a smile start to ease the muscles in his face. Soften the edges once more.

[]6/4, 00:18[] I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to after a long day. It’s been a while since I’ve had a…

He pauses again, not quite sure if he remembers how to do this without pressing in too fast. Committing to too much, not sure what he is able to give of himself. But he’s already shared more with Dr. Reid in two months than he has with David in the past two years. 

Hotch makes a decision, for himself, for the first time in a long time.

[]6/4, 00:18[] ...It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend outside of the bureau. 

[]6/4, 00:19[] Do I still count if I’m a consultant?

[]6/4, 00:19[] You absolutely count. 

His own message makes him smile, and there’s a beat between messages where he hopes he made the older man smile as well. 

[]6/4, 00:22[] I’m never short on topics of conversation, I warn you. So unless you want a lecture on quantum physics -- how do you feel about chess?

[]6/4, 00:24[] I’m getting the feeling you’ll wipe the floor with me.

[]6/4, 00:25[] Oh, without a doubt. But the desktop app also has a chat feature.

[]6/4, 00:26[] Look at you, all modern and with the times.

[]6/4, 00:28[] My home phone may be a rotary, but even I can’t scoff at the vast reach of online chess. 

[]6/4, 00:28[] So what say you?

Hotch pauses, one final time, and considers the night; the conversation, Spencer’s advice, the way talking about what had happened helped ease the weight of it more than he’d ever anticipated. Then he thinks of the source, of what started it all, and how -- once again -- Dr. Reid was right about a number of things. But one thing in particular. 

[]6/4, 00:32[] I’m going to take your advice and go to my son. But tomorrow night, after he’s in bed, I have many hours to myself.

[]6/4, 00:35[] By no coincidence whatsoever, my evenings are always free. Care to show off those FBI honed deduction skills? My best chess opponents have ironically been FBI agents.

[]6/4, 00:36[] Oh, I’m terrible. Trust me.

[]6/4, 00:37[] I promise I don’t care. Your company is worth however many short games we can endure. 

Hotch smiles, despite himself, and this time doesn’t try to hold it back.

[]6/4, 00:39[] Then, it’s a date.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[doorsclosingslowly]

They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”