#*evil laughter* *dry heaving*

[its-leethee]

--4x01 // 4x03 // 7x09

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...

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[guideoftime]

Tick…   …Tock.

Tick…   …Tock.

    Link, give the Ocarina to me... As a Sage, I can return you to your original time with it.   I’m sorry, Sheik. 

   There was a pounding in his head that kept getting louder, like someone was rattling his brain and trying to rip it open. Wait–no wait that was real. That was a real banging sound though his brain was pounding just as hard as a fist against his front door. A breath is pulled quickly into his lungs and Sheik picks his head up from where it was buried in his tiny arms. Tiny… tiny arms, tiny hands, tiny legs, tiny–door, there were people at the door. 

   Nimbly he shoved himself down off of the couch and walked his way over toward the front door, standing on his tiptoes to turn the knob and pull it open. On the other side of the door stood a couple of Castle Soldiers, silver armor shining brightly with the reflection of the sun. He watched them closely and then the one on the left slowly knelt in front of him. He doesn’t recognize their face, but they had a rather plain one too, easily forgettable. The helmet is tugged off and held in their arms as they watch him pitifully. 

   He hates that. 

   “Little Sheikah, I’m afraid we come bearing news of your mother. There was an accident, on a mission she was running. I am terribly sorry–but your mother is gone.” 

   A steady blink, bright ruby eyes watching them, and then Sheik took a single step back and swung the door shut in their faces. It slammed closed and he reached back up, pulling the chain across it and then turning around to face the house. The empty, very large, very cold house. Another blink, another breath, he felt very–hollow? Numb? Is that the feeling he was having course through him right now? 

   Empty. That sounded more fitting. 

   Liars. 

   It’s not their fault, his mind tries to reason. They don’t know. They don’t know. And, technically, neither should he. He shouldn’t remember. His head is so loud and painful. His hands move to his head, fingers pushing through his hair and Sheik slowly sits down on the floor in front of the door, squeezing the sides of his temples as if putting pressure against his head was going to make the pain stop. 

   Golden, evil eyes. Bright red hair. Mocking laughter. The haunting, nauseating sound of the organ played repeatedly. 

   Blonde hair, bright water blue eyes, green tunic, long sword, such a bright smile and joyful laughter–Link. Link, Link, Link, Link–

   Sheik’s hand covered his mouth quickly and he shoved himself to his feet, rushing over toward the trash bin and tossing up whatever had been in his stomach. It’s mostly dry heaving, his head and body at war with itself. He dragged his hand across the back of his mouth and fell back down onto the floor of the room, his hands moving to hold his forehead. One breath in, two out. Did moving through time suck this much for the Hero? It was a terrible feeling, though he supposed Link did have the Master Sword to protect him. 

   Still. 

   “Why?” 

   Why did he remember? The Princess, the Sage of Time, had said he wouldn’t remember. The Triforce pieces would protect her and Link, the Sages destiny would protect them. Sheik was just–Sheik was Sheik. He wasn’t anything special, he just did as he was told and yanked an innocent child turned teenager around Hyrule, shoving him into danger and demanding her save them. More politely, but Sheik was no better than a Compass. Actually, considering you can keep a compass with you, maybe he was even less useful than that. 

   His gaze darts around the house and he presses his lips together. He needs to start a fire and warm the house up. One thing at a time, simple tasks until his mind settles. 

   It’ll be okay. There’s no other choice. This is their reality now. 

   His body is too small. The things he can remember doing, in being capable of, no longer work. The harp is heavy and he can never remember it being heavy. The strings are hard for his tiny hands to play and he can’t move as much as he wants to. It’s like his soul has been ripped from his body and transplanted into someone else's. He doesn’t know how to make it work properly and each attempt has him falling and getting hurt. Granny had to pick him up from the ground once when he fell and hit his head hard enough to knock himself out. She had been very displeased. 

   The Princess can’t tell him why remembers. All he does is look at him with pity and say she’s sorry. Sheik doesn’t want her to apologize, he wants her to understand. But she can’t. She has her father back, her Kingdom back, she just misses his mother and seeing him makes that feeling come back harder. She doesn’t want to see him, and he doesn’t want to deal with the looks she gives him. 

   He doesn’t know what to do with himself. The house is empty, he’s too small to do anything, the only person in Kakariko Village who remembers him is Granny and hanging out with her is just–weird. She also sends him on fetch quests and he’s avoiding Hyrule’s Forest. He’s avoiding him. Sheik–had been tempted to go look for the Hero, but he shoved that feeling away as quickly as he could. It’s not right. He had pushed enough burdens on Link, he doesn’t need to deal with Sheik’s broken mind too. 

   So he trains. He trains to try and get used to his body, to try and wrap his head around what was happening, to try and give himself something to focus on. It works, mostly. He hurts himself, he falls a lot, he overestimates himself and his body and that leads to consequences. He thought it would be like riding a bike, but it’s not. It’s like having half of yourself cut off. Nothing reacts the same as it’s supposed to. 

   Then there was the emotional aspect. 

   He never realized how uncontrolled children's emotions were, until he was trying to contain all of his own inside of himself and it just–was too much. The stress, the pain, the grief and struggling kept boiling over. It felt like the smallest things set him off. The whispers from the soldiers, the looks that they gave him, the comments from the Princess. They think he doesn’t hear them, they underestimate a Sheikahs hearing. “Orphan” was the first word thrown around that caught his attention, then “the last Sheikah” was another, the comment of “finish their line” was what really made him snap though. 

   Sheik bit that guard, and the fight that resulted from it had quickly ended with a gash across his back, from his right shoulder down to the bottom left of his hip bone. And from there, the distrust between himself and the soldiers was like a great ravine. He kept watching, waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next one to want to gut a child. Not that he–really was a child. An adult mind and memories in a tiny body. But still, they didn’t know. 

   His mind rationalizes the fights as defending himself, the Princess tells him he’s being a child. That he’s causing her more problems. That his mother would be disappointed. 

   She would be. 

   She would be. 

   But not for the reasons Princess Zelda thinks. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard to cope. To get his emotions straightened out, to make his mind stop feeling like it was struggling against itself. But he can’t, he can’t separate what he remembers from what’s in front of him and it feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of two opposing minds. Memories of things he did one day, that don’t happen now. Memories of his mom coming home and his tiny mind now not understanding she can’t. There are days he thinks he sees her at the Castle and when he blinks she’s not there. His head is playing tricks on him and it hurts. He lays awake in bed at night, thinking he can hear that man laughing at him and all Sheik wants to do is scream. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard. 

   He did it. So, why can’t Sheik? 

   The last fight with the guards draws unwanted attention, Sheik realizes this far too late. The Princess had been acting like a shield between him and her father, and when the King paid a bit too close attention, Sheik realized he was in trouble. They dragged him off to his office, shoved him inside the room and then swung the doors shut. The man sat behind a large oak desk, watching Sheik intently with those dark blue eyes. The Princess gets her eyes from her father apparently, Sheik didn’t remember that. 

   He stands from the desk and makes his way around it and Sheik tracks every careful movement with intent. It reminds him of something it shouldn’t, of that man, and Sheik has the briefest bits of fear fill his heart. In a way that nothing has since waking up in this timeline except his nightmares. He stops in front of Sheik and like with Ganondorf, he holds himself steady. “I understand you lost your mother and that is difficult, Zelda suffered much the same when her own passed. It’s never an easy thing. However, young Sheikah, you need to grow up now. You’re alone and no one is going to baby you forever. Learn to cope, not to cause problems, you do not wish for the fate that will bring you.” 

   Body of a child or not, Sheik knows a threat when he hears one. “Should I just stand there and let them say what they want? Just because of what I am?” He shouldn’t talk back, that will only get him in more trouble. 

   The King is so very neutral looking it unsettles him. “People will always say things you don’t like, part of growing up is learning to just ignore them. Your mother knew her place well enough to not fight over every single thing someone said to her. This is the fate your Tribe brought upon itself.” 

   And his mouth opened before his brain could stop it. “My Tribe did nothing wrong, the Hylians massacred my people in their sleep.” 

   There’s the sharp sound of skin hitting skin that echoes through the room and Sheik registers that before he does the fact he’s on the ground and his face is throbbing. He doesn’t move after catching himself on the floor, body frozen and tense as he waits for the next hit. It doesn’t come, instead the King moves back around the desk. “Pick yourself up and leave, remember this lesson for the next time.” 

   Lesson. 

   It shouldn’t be this hard. 

   He finally caves and goes looking for Link when he can’t sleep anymore. The Great Deku Tree was alive and thriving, the Kokiri were playing in their little homes, and the fairies that flickered around the lively forest seemed fond of him. He sneaks his way past all of them to get into the clearing where the Tree was, dropping himself down in front of it and nervously glancing around. He hadn’t actively looked for Link, but he figured it would be more polite and less–traumatizing for Link if he talked to the Great Deku Tree first. The tree for–their part doesn’t seem surprised to see him. 

   “Hmm… young Sheikah, what brings you here?” 

   Nervously he rubs his hands together and takes a step closer, his gaze running across the ground before raising to look at them. “Great Deku Tree my name is Sheik, son of Impa the Sage of Shadows. I’m searching for a Hylian who… used to live here. His name is Link.” 

   “So, you remember that which has not come to pass, do you?” As they all suspected, the Great Deku Tree remembered too. He wondered what it was about the both of them that made them an exception. He nodded his head and the Tree—sighed? Do tree’s sigh? “I’m afraid you’ve come too late. Link has left for Termina.” And there… there was the feeling of the rug being yanked out from beneath him. “He searches for something, I’m not sure what, perhaps himself. He was lost when waking up, and he hopes by traveling he’ll find who he is. If he’ll ever return, I cannot say I can only hope. Maybe he will find his answers there.”

   It shouldn’t hurt, he shouldn’t feel like he was left behind. Is this again, the irrational emotions of a child or was it Sheik himself? It’s like the slowly forming cracks in his heart had finally shattered and it’s no longer enough to just hold himself together. The feeling of suffocating had finally just consumed him and Sheik crumbled. 

   It’s just too hard. 

   He sat there for a while, just crying into his knees while the Great Deku Tree was just there. They’re a tree, they can’t do much, but the isolation of snapping in the forest where no one can see except the trees is somewhat comforting. It takes him a bit to get himself back under control but when he does the Great Deku Tree finally tries to offer some form of comfort. 

   “You will be alright.” 

   And Sheik just doesn’t believe it. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

[rubykgrant]

I think if they had seen each other outside of the very intentional personas of "serious/skeptical" and "meek/cheerful", a little bit of a romance between Jon and Martin would have happened a LOT sooner.

Like, if Jon had ever seen Martin tell somebody else off, some person who has come to yell at employees for whatever reason, and while Martin doesn't like confrontation, he can get pretty defensive on behalf of others... so he yells back, tells this so-and-so person to back off and leave, which they do. Jon sees that little hint of a righteous indignation, and a bit of mean-streak, Martin is capable of, when Martin shows his proverbial back-bone and stands up for other people, he's actually pretty INTIMIDATING. Jon just internally goes "Oh~"

Now, if Jon had EVER shown just a drop of his more silly-side, that little crush Martin was beginning to have on him would have bloomed into full-on love real quick. Jon is an a-hole on accident very often, but he also actively tries to NOT be very personable. He wanted to be taken seriously in every regard, and refused to notice his own need for connections companionship, so he pushed people away as much as possible... but we see that later, he has a sense of humor, he's a dork, and while he doesn't have much practice sharing it, he WANTS to be affectionate. Imagine Martin bringing him some tea, lingering in there for a while, and then Tim comes in to ask what they're up to. Without looking up from his papers, Jon just deadpans- "Oh, Martin was trying to seduce me into making out in the closet, but I keep telling him that's not appropriate in the workplace". Tim would dry-heave silent laughter, fall to the floor, roll out of there, go tell Sasha, who falls into a loud giggle-fit. Martin is mortified (and secretly smitten), and tells Jon "You are an EVIL LITTLE MAN", but can't stop smiling, and now he knows Jon is FUNNY. That's it, that's what does it

Half the spooky stuff wouldn't happen, they'd be too distracted with an office rom-com to be tormented by the horrors. Apocalypse avoided because they wouldn't stop flirting

Now that I've fully absorbed the Magnus Archives, my head has filled with some amusing thoughts, which I shall now share-

*some scenario in which they have a moment to chill, Jon takes the opportunity to be the one that makes Martin some tea*

Martin; Oh, this is very good! Thank you, Jon~

Jon; You're welcome. Glad you like it

*waits until Martin is almost finished with his cup*

Jon; I made that in the microwave

Martin; BETRAYAL

(another scenario in which Martin fins an old tape and listens to it, then goes to confront Jon)

*Martin hits play on the button*

Recording of Jon's voice; MARTIN, I HATE YOUR TEA, AND WISH YOU'D MAKE COFFEE INSTEAD

Martin; I want a divorce

Jon; NOnononononono, I didn't mean it, I was just testing if you could hear- MARTIN DON'T LEAVE ME, I LOVE YOU!

[teary-eyed-tiaras]

"They're all gonna laugh at you!"

"A howl of laughter could be heard coming from the very back of the crowd, it was one of Tord's annoying friends that followed him around every where, probably patryk. It broke through the stunned silence and began a chain reaction of giggles among the crowd, all directed at the boy covered head to toe in pigs blood standing on the stage.

Jon stood there horrified, clenching his eyes tightly, he could feel the wet warmness of it and smell the metallic stink of it as it dripped down his nose. It was too cruel, this could not be real. It was too evil even for jon's class mates, who had already proved themselves to he evil as could be through their years of torment. This was just too hard to imagine, Jon froze there, hoping that if he could just keep his eyes shut he could pretend none of this was happening, but that became harder and harder the more his classmates began to laugh, forcing Jon to finally open his eyes and face the reality right in front of him.

His bloody hands trembled in shock, tears began to form in Jon's eyes as he started to hyper ventilate. His eyes darted back and forth between his body and the laughing students, no matter where he looked there was nothing but humiliation.

The only voice that wasn't laughing or gasping in horror was Matt's, who had taken to the stage to yell in Jon's defense.

He had only taken Jon to the prom for Edd's sake, since he had been so upset about the "bathroom incident" he thought asking his friend to do him a solid and take Jon to prom would help relieve his guilt a little and give Jon some much needed happiness. It wasn't easy to convince him, but Edd wore Matt down till he accepted, and despite being forced to come, Matt had to admit he was actually having a fun time, and even felt a little sorry for Jon that it wasn't a "real date". After spending all evening with Jon he couldn't just stand by and let everyone laugh at him, he had to jump on stage and usher him away, he even took his suit jacket off to cover him up. Just when he opened his mouth to speak some words of encouragment though, a metal bucket from the rafters fell down and hit him straight on the head. Matt jerked to the ground, sprawling himself out on the stage and closing his eyes. Jon gasped and bent down to check his head but the crowd continued to laugh, unaware that just moments from now Matt would he dead from the blunt force trauma.

One of the many snickering voices stopped though, and muttered a soft "Matt?". Jon looked around for the mysterious voice before finally looking up at the rafters and seeing two hooded figuires in red and blue scamper away off of one of the platforms above. Of course it was Tord and Tom, who else would it be?

Jon covered his face in frustration, determined to not let his classmates see his tears. He jumped off the stage and began to run through the crowd.

Everyone looked so wonderful, the boys wore fantastic tuxedos with pretty little flowers on the lapels and the girls dressed in full on ball gowns with shiny stilleto's like they were princesses straight out of a story book, and then there was jon. Hystereically sobbing, covered in animal blood, and being viciously mocked. Some of the boys even started to chant "plug it up" which then eventually turned into almost everyone chanting it.

Jon hated them all, he hated them with a thousand times the vitriol that they hated him. through watery eyes he could see a blonde adult running towards him with opened arms, but Jon ignored him, he didn't need any fake sympathy. He needed to get out of there. Running through the crowd the students side stepped him like he had the plauge, "Good" jon thought "at least they aren't-" he fell on his face, tripping over some ones out stretched leg. He trembled and winced at the pain but just continued to crawl, half expecting some one to kick him while he was down.

Finally reaching outside, he collapsed on the ground, the warm wetness of the blood contrasting with the cold dry grass. Jon heaved, his face contorted into a pitiful expression. He raised his hands above his face and stared at his twitching bloody fingers.

"Stupid..." Jon mumbled to himself. He was right, how foolish he must of been to go to the dance, he should of known some one would of done something to ruin everything, and to think how perfect it all was until the bucket fell and splashed him.

He danced and nobody told him to stop embarrassing himself, he talked and no one told him to shut up, and he ate and not a single person even uttered the word "fat" or "chubby" around him. He felt accepted. He felt happy. It was a lie. Jon let out a whimper, thinking of how long he spent sewing this tuxedo only for it to get stained with blood, he'd have to throw it away when he got home. A week of work for absolutely nothing.

Jon still couldn't believe it, he had thought last week was the breaking point, after what had happened in the boys locker room he really thought anything else would just be small potatos in comparison. Jon was always known as that freaky religious kid, it was no secret that his father was such a zealot he thought everyone would go to hell except for him. It was was one of the many reasons they picked on jon, along with his low intelligence, childish nature, gullibility, and puniness, but they never imagined he would be so stupid enough to mistake a cut on his leg for menstruation.

When Jon first came out of the shower crying and screaming a bunch of non sense about eve and the original sin and the curse of blood like a mad man, the rest of the boys couldn't even believe it. He begged and screamed for help but all of them just gawked in awkward silence. Sure, jon was a total wuss but why was he so upset over a tiny cut on his thigh? It wasn't until Tord finally put the pieces together and enthusiastically shouted "oh my god, he thinks cis guys can get periods." that everyone finally understood.

With that revelation everyone began to laugh and crack jokes about jon being a woman now, or how he should get pregnant just to stop it, all of which only served to scare jon even more. It only got worse when Bing remembered his girlfriend had accidentally swapped her gym bag with his and she had left some of her "supplies" in the bag. Next thing jon knew he was crawling on the floor having a panic attack about hell while every guy in his class crowded around throwing feminine products at him while chanting for him to "plug it up!" over and over again.

It didn't matter that Jon seriously thought he was going to hell, it didn't matter that his father would most definetly hurt him later for this, it didn't matter that he fell to the floor and hit his head on the linoleum during the chaos. It was funny. Even Edd was laughing and throwing things like everyone else, only he had enough sense to try and apologize to Jon later and actually felt some remorse.

The nightmare only ended when their teacher finally stormed into the bathroom and told everyone to shut up and get the hell out. That was supposed to be as bad as it got, nothing could ever top the humiliation of that day, but Tord found a way. Jon stood up, fully prepared to walk home and start sobbing to his father about how right he was. That everyone at the dance laughed at him, bracing for inevitable beatings and insults he flung at Jon when he did things he didn't like. Jon just wanted to go home, but the thing was, he couldn't. There was something pulling him back towards the gym. A strange feeling, rising inside of him like lava in a volcano ready to burst. Years of torment had been leading to this, years of "i found out jon has a crush on laurel, let's tell everyone" and "Let's force Jon to eat something gross" and "Let's invite Jon to play hide and seek and then leave him there". It was time for action. It was time for change. It was time for him to use his power.

Jon had forgotten about the miracle, the strange force that had been following him ever since he was a kid, the thing that made objects throw themselves off the table whenever he got mad, or made the lights above him in the locker room go out when he was especially hysterical. The power. Jon cocked his head slightly to the side, his face turning from sadness to satisfaction. A light chuckle left his mouth, "Of course..." he muttered, approaching the school doors and envisioning it in flames.

Still inside, the students had finally gathered around matt's body to see if he was okay, their attention was quickly stolen though by the sound of glass shattering above them and the lights all going out. Sparks flew and glass fell down causing students to cower under tables. Jon had to really focus to make the glass shatter, but it was well worth it. Next would be all the windows, the the disco ball, then the bleachers, and then the sprinkler system. It was gonna rain on every single one of his bullies, it would mess up their hair and ruin all the food, make the floor too slippery to dance on, just like how they messed up his suit and ruined his night. Oh it would just be so beautiful. Jon's one and only complaint about the idea was that the water in the sprinkler's sadly couldn't be blood..."

[britishassistant]

Imagine a seperate Villian, upon seeing what Villian Yuu has to deal with, decided to publicly use some sort of concoction to make Yuu essentially Overblot and have them attack the civilians constantly harassing them to try and help them? Like they legitimately are trying to help, but their way of doing so is very very warped.

Oh. Oh.

Warning for Dark, Character Death and Body Horror under the cut

Seriously, if you don’t want that. Do. Not. Read.

“Beautiful.”

Yuu can barely hold in their screams, the place where they were injected throbbing, throbbing, throbbing—!

They can’t feel their legs. They can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs—

“Truly, truly, you are the most beautiful, most noble flower of evil.” The villain enthuses, staring down in awed delight as the exposed bone of their thigh gradually dissolves into black sludge.

“The others...the others, they taint this transformation with their own imperfect quibbles, too caught up in their own petty squabbles to appreciate the gift they’ve been given, turning it into a mockery of ridiculous outfits and issues.” The one who did this too them scoffs. “But you? You’re so pure in your hatred and anguish. It’s beautiful. Truly, truly beautiful.”

Yuu tries to drag themself away from her, hardly able to breathe through their sobs. It hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurtS, hurts, huRts, hUrts, huRTs, hURts, huRTS, hURTS, HURTS, HURTS, HURTS HURTS HURTS HURTS HURTS

They can hear things screaming their name—no, no, not things, never things, it’s-it’s people, it’s their friends, it’s Ace, and Deuce, and Grim and Yuuken, and Epelle and Jake and Se-Se-S-S-S—

The blot has devoured everything below their ribcage.

The thing that caused them this pain is laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing—!

Splorch.

No more laughter. That’s better. No more. No more. No more. No more. No more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more ENOUGH!! NO MORE!! IT HURTS!!!

Every day, every day, growing up with the fear, the agony, never being able to trust, never being trusted, protected, shielded, guarded, from risks dangers enemies manipulators heroes murderers suitors lovers friends family love life happiness, and for what?! A birthright they never asked for and can never give up, a fate they can’t run from even if they want to?!

They’re the villain.

They don’t win.

They don’t get saved.

They don’t get the guy.

Their fate is to be taken, and taken, and taken from until they’re left hollow and useless, like an upended inkwell. An inkwell is only valuable so long as it has ink it it, dipping pens and brushes in again and again and again until it’s drained dry. Another piece of trash to be discarded.

The blot is dissolving their clavicle. It’s not sure its host has the neurons left to feel pain anymore.

The things are screaming louder. The things are important. The blot is not sure how it knows this, but it knows. They are important. They are important. They are not to be touched. Even if the blot wants to, even if it can feel their anguish, their power and hate, yearns to draw on it, feed off of it, until they’re wrung dry like the trash that’s almost been consumed.

They are not to be touched.

The thing that used to be Yuu Crowley moves it’s mouth for the last time.

“Please.” It whispers. “RUN.”

Neige is crying.

Yuu-chan’s pain is obvious from here. Even if what’s left can’t even be called “Yuu-chan” anymore.

It’s a mass of inky black substance, almost sack-like in appearance, curled up on the outskirts of the city. It keeps moaning, reaching out compulsively and then attacking itself, as if it somehow recognizes the waste its presence is bringing to the land around it.

The others who were afflicted like this could at least be saved. They at least had enough superpowers, no matter how latent, that there was time to wear them out and disperse this thing before they were fully consumed.

Yuu-chan doesn’t have any powers. Yuu-chan has nothing left of themself at all.

Nothing but fear and hate and resentment and all of it directed at themself.

“-eige. White Neige!”

“H-huh?” He looks over at Farena-senpai, blinking excess tears from his eyes.

“It hurts. I know it does.” Farena-senpai looks like he’s barely unable to keep the tears from his eyes either. “But we need to stop this. That isn’t the Supervisor anymore. They’d hate it if they hurt anyone like this, you know that. We’ve got to stop that thing. For them.”

Neige heaves in a shuddering breath, swiping the tears from his face. Farena-senpai’s right. He always is.

“Y-Yuu-chan. I’m so sorry.” He chokes out, brandishing his magical scepter. “B-but don’t worry! It-it won’t hurt anymore. I promise it won’t.”

He lifts the scepter, chanting the incantation he’s said time and time again before. It glows with a purifying light, cleansing the land around it of the taint and corruption oozing off the former supervillain.

The inky thing shrieks. It sounds like a frightened child.

Farena-senpai steadies his resolve, pinning it down before it can run. Neige wishes it would stop screaming. It’s making his ears and heart ache.

The Champion takes his place over it once it’s reduced in size enough. The Vorpal Blade in his hand looks like a heavy weight.

One two, one two, and through and through.

The Vorpal Blade goes snicker-snack.

The heroes leave the Blot dead. Not even able to collect it’s head. They go trudging back.

From: Ambrose the 63rd (ambrose63@RSA.gov)

Re: Dire Crowley (nightraven1@evil.loe)

Subject: Re: Burial Services

Dear Crowley,

It is my deepest regret to inform you that there was nothing left of your homunculus that our heroes were able to retrieve upon defeating the threat. Due to the nature of the attack the homunculus suffered, it is hypothesized by Dr. Milo that it had been consumed in its entirety within two minutes of injection of the drug Tache Plus. The testimonies of the unfortunate young men who bore witness to this event support this hypothesis entirely.

Yuu was an admirable villain and heir to your legacy, for all that it was artificial, and one who had the potential to carry on the Game admirably in your shoes. I know I do not speak just for myself when I say its absence will be sorely felt among many of the heroes here at the Royal Sword Association.

My deepest condolences once again for your loss.

Regards,

Ambrose the 63rd (CEO of Royal Sword Association ltd.)

Bad End 1: An Overblot by Any Other Name...

Insert Coin to Play Again?

[lexiepiper]

Retro

Danny's been summoned. But not by who you'd expect. In fact, not by an actual person.

Phic Phight Prompt by @greyheartwriter

-

For once, he was actually awake and alone when he felt the familiar tug low in his gut. It slithered through his veins like smothering smoke, and his breathing caught as the fabric of reality tore him into pieces and stuffed him through the gaps between atoms at a speed that defied physical boundaries.

Rematerialisation was, somehow, even worse. His core formed first, and then he felt every painful tug as flesh and bones began to melt back into corporeality. His nerves wrapped back around every millimetre of every single layer of organs and muscles in a nexus of screaming, boiling pain, and then skin slipped into place in a final layer of torture…

When he could finally breathe again, his newly-formed ribs felt like they were going to split open his sides, and Danny hunched over and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking in an effort to clear the haze from his vision. He heaved in a few choked, desperate lungfuls of air, bracing his palms on the floor, and realised that as usual, he’d fallen to his knees.

“Alright,” he wheezed, “who the hell are you this time?”

There was no answer.

He coughed, looking around at the… very familiar room.

Danny frowned. There was no summoning circle on the floor, no acrid stench of burning herbs or the flickering of candles, no otherworldly chanting from people in cheap black robes typically made from plastic garbage bags or scavenged from the post-Halloween bargain bin…

No. Instead he was kneeling on his own bedroom floor, the soft afternoon light streaming through the window and falling across his unmade bed just to the left.

He got to his feet, staggering a bit with the residual weakness, and turned in a circle a couple of times as though whoever had summoned him would magically appear. Everything was how he had left it, with dirty clothes on the floor, his window slightly ajar, and homework and birthday presents mingled on his desk.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and Danny spun. He immediately overbalanced and had to grab the bedpost to steady himself, mouth going dry as the soulless plastic eyes of the toy on his desk blinked with a whirr.

“Danny,” it drawled, and vertigo sent him back to his knees as his core fluttered with the recognition that the thing that had summoned him had just said his name. “Daaannnnnyyyyyy, u-nye-loo-lay-doo?”

He swallowed, mouth dry and throat tight. “Jazz,” he rasped. He swallowed again as the toy’s ears twitched with another tiny whirr, and prayed that it wouldn’t say his name anymore. “Jazz, come here now!”

He heard a heavy sigh through the wall and the sound of her chair rolling on its wheels before Jazz’s footsteps stomped into the hallway.

“What?” she snapped, throwing open his door. “I have a test to study for, and I thought you went out an hour ago!”

He raised his hand dramatically, pointing at the thing on his desk. “Burn it.”

“What?! Danny, why… why are you on the floor?”

“Daaannnnnyyyyyy.”

He moaned, massaging his chest. “Damn it, Jazz,” he croaked, “I told you those are evil. It summoned me!”

She froze. “It… it what?”

He gripped the bedpost and forced himself back onto his feet, legs trembling with the effort. “It’s evil! I told you I didn’t want it! But no, you thought it was a cute, retro birthday gift, a blast from the past, a—”

“Daaannnnnyyyyyy.”

His name, uttered by the chunk of plastic and wires, drove him to his knees again, and Danny choked down a cry as his core squeezed painfully.

Jazz giggled. “This summoned you? This?!” She broke off with a truly wicked laugh that Danny felt was entirely unwarranted.

“Burn. It.”

She snorted, but crossed his room and picked the offending item up off the desk before flipping it over and rooting around its control panel. There was a tiny click, and the immense pressure on Danny’s core evaporated like it had never existed in the first place.

He took a deep, unrestrained lungful of air. “Stop laughing. You know that summoning hurts me.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still smiling,” he accused, standing up yet again with the help of the bedpost.

She held out the item. “Are you sure you don’t want to do the honours?”

He shied away. “Don’t touch me with that,” he whined. “Just burn it. Now.”

She laughed again and headed for the door. “Sorry. I’ll go do that.”

He scowled as she stepped out into the hallway. “I said it was demonically possessed when you gave it to me!”

Her soft laughter turned into downright cackling, and as he collapsed onto his bed Danny could only hope that none of the other ghosts ever found out that he’d been so thoroughly beaten by the accidental summonings of a furby.

[uncxntrxllable]

Hmm... Imagine going to work and then coming home possessed? Crazy. But as they have mentioned, it could be so much worse because it seems as though this possession isn't so much the uh... The evil kind? Yeah, the evil kind. And they weren't wrong about herself either, Aiden may be a demonic spirit but he could easily be considered tame, especially now. He's not, well, evil.

❝ Yeah I suppose you're right. That would definitely be much worse. ❞ She laughed, but it felt dry and the smile upon her expression almost appeared as ungenuine as her laughter. They weren't wrong, that isn't it. She just... She didn't know what it was. Jamie heaved a sigh and she pushed herself up onto her feet from the ground, dusting off her bottom.

❝ Well I'm starving. Wanna grab a bite? ❞ Her lips pressed together into a sort of frown, her eyes momentarily flick elsewhere, ❝ And, maybe... ❞ She gently pounded a fist into her palm and shrugged her shoulders, looking at Corvus. ❝ Also, pay? ❞ The words are strained as they came out, eyebrows pinched and the corner of her lip upturned just slightly.

☠ ⟼ they were smiling along as she spoke, endeared by the connection they two were able to make... until she had asked about the other pair.

complicated. that was always the best way to explain their dynamic. it had turned from something strictly business to them being certain a dead man had fallen for them. and, the worst part about it was that they returned the feelings.

it was too bad he met an untimely end before they could even meet, considering how many times they could have. their eyes glanced over at something that wouldn't really be there to anyone who lacked the curse talent for seeing spirits. him. attached and unable to be perceived by most, possessing their body in their times of need. it was hard for them to find the words to offer an explanation, but they felt it was only right considering jamie had been so open about her own situation. while sparing a few details, of course.

❝ other than my life being completely upturned by the promise of pursuing a killer i know nothing about? peachy. ❞ their words sounded like they could have been in jest, if it hadn't been for their melancholic tone. ❝ aito hasn't been any cause of trouble for the most part. he just came to me when he needed help because i was one of the first people he saw at the crime scene. my line of work usually puts me in trouble, but funny enough it's not what landed me here. it's just because i'm nosy. ❞

that alone made aito scoff out a laugh.

'you say that as if it wasn't a good thing this time around.'

❝ could have been worse. could be stuck with a an actual horrific monster of a demon or some kind of pissed off poltergeist so i think we both got the better end of things yeah? ❞

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

[plush-rabbit]

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 2: Frantic Eyes

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: honestly im writing this to do like just two scenes that i thought of (one inspired by a tiktok:P)

Prev.

His head aches. A throbbing ache that starts in the back of his head and slowly forms until he’s biting the inside of his cheeks, a slight whine escaping as his canines dig into the soft flesh and the tinge of copper fills his mouth. He’s in literal pain with bones that feel as if they weigh a ton, dragging him deeper into the soft cushion, and joints that ache with even the slightest movement and he wants to lie and pretend to be dead for just a second longer as the scent of something sweet fills his senses.

Sweet? The brat must have gotten a candle, he thinks to himself. It smells almost like candy- something overly sweet and pleasant if he weren’t currently fighting back the acid that creeps in his throat. He tries to open his mouth, to voice the words but it’s too dry, too cracked and unwilling to open, the corners of his lips feeling as if they’d tear with even the slightest opening- a plea of his body to just rest for a second long and he can’t help but listen and lay still against the soft cushion, to keep his hands fisted against the soft blanket that smells like it was freshly washed. 

He hears his name called in a gentle whisper. “Tomura?” It repeats, softer and there’s a dip beside him and he can’t think of who it is that is calling him. Kurogiri stopped doing the nightly check-ins after the League of Villains grew to be more than just the two of them. He doubts it's any of the others. There’s a soft brushing of his hair, a palm that presses against his temple in a tender touch and it’s too solid to be Kurogiri and he knows that it can’t be anyone else. His name is muffled, ears stuffed with cotton and when he opens his eyes, he’s met with an unfamiliar ceiling and eyes that he doesn’t recognize.

He twists against his body’s protests, vertigo settling in a blink of an eye, vision that blurs and head that spins and whirls and his hand is around your wrist, middle finger lifted up, pointed towards a wall and you yelp, your eyes wide and chest heaving and dipping far too much for his liking. He can feel you tremble under his touch, your face going pale and your hands slowly stretch, palms shown against him in sign of surrender.

“Tomura?” You squeak out, swallowing tightly and he narrows his eyes. “It’s- It’s just me.” You’re trying to calm him down, a soft voice that comes out in a low whisper and you don’t make an effort to push him off. “Remember?” He doesn’t. “We met last night? In- In an alleyway and you didn’t want help and-” he tightens his grip around your wrist and you whine under him, a soft noise that makes you bottom lip tremble and his middle finger twitch downward- “I brought you home because you didn’t want to call your friends.” He narrows his eyes in both annoyance at you and at the headache. “My home,” you correct, clearing your throat.

You really make no attempt to get out of his grasp. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re just that naive that he wouldn’t harm you and he was just jittery about waking up in a new place or if you think that you can actually take him even in his weakened state. He licks his lips, and yawns in front of you, mouth opened wide and teeth displayed dangerously. 

“That’s a dumb thing to do,” he says, dropping your wrist and sits on the couch, head thrown back and eyes pinched. The blanket lays twisted against him, under one leg and over the other, spilling onto the floor and barely grazing his thigh. “I could kill you, you know.” There’s no point in hiding who he is and he opens his eyes half-heartedly. His fingers flex and joints get stuck together and pop quietly. 

You stare at him and slowly rise, his eyes never leaving you and he watches how your hand flutters against your pocket, a shape outlined against the fabric and then they flutter away and you grab the wrist that he touched, your hand cupped against it, going back and forth in a soft caress. 

“If you do,” you whisper, “can you at least make it painless?” The space between his brow bone creases and you shrug at his look. “It’s just that I took care of you and I guess I thought that you’d at least repay the favor by making my death painless.”

He stares at you and glances down at your pocket where a bit of orange spills out, plastic and dirtied with something black. “You’re fucking weird,” he scoffs and lays back down, trying to relax the erractic beating in his heart. He hears you laugh- it’s short and sweet, genuine laughter that isn’t filled with spite or anything evil and he curls his upper lip at the sound. 

“Considering I brought a stranger home,” you scoff, “yeah, that’s fair.” You clear your throat and he can hear your steps fade, the sound of something opening and items that move against each other in soft clacking and scraping. Your steps return and he feels the spot beside him dip again. “Tomura?” He regrets giving you his name- he should have chosen an alias. “I’m going to check your temperature, okay? It’s uh- an infrared one so you don’t have to open your mouth or anything.”

He opens his eyes and in between his vision is a stripe of white. “Why?” There’s a soft ding and he watches you pull the device away.

“You were hurt last night and I just want to make sure you don’t have a fever.” You bite your bottom lip and look back at him. “You’re fine- temperature wise. Does anything hurt?”

You’re too honest- too trusting as you sit near him while he no doubts reeks of garbage. The scent of candy makes his eyes water and he stares into your eyes, trying to look threatening, an hungry huff and flared nostrils as his hand claws over his wrist. You don’t falter under his gaze, only blink owlishly at him with the corners of your lips curving slightly upwards in a polite smile.

“My head,” he says in a strained whimper.

You smile softly and rise from the couch. “Yeah, I bet it is. You were in rough shape last night and I doubt the walking helped. Let me go turn off the candle and get you some painkillers. Don’t move, okay?” 

It’s not like he has a choice. Pinning you down took away all of his energy and he just woke up- he’s hungry, lost, mind clouded with too many thoughts that swirl out of his grasp and he can’t move with his brain slamming into his skull and he wants to claw at his throat but with the way you still treat him without fear- even if he did just threaten you- he has to just play the hurt civilian card for a second longer. 

A faint whiff of smoke mixes with the candy scent and he swallows down the bile. Your footsteps are soft when they return like you’re trying not to disturb him despite him already being awake. His eyes follow you until you sit down, eyes darting to where two bright red pills sit in your palm, a bottle of water in the other and the sudden awareness that he has to swallow something makes his skin turn a pale green.

“You look sick,” you murmur and he gives you a pointed look. “I, um,” you hum and grab his wrist, his hand opening up and your tip your hand, the pills falling into his open palm, “eating is out of the question, right now,” you say more to yourself than him and he does not respond. “Do you want to take a shower?”

He narrows his eyes at you quizzically. “A shower?”

You blink owlishly at him and give him a nervous laugh. “Uh, you know-” you raise your hand above you and begin to flutter your fingers- “when water comes down and you-”

His face burns and he closes his hand into a fist. “I know what a shower is,” he hisses, snatching the water from you, cupping his palm over his mouth, pills falling onto his tongue and gulping down a considerable amount of water.

“Oh! Sorry,” you say in a flustered tone, bringing your hand down in front of your chest and waving it in a frantic motion. “It’s just that you repeated the word and I thought- Well some people only take baths and there-”

“Shut up,” he groans, dipping his face to bury it in his hands. You do as you're told and he peeks at you through a gap of his eye and he startles, standing up on wobbling legs and he looks around the small living room with scared eyes.”Where is it?” He hisses, hands patting down his body.

“Where’s what?” You ask in a frantic voice, rising to stand next to him, hands fluttering around his body before they curl back into your body and you take a step away from him. “I- You were the only thing in the alleyway. I made sure to check! There was nothing else there. Do you want to go back? I can go back?”

Anxiety fills his entire body in rough crashing waves that make it impossible to breathe and he shakes as he raises his hands, nails dragging against his face and digging deep into his neck in sharp claws that drag down his skin and mark him in red that burns and flows through his body and bead onto his skin. Tears well his eyes and welts appear on his neck and he feels exposed. He feels dread and calm all at once. Sick and well in an awful mixture. The hands that coat his body, fingers that crawl onto him like a bundle of centipedes are gone, leaving him open and sick, skin crawling and bumping under.

“Tomura!” You cry his name and grab at his wrist and he wants to strike you but he can’t. He can’t right now. “Look- It’s- Whatever it is, I can go back and look for it but please, relax. You- You shouldn’t-” your voice wavers and you pull your hands away from him- “just breathe, okay?” Your hand shakes as it rests on his bicep, bringing the hand down to the crease of his emblow and forcing it to unbend until it falls limp at his side. “How about this? You take a shower and when you’re clean and eat something, we can go look for whatever it is that you lost, okay?” 

He takes a deep breath and it fills his lungs with poison. You call his name and he offers a grunt, teeth grinded against together and he’s going to rip his skin apart. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and it feels raw, soft and tender like new skin and he wants to taste blood.

“Tomura, please,” you cry out, your hands going to cup his face and he’s pulled out of his attack with the touch. Your eyes water- out of fear? Concern? Your thumbs rest below the corner of his lips and pull gently, coaxing the abused lip out of his mouth. “I don’t know what you lost but it must be important and I promise- I promise that I’ll do my best to help you find it but when I saw you last night, it was only you.” He releases his bottom lip and your hands still remain on him. He misses his hands but yours are a good enough replacement. They remain steady against him, a gentle and unwavering touch and it doesn’t fill him with sickness. “Just- Just go take a shower and when you come out, we’ll eat something and then we can go look, okay?”

He stares at you and his hands jerk, fingers that dance against nothing and he wants to keep your hands pressed against his face. “I don’t have spare clothes,” he murmurs.

“I-” you look around and he wonders if you have a roommate. No, you wouldn’t have brought him over if you did. And if you had a partner, they surely would have been here by now. “I have laundry that I have to do. Darks. Why don’t- Look, just take as long as you need in there and I’ll wash your clothes along with mine.”

“You’re going to leave me alone in your apartment.” It’s a statement more than a question and he stays still, not wanting to rid himself of the wellness that you give to him with a simple touch. You don’t move, keeping your hands against him and you furrow your brows, pursing your lips and he stays staring at you. 

“You don’t seem like the type to run around naked in someone else’s apartment,” you reason, giving him a small smile. “I’ll wash your clothes and bring them back as soon as I’m done, okay?” 

Your hands slide off his face and he feels bugs crawl over and under his skin. You pull away from him and he already misses your touch. You beckon him to follow you and he does, nails digging into his palms as he walks behind you, eyes trained on the back of your head with bile rising in his throat.

You stand in front of a door with a simple plant sticker on it, a pink pot with a generic stem growing from it. “A sticker?” His speech is slightly slurred and he needs to sit down. His goes to grab at the wall, a slight turn at the last second so the side of his palm rests against it.

“Yeah,” you trail, opening the door to a small bathroom, “the last tenants had put it there and I never really got around to taking it off.” You step to the side, your back pressed against the door, hands tugging on the end of your shirt and you give him a tentative smile, nodding your head inside for him to enter. 

He swallows and steps inside, his mind slowly losing the pain that has clouded him, his mouth drying all over agains to an uncomfortable degree. “And-”

“Oh, right,” you mention and step close to him, your hand pressing softly against his abdomen and he watches as you reach into a cabinet and pull out a washcloth, your hand falters inside and the plastic holding the cloth wrinkles in your hand. “Um-” you lick your lips and meet his eyes hesitantly- “you don’t- you aren’t allergic to scents or something? I know some people might have sensitive skin and scents don’t help with that so I have unscented soap if you need it. I think I also have cream for sensitive skin but that’s more for the body and-” you shift your weight on either leg and dart your eyes around, a nervous smile on your lips as you start to raise the pitch in your voice- “I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable-”

“I’m fine,” he says flatly. You meet his eyes for a brief second, nervous and fidgety. “I-” he struggles to give you a smile, he can’t risk having you kick him out or a struggle where other tenants would hear- “appreciate it. Which is the hot water?”

You don’t meet his eyes again and simply raise an index, pointing it to the left and muttering the direction under your breath. “Just drop your clothes off next to door and I’ll pick them up.” Your voice is strained and you stretch your arms in front of you to hand him the toiletries, still refusing to meet his eyes and he takes them hesitantly from your hand, pinky raised as he grabs the cloth and bar of unscented soap. “I’ll try to finish as fast as I can,” you say quietly, turning around and grabbing at the doorknob, pulling the door to a close. “There’s a spare towel in the cabinet,” you say through the door, shadow still for a brief second and moving away in rapid steps. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to the closed door and turns around.

Steam fills the room, it becomes stuffy and hard to breath and his clothes lay in his arms, crumpled up and smelling of dirt and sweat and he’s almost embarrassed to hand them to you. He bites his bottom lip, and dips his head, taking in a deep breath. The door opens without a sound and he tosses his clothes in a lump, watching as a shadow near the corner bobs, moving around the other still shadows and he closes the door quick, a loud noise that makes him flinch and he jerks his head, and hears you let out a soft curse. He watches the space between the door and floor and sees your shadow move close.

“I got your clothes so I’m going to wash them, okay?” Your voice is muted through the door and the running water and he does no answer. “Take as long as you need, okay? Just try not to pass out.”

The hot water hits his back in rushing waves. It burns against him and makes his skin turn a light shade of pink, spreading across his back and creeping across his body, soft blue hair sticks to his face, drops clinging to his lashes and making them stick together, until he blinks and they slide down his face. His bones and joints thank him, sighing in appreciation as he stands under the showerhead. The water burns his skin and he takes a shuddering breath, grabbing at the handle and moving it to the right, the hot water replaced by cool water that refreshes his skin and makes bumps crawl over his skin. 

He doesn’t know what your deal is. He doesn’t understand why you’re being so nice to a stranger that you only met last night who was bloody and leaned against an alleyway. Did he look that pitable to you? Did you really just want to be a good samaritan and save him? You offered him some place warm to sleep, offered to even wash his clothes for him as he used your shower. All for a stranger who he almost touched within the first minutes of waking up. He doesn’t know what to do with you. He can’t leave your apartment right now. Not when there’s daylight outside. And he can’t escape through your front door. He doesn’t even know where he is right now. He was too groggy and out of it to actually focus on the street names. What do you want from him? What do you expect from him? If anything goes wrong he can always kill you. It’s a safety measure that he rather not deal with but it’s always an option. 

Soap lathers against his body in fluffy, iridescent foam, spilling down his body and grime and dirt is washed from him. Dried specks and spills of blood are scrubbed at and come off in flakes. His neck stings under the water, a harsh grit of his teeth when the cloth is pushed against him.

He is at a complete loss. He’s sure he can convince you that he can’t leave for another few hours. You already trusted him enough to sleep under the same roof as you, convincing you to stay for a few more hours while you both are awake shouldn’t be too troublesome. It’s his damn hands that he has to worry about. Could they have been left there? No- the longer that he stays awake the more that memories from last night rush in. They were already off of him when you had appeared by his side- slowly his hand wraps around his neck; long, sharp talons pressing into the soft skin- and you had told him that there wasn’t anything nearby. Maybe they had gotten them. It’s likely that they would have. They’re awful but even Toga has enough empathy to want to pick them up and would more than likely nag the others to help. Twice would follow her lead, Mr. Compress would do so as well, Spinner would go along with it and Dabi would do it just to hold something over him.

The shower is filled with the clean scent of your body wash- it’s soft and nothing too sweet, and he welcomes the scent. The pads of his fingers wrinkle and soften and he’s alone with his thoughts. What does he even do with the cloth that you gave him? He doubts you would want to keep it. Does he just toss it? He feels like it’s almost wrong but it’s not as if he’s staying another night here. He just needs to stall for as long as he can and then leave. It doesn’t seem like you recognize him. You don’t react in fear but rather in meekness and that’s something that he can take advantage of. Under the water, he closes his fist around the cloth and watches as the dust falls and swirls around his feet and disappears down the drain. 

The water shuts off with a twist and drips fall and splatter onto the tile. He sighs and pulls back the curtain, eyes landing on the cabinet. He sighs and steps onto the carpet that wets under his touch. 

The towel is dark green and soft under his touch and pats himself dry, drops of water wetting your floor and he stands in your bathroom with a towel around his waist, the cream that you mentioned sits and stares at him mockingly. His hand covers his face, a false placement for where Father rests and it fills him with dread at the thought of the loss. He can still feel your touch on him. It wasn’t as sickening as he thought it was going to be. Your hands were soft and gentle on himm, holding him together as he fell apart and he wonders if that is how Twice often feels at the thought of his mask ripping. You tried to calm him down, comforted him in even going to go and look for his possession yourself or with him. He doesn’t doubt that you would actually do that- the way you looked at him with concern, the soft touch against his face and the way you called his name, he’s sure that you would do anything at that moment to make him feel better. 

He exits the bathroom with the heavy cream coating his body, drops of water staining the floor and when he enters the living room, you are nowhere to be found. He calls for your name, a rapid beating against his chest as you don’t reply and he’s shaking as he starts to pace, eyes frantic and scared as they search around the open space.

He hears a laugh. It’s muted and forced and it’s outside your door, the knob twisting and falling short before it can actually be opened. 

“Yeah, no, I got my mail.” It's your voice- muffled from the walls and you sound so close to him. Someone else responds and it sounds garbled, like someone speaking underwater and choking the words out. “I- You know, I work tomorrow but I’ll see when I’m free.” The knob twists again and this time the door opens. It’s a crack and the air from the outside spills inside. “Oh.” Your voice cracks and he sits on your couch. “I just have a friend over.” A friend? You’re lying to someone then. Should he help? The longer the door stays open and the less that you appear fills him with anxiety. “I really have to go,” You step halfway through the door and you enter, keeping the gap to a minimum and with a final goodbye, you close the door with a heavy sigh. You mutter something inaudible under your breath and when you turn, you startle, knocking your back against the door. “Oh my,” you say, with a hand over your heart, white envelopes held in hand. “Tomura, you scared me.” He doesn’t know if he should apologize and he stays silent. “I’m sorry-'' you shake your head and toss the letters down on a round chair- “I got a call from the office and you know, it doesn’t matter but I think your clothes should be done. You took a while in there so-”

“Who was that?” You look at him and when you tilt your head he points to the front door.

“Oh, just a neighbor,” you explain with a wave of your hand. 

“Should I have helped?” He thinks its only fair that he should ask as you fret around, waiting by the closet where a loud hum is muted. 

“No, no. He’s just overly friendly,” you say with a strained smile. “Are you hungry? I can order something or make-”

“He sounds annoying.” To be fair, he didn’t hear what he sounded like but from the way that you smile and sighed after closing the door he could only assume that he’s tiring to deal with. 

“He’s not,” you frown, crossing your arms. “He’s just,” you pause, “overly friendly,” you repeat with a defeated tone. “It’s nothing to worry about, really. Um, so are you feeling better?” A harmonious tune plays behind a door, and you flash him a smile before turning around and opening the door.

“Is it alright if I stay for a bit longer?” There’s no point waiting for the opportunity to ask. “I want to-”

“That’s fine,” you answer and when you appear in his vision, his clothes are carried in your arms. “You were pretty beat up and I doubt you got a good night’s rest. If you want, you’re free to take another nap.” You stand in front of him and he rises to his feet, suddenly aware that except for the towel, he is nude. He takes the clothes from your arms and you smile at him. He can see heavy bags under your eyes and he wonders if you got any rest while a stranger slept in the other room. “You can go change in the bathroom.” 

He does as he’s told.

The clothes are warm against his body and he holds his shoes in his hands and awkwardly places them down beside the door. His hair is still wet and sticks to the nape of his neck, the towel wrapped around his shoulders in a poor attempt to catch at the water that slides down his back and ruins the dry shirt.

He stands in the kitchen, watching you as you check the pantry, a tight frown on your lips. You turn to him and shrug your shoulders. “Is there anything that you like? I haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping.”

Truth be told, he doesn’t feel like eating but if it’ll stall the time until he’s kicked out, then he’ll eat whatever you’ll offer. “I’m not picky-” a lie- “so whatever you’re going to get, I’ll eat from there.”

You pout at the answer and he shifts his weight to the other foot. “Your hair is still wet.” You point at his head and he clears his throat, nodding. “Come on, I have a blow dryer in my room.” You move towards him and grab his wrist, pulling him to follow you. He follows without complaint.

Your room is decorated in stuffed animals and figurines. It’s odd. Something sweet that he didn't expect. It makes you feel realer, like you actually exist and have a life, that you aren’t some random person who exists only to serve as passerby to him. He’s sat in a chair that squeaks under his weight and it adds to how real this is. That he was actually picked up by someone and shown care for. He can still feel your touch on his face and it burns.

Your hand lingers and slides off his shoulder. “I’m going to brush your hair first, okay?”

He really doesn’t understand why he’s allowing himself to be treated by you. He could just wrap his arm around your wrist and you’ll be done for. He won’t have to worry about you recognizing him a second too late. His hands twitch, fingers curling inwards and he wants to touch you- to get rid of any loose threads that have lingered in the night. It doesn’t seem like anyone knows that he’s here. Only your neighbor knows that you have a”friend” over and even then, he doesn’t know what he looks like. 

He shudders when the brush is run through his hair, your hand softly grazing his neck as you lift the wet strands and run the brush through his hair.he sits still, eyes wide as you apologize for the rough pulls, commenting on tangles.

“Why are you being nice to a stranger? Don’t you have any self-preservation about your own life?” His words cut through the stillness, and he feels you still, comb still tugging on his hair. 

You don’t answer. You remain quiet as you return to your task, pulling on his hair and combing it through. You grab at the end of the towel and pat his dry, and he wishes he could see your expression. 

“I asked myself that before I fell asleep,” you murmur, placing the come down on your dresser. “I think,” you muse with a thoughtful hum, “the only answer I can give is that if I were in your position I would want someone to help me.” You sigh and he can hear something hit the floor and a soft curse. “People are inherently good-” he snorts at that- “and you were hurt and I wanted to help. You’re free to leave whenever you want but you want to leave at night. I don’t know why that is but I’ll respect it. You haven’t been completely awful so you can stay.” He feels his hair being threaded and he swallows tightly as he realizes that your digits are threading through his hair. “I want to make you feel better Tomura because I want to believe I’m a good person.” He narrows his eyes and his hand twitches as it covers the spot where your hand held him. “Tell me if it’s too hot, okay?”

He bites his bottom lip as a hot wave of air hits his sensitive skin that still lingers with fresh cuts.

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations, pt.2

The moment you’ve all been waiting for

Chapter Two: A Clarity

By the early evening, they had made it. Their journey was long and rough, leaving their muscles aching and in desperate need of rest. Ahead was a rather large shack nearly hidden by the towering elms all around it. Jean wasn’t really well versed in architecture, but he remembered one of Armin’s late night ramblings about an ancient style of housing that the cabin-like building resembled. It was a nice, homey looking place. Though it seemed long abandoned with ivy spreading up the walls and leaves camouflaging the roof and scattering the ground. To the east came a loud shushing sound, easily identifiable as a clogged up creek. Bingo.

“Yeah, tell me about it. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night here.” Marco chimed, trying to conceal the excitement that the sentiment brought.

They set the rest of their stuff by the rock-lined fire pit before making their way to the waterside. Water was building up rapidly, overflowing to the sides. Blocking it’s path was a massive oak tree, water only barely trickling over the top.

“Oh shit,” Jean began, rolling up his trousers and stepping in for a closer inspection.

Marco followed suit, yards of thick rope in his grasp. “Luckily it’s fairly hollow.” he called from behind Jean over the sound of water forcibly hitting the log. “The tree itself won’t be too heavy, it’s just stuck. Look there,” he gestured to the base of the tree trapped in the thick walls of the compacted mud. “It’s just trapped. If we attach rope to either side and pull at an angle, perhaps we can free it and get it to the surface.” he concluded with a small, self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of his little assessment. Marco always seemed to take joy in the simplest things, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Jean smiled devilishly. “Well done my brilliant friend. Let’s get this started.” Marco gave a dramatic salute before getting to work, tying the rope tightly to one end of the tree. Jean took a nearby stick to dig at the tough mud, aiming to loosen its grip on the tree. Marco noticed and began to do the same. Soon enough, they felt a thudded movement of the tree as water poured in from the sides.

“It’s coming loose!” Marco leapt. “Jean, I’ll drag the rope up my end, you meet me with your end, ok?”

Jean lifted the rope. “Ok, aye aye captain!” he yelped.

With just enough force from Marco’s end and Jean coming to meet him on the same edge of the creek, the water ferociously gushed in, releasing all the built up tension behind the log.

“Alright ready to flip it?!” Jean called out over the rushing water, and was met with a swift, “Yep, heave!” With one last bout of labor, they had gotten the bulky tree over the edge of the water, the makeshift dam no longer able to wreak havoc on their water supply.

And with that, Jean dramatically flung himself into the semi shallow water, the flowing tide steadying to a more constant trickle as it evened out. Marco starred in bafflement before howling with a poorly contained laughter.

“Jean! What on earth are you doing!” he cried between laughs. Jean had that devilish grin on his face again, and Marco knew exactly what was coming - he was next. “Jean, Jean no. Splash me and I will have no choice but to go in and defeat you myself.” he pleaded, threatened, warned, but despite his desperate cries and admonishing face, Jean got closer, arms in position to fire water directly at him.

“I’d like to see you try.” he said menacingly, before pushing a massive wave of water to the surface, full on drenching Marco on the spot.

Oh. This was war.

Marco hurdled into the deepest part of the creek, a battle cry leaving his lips as he shoved a tall wall of water onto the other. Managing to side step his first attack, Jean beamed as his eyebrows furrowed, face contorting to that of a jester.

“Jean, oh my God.” he chuckled, a standoff between the two men putting them at a pause. Jean bent low in the water, soaking his chest.

“Well? Gonna come and get me?” he taunted, smirking his most devilish smile. Marco eagerly leapt at him, arms wrapping around the bulkier man in a wrestle. The two danced in and out of the embrace with Jean finally gaining the upper hand, slamming Marco backwards into the water. Marco let out a small cry, soon to be muffled by the incoming water enveloping the pair.

The two quickly resurfaced, Jean looking more than pleased with his second consecutive win, and Marco coughing and hacking up stream water.

“Oh shit. Marco, I'm sorry, are you ok?”

“I'm-” Marco proceeded to nearly cough up an entire lung, obviously not having been prepared to be body-slammed mercilessly into a deepish body of water.

Jean sloshed his way over to his choking friend patting him on the back hard as if that would somehow help the situation.

“Jea-” cough “It’s fin-” couch “Just sto-”

“It’s not fine, I almost drowned you! Here um I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Jean said in a panic, rushing to stand behind Marco. Of course the Heimlich maneuver wouldn’t do a damned thing to help, but Jean didn’t need to know that, as for Marco’s master plan to work he needed to lull the other into his trap. Now directly behind him, Jean couldn’t see the absolutely devious grin on Marco’s face.

Jean hurriedly wrapped his arms around the other’s torso and before he could start the first compression Marco turned to face him at the speed of light. Confused and a bit startled, Jean froze in place, finally realizing the deep shit he was in once he saw Marco’s lopsided and evil grin.

Fuck. He was tricked. That cheeky little bastard.

“Wait, Marco-”

Before Jean could plead for his life, Marco's hands were already steadfast onto each of his shoulders.

“Now, accept your defeat!” Marco dramatically yelled as he forcefully dunked a yelping Jean under the rushing current. He let out a downright maniacal laugh, still reaching Jean’s ears over the rumbling sound of being dunked into the water.

He grabbed blindly in Marco’s direction, finding what felt to be his shirt and hoisting himself up with a gasp. The quick movement and general unsteadiness of the creek caused him to lose his balance, Marco catching him by the waist before he capsized again. Marco looked at Jean with a satisfied grin, and Jean could only sigh exasperatedly after finally catching his breath.

“Why do people think you're the nice one?”

“What? You started it. All I did was finish it.”

“You’re a demon.”

“Only for you~”

Jean promptly shook the remaining water from his hair, making damn sure it got on the smirking devil in front of him. Marco chuckled at his petty revenge, turning his head to avoid most of the incoming droplets, though not retreating his arms holding Jean upright.

Their impulsive little duel in the water had them both utterly soaked, Marco’s white shirt practically useless as it clung tight and sheer on his body. Of course, Jean had seen his bare arms and chest before but never this close up. Never with said arms still wrapped around his damn waist. They were really no further than a foot away from each other and Jean felt his face heating up as he looked everywhere but Marco’s face. His sun kissed shoulders were speckled with freckles that matched his cheeks and it made Jean want to know just how much of Marco was covered with them.

Whoa.

What?

Back the fuck up.

He did not just think about Marco’s naked body while being held this close in his arms and shit shit shit abort mission. NOW.

Jean rather abruptly shook himself out of Marco’s gentle hold, looking absolutely everywhere but at the man himself. His face was probably bright red with the embarrassing amount of heat radiating off it. He could practically feel the questioning look on Marco’s face but Jean was absolutely not going to let him voice it.

“Hey, you hungry? Let’s uh... get dressed and get some grub, shall we?”

Though it was technically a question, Jean didn’t wait for an answer. He was up and out of the water before Marco could so much as say “polo”.

Jean didn’t walk towards the shed so much as run to it.

The embarrassment and guilt ate at his psyche and all Jean could do to stop it was just pretend it wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to make things awkward for the rest of the night because he was… Imaging his best friend naked? In a not so dude-bro way? No. No, he hadn’t assured that yet. He was only thinking about his friend’s freckles… And there was nothing inherently inappropriate about that. Right. Jean was fine. Marco was fine. Everything was fine.

He decided to go with that explanation for now.

Jean dressed in the shed first, putting on what sort of resembled sleepwear before hanging his soaked clothes to dry over a tree limb. Marco did so next, coming out of the shed dressed in plain brown pants and a thick white tunic that hung low, exposing a part of his dotted chest. Jean tried not to notice, really, he did, but it was hard. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to it.

Seeing the sun begin to set, Marco took initiative and got a head start on a fire in the pit yards away from the shed. Jean dug through the bags to grab food, sheepishly bringing it over to Marco at the fire pit.

“It’s uh just wrapped rations, nothing special.” Jean explained, handing the sitting man a packet.

“Thanks Je-” Marco began before a scream escaped Jean’s lips,

“But I snuck BOOOOOOZE!” he exclaimed, holding out a bottle of hard liquor. Marco’s mouth flew open.

“You sneaky bastard!” Marco teased, causing Jean to stick his tongue out playfully.

“I know, you love it” Jean said, sitting cross legged not but a palms length away from Marco.

The sun quickly fell behind the mountainside, leaving a distant dim glow as the crackling fire took its place as the center source of light. The smell of wood burning and the trickling sound of fresh water reminded Jean of how much he missed simply just enjoying the outdoors.

“Yknow,” Marco began as Jean opened the bottle and took a swig. “I’ve never been camping before.” Jean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, handing him the bottle.

“This is news to me, you sure know how to navigate in the wilderness!” Marco chuckled, taking a swig.

“Guess you can teach me a thing or two more,” he winked. Jean stirred, his hands finding stability only when the bottle was passed back to him. Jeez Marco had no right looking so-

“Well then, a toast!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too loudly.

Marco looked at him quizzically. “Hah, to what?” Us he wanted to say, almost feeling the word slip off his tongue before correcting it.

“To Marco’s first night outdoors!” He held the bottle up in triumph, taking a large swig before handing it back to Marco, who did the same. They laughed heartily at the sentiment before settling to let the booze make its effect on their minds and bodies.

The moon’s soft white luster shone down onto the pair, reflecting off the fracturing water of the now ever-flowing stream. Broken images of adjacent trees appeared as inky veins dancing upon the water’s surface, nearly as mesmerizing of a sight as were the blinking flames in front of them. For a short while, there was a tranquil sort of silence. The soft sounds of a forested night; a lullaby, as Jean and Marco simply sat there, existing together under the dull shine of the stars.

The crackling heat of the fire provided ample warmth and light, allowing Jean an inviting gaze toward his companion's calmed face, eyelids shut softly as he enjoyed the slight chilly breeze. Jean let his eyes scan down the expanse of Marco’s figure, stopping at his toned, freckle-peppered arms. For reasons he could not decipher, Marco’s freckles enveloped his mind. Unbeknownst to Jean, he reached out to touch them, tracing shapes and constellations into the dots adorning Marco’s arm.

Marco startled a bit at the sudden touch, though upon seeing Jean’s peaceful, zoned out state, made no turn to move. His heart stammered in his chest, the light tracing of Jean's thumb on his arm spreading chills throughout his entire body. His mind abandoned any rational thought as he watched, rather felt Jean’s pointer finger and thumb gingerly dance across his skin. It was such a gentle gesture, one Marco hadn’t seen Jean ever perform. As his feather-light touch ran ever so slightly higher, Marco couldn’t hold back a twitch, halting Jean in his place. What on earth was he doing? Jean yanked his hand back close to his chest and averted his gaze back to the trees, the creek, the shack, hell anything but Marco.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely audible over the steady whooshing of running water. For the second time that night Jean’s face felt hotter than hell itself.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispered back, looking over at his now abashed friend. “I… don’t mind.” he finished and Jean glanced up, dilated eyes looking up through his lashes, not knowing what that response meant.

“Listen, Jean, I-” Marco began, liquid courage pushing him almost as hard as Ymir’s words the previous night. Jean crossed his arms in front of his chest, uncomfortable and otherwise unmoving as he took in Marco’s increasingly anxious behavior. “Fuck it, I just- Gah.” he swore, bringing his hands to grab nervously at his reddening face. Jean shivered, though he doubted it was due to the chilling air. What was the matter? Was it him? Did he make him uncomfortable?

Assuming that was certainly the case, Jean tugged in his legs close to his chest, demeanor physically decreasing. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have.... Was weird. I-” he was silenced by Marco’s fingertips resting on his knee in an action of reassurance.

“I liked it.” he hurriedly quipped, before his eyes widened and his cheeks grew a more prominent crimson. Marco turned away and looked off into the fire, seeming to contemplate something, though his hand stayed placed atop his knee. If Jean was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified. Terrified of himself, of fucking everything up, of how nice it felt to be touched like this…

Despite being a self-proclaimed womanizer, Jean was often untouched, making the sensation of Marco’s fingers upon his knee amplified and probably more intimate than was intended. But still, he longed for more, so much more. His mind went foggy as he tried to decipher what this all meant, what this entire night had ment. His skin felt hot as he took a deep breath, looking at Marco with equal amounts of concern and desire.

The want to always be close by to him, the walls of confidence and arrogance that seemed to falter and collapse when with him, the unjustifiable jealousy towards Ymir who had only just became close-ish to him, his obsession with seeing him laugh, seeing him happy, seeing him prattle on about his childish feather collection and seeing those freckles and that damned smile: it was all leading towards the same answer, an answer Jean didn’t know he was ready to fully confront.

Marco was still facing the dwindling fire, a heavy look weighing his features down. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he ought to do something, he rested a hand atop Marcos. He turned away from the smoldering coals to look Jean in the eyes, features flashing a whole myriad of emotions Jean couldn’t even begin to decipher. The tension between them grew as they both stared at one another, neither of them knowing how to proceed.

As if God Herself had had enough of the two’s back and forth antics, a downpour of rain started to fall from the darkened sky. Feeling the icy drops of water on his skin, Marco instinctively let Jean go, making his way up and off the now dampening ground.

“Ah shit, looks like the storm followed us here.” Marco awkwardly blurted, the contrast of the casual line with the previously tense staredown like chalk against a blackboard, finally breaking the impenetrable silence. Marco turned to start towards the shed, though when Jean didn’t follow, he threw him a worried glance. Jean knew he had to go in - this type of rain only meant bad news to come and it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin another pair of clothes... But something was stopping him. He was nervous. Nervous of the fire in Marcos eyes yet realizing he wanted it more than anything.

Seeing Jean unmoving as rain drenched his body, Marco bit his lips nervously, swimming with his own uncertainties and nerves from it all.

“Jean…?” he re-approached calmly, voice cautious as if approaching some sort of wild animal. The air grew colder and wetter as the winds picked up, Jean’s mumbled response rendered inaudible as he shook in the frigid air. He slowly stood, still fixating on the ground as the two made their way inside.

…

It seemed like this untouchable silence was to follow them inside as well.

The two men stood face to face in that rustic styled living room, Marco leaning against the east most wall and Jean standing limp by the door, neither sure if they had the courage to initiate what they both so desperately wanted. Marco looked at him with practically every traceable emotion etched onto his features. Jean could feel his remaining walls starting to chip away, a long running crack threatening to crumble the blockade into an unidentifiable nothing. Fine. He knows what he’s got to do.

A second of contemplation later and finally, it crumbles.

Jean makes his way over to the other, wordlessly and with his brain running damn miles a minute. Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean continued to step towards the other, stopping just a footstep in front of him. He looked a bit startled, though not afraid. If anything, Jean would say Marco looked… hopeful? Relieved? He reached out, hand grazing Marco’s hair as he settled it onto the wall behind him, leaning closer still. Marco was essentially trapped between the wood wall flush against his back and Jean, enclosing arm, yet he still did not look uncomfortable.

He had already made it this far… It was too late to chicken out right? Last minute thoughts raced in Jean’s mind as Marco's eyes looked up into his from wherever they were set before. His gaze was intense, his eyes aflame with a fire Jean had never seen in the other before. Now he wasn’t necessarily great with feelings and general social awareness, but looking into those fire orbs Jean saw nothing that said ‘Stop’

And so Jean said ‘Fuck it’

Jean finally closed the remaining space between them, lips meeting lips and- oh. OH. Jean’s body ignited with a sense of overwhelming intensity and desperation, the long awaited action of this sending his mind into overdrive. He was kissing Marco. Marco was kissing him. Marco didn’t hesitate to cup his jaw, Jean leaning into the touch before grabbing onto his arm. His other hand slid down from the base of the wall to slink around his waist, pulling the goddamned beautiful man closer.

Marco took initiative in deepening the kiss, eliciting unexpected hum from Jean’s lips. He let his other hand fall to meet Marcos waist, wanting nothing more than to graze his heated skin underneath the damp cloth, though Jean pulled back for a second, allowing room for retaliation or, possibly, resentment.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Marco nodded, fingers toying with the man's wet hair. “It’s more than okay.” he replied before Jean resumed his actions, lips meeting his with urgency. If it didn’t feel real at first, it sure as hell felt real now, and Jean was soaring.

It was sudden when Marco pulled back, hands moving to graze up and down Jean’s chest. Jean looked at him with nothing but fondness and ease, all his barriers down for him and him alone in this moment. Marco looked in his arms, skin burning with heat and eyes flaring with longing.

“Well…” Marco chuckled nervously, and Jean grinned. “This is unexpected,” Marco finished his sentence in a hush whisper.

Jean bit his tongue, more worried about this reaction than he had expected. “In a… good way?” he asked as anxiety crept its way into his slightly shaking hands. Marco put his forehead to his, getting a better look into his eyes. “You tell me,” he taunted.

Jean’s features took a turn for the serious, as he softly rocked his forehead against Marco’s. “Marco…” he began, the tone of his voice causing the said man to tremble slightly. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this... with you.” As Marco peered through the darkened wet strands of Jean’s hair, he saw his eyes were glistening. Tears. Jean was crying. Unable to spit even a syllable out in return, Marco simply brushed his lips against his in a kiss. This time, it was Jean who returned the action with haste. Marco cupped his cheeks and felt their fresh tears mixed with warm flesh as they kissed once again, this time, with mutual cognizance.

Jean began laughing between kisses, almost unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t realized how damaging it had been trying to ignore his feelings for Marco, nor how euphoric it would feel to finally acknowledge them. Marco pushed him back impishly and Jean caught his near-fall before grabbing Marco’s hand and holding it in his own.

“Is this real…?” Marco asked mindlessly, focusing entirely on their hands entangling as Jean rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

“It better fucking be,” Jean half-joked. “'Cus if it’s a dream, please don’t ever wake me up” he concluded, studying Marco’s lightly speckled skin in the little light the shack provided.

“Hug me, please” Marco hushed, embarrassed at the question despite having kissed the man already. Jean flushed, the demand sending chills down his spine and making something in the pit of his stomach flip. Without a word, Jean snaked his arms around him, Marco hesitantly leaning his head on Jean’s broad shoulder. It was an apprehensive embrace at first, as if they still were somewhat afraid this was some kind of prank. He held him, too, and Marco’s hands were tangled around his neck. After a moment of comforting solace, it seemed Marco had finally realized that yes, this was in fact real. “Thank you.” he muffled into the crook of his neck.

Jean smiled, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said.

“Why?” Marco chuckled. Jean stroked his back, stepping somehow even closer in the embrace.

“Because you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” he worded earnestly. Marco giggled cutely and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, nearly eliciting an embarrassing gasp from Jean.

“Says Jean fucking Kirstein.” he emphasized, kissing his neck again. Jean flushed furiously. He was seriously going to die.

“Mhph- don’t tease me, Bodt” he bit, forcing Marco’s head up as he collided with his lips again. Marco’s eyes widened as their bodies hit the wall, hands once more exploring and teasing through clothes.

Jean hiked his hands up Marco’s shirt, feeling his hot torso beneath as he thumbed the outline of his toned chest. Marco rutted against him, his hands moving to his hips in an attempt to bring him closer. “Ah-“ Jean hitched, his breath wavering as their clothed bodies rubbed against each other. Kisses deepened and tongues grazed curiously. All that could be heard in the little shack made for two were breathy moans and wanton grasps as the night took a physically fervent direction.

__________

Jean woke up in a daze, last night barely able to find its way back into his mind as his eyesight adjusted to the morning light. He shifted slightly before noticing Marco lying naked on his chest, hand snaked behind his head.

A smile easily spread over his tired face as the shining sun was proof the evening they shared wasn’t a dream or another figment of his imagination. It was real, and he treasured the feeling of Marco’s soft skin touching his. Careful to not wake him, he shyly traced false patterns on his speckled shoulder, elated at the prospect that he could just do that now.

A slight gust of cool wind slithered under the door and into the room, making Marco shiver slightly in his sleep. Jean pulled the fleece blanket to better cover the both of them as he continued to swipe his fingers across his skin. But it was too late, as Marco had already opened his pretty brown eyes.

Not being near awake enough to communicate, he entangled himself with Jean’s body as he reveled in the feeling of his skin being touched. Jean took this as full confidence there was no regret concerning what had happened and he kissed his forehead, hand ever so softly tickling his back.

Marco hummed, smiling into his touch as he slowly eased awake. He moved his head further into Jean’s chest, peppering him with small kisses as both of their quickening heart beats thumped against one another. Jean’s comforting touch faltered slightly, not being able to focus on much of anything other than the soft lips against his chest. Noticing this, Marco lifted his head up to be eye-level with him.

“Hi,” he grumbled cutely, voice deep and ridden with sleep.

“Hi,” Jean grumbled back, reaching slightly to place a quick kiss on Marco’s nose. They admired each other's sweat-lined skin before Jean spoke up again. “So,” he gulped, and Marco let out a low, grovely chuckle.

“We fucked and now you can barely look me in the eyes?” Jean went bright red. Hearing Marco’s joking tone and following chuckle didn’t lessen the effect this sentence had on him.

“I- sorry. Just never-” he began, and Marco placed his fingers on the man's chin.

“Me neither.” he confirmed, letting out a shaky breath.

Jean swung his thigh over Marco’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer - a clear sign to Marco that he was content with their situation. He snuggled closer, the blanket enveloping the both of them from the cool winds.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Marco’s sun-kissed cheeks went pink, those words being uttered to him by Jean only ever being a part of his late night fantasies.

“Of course,” he managed, and Jean obliged, leathery lips kissing him in a delicate action of reverence.

“Jean,” Marco began, breaking the kiss. “Before anything… y'know. I have to know your feelings on, this, I guess. I’m not- I can’t just leave until I have absolute clarification. Listen, if this was just a one-off, I understand, but-”

Marco was silenced by Jean using his thigh to maneuver himself on top, resting atop the man before answering his plea. “I don’t want this to be a one-off, Marco. Believe me, last night was a blast, but you need to understand it’s you that has me smitten - you who has me wanting to stay in this stupid shack forever. And for some goddamn reason, you fuckin like me just as much as I like you.” he answered wholeheartedly. Marco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Jean continued on. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the alcohol or anything that led to last night. Marco, I kissed you because for a long time now, I knew I didn’t want to be friends. And… being alone with you it just - it opened that up for me and-”

His words caught in his throat as Marco used his same technique to hoister himself on top. He smiled from ear to ear, a sight Jean couldn’t get enough of. “If at any point in time you would’ve made a move, I’d’ve been yours. That talk I had with Ymir? It was about you. Jean, if you’re serious, I need a definitive-”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase: fuck yes”

Marco could’ve squealed, elation running through his veins as he watched Jean’s equally giddy reaction. He adored Jean, his bluntness, sarcasm, and tender heart. Not everyone knew of Jean’s warm heart, they hadn’t given the jock the chance. But Marco did, and to Jean, that’s all that mattered. They kissed for the thousandth time before laying back down in a fervent embrace, both knowing they had to get up and head back to camp soon but neither making the move to do so.

Eventually, and begrudgingly, they got up. A little cleanup and packing was done before they got fully dressed, ready to make the trip back. “We still have several hours,” Marco pointed out as he slipped his backpack on.

Jean grinned. “Yeah?”

Marco nodded. “We could… if you wanted to, hold hands?” he finished. Jean blushed despite how juvenile it may have seemed as he took Marco’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze of assurance.

“You never have to ask to hold my hand,” he chuckled.

A few hours had passed as the overcast sky seemed somehow even brighter than usual, their spirits beyond content with themselves and the world around them. Jean looked at Marco as their hands stuck like glue, neither daring to let go. Overwhelmed with adoration of the man next to him, Jean snaked his hand behind his waist, pulling him close. Marco stopped out of surprise, returning the action and turning his head to kiss him.

“Fuck you,” he snipped as he smiled. Jean played with his hair.

“You already did.” he quipped, causing Marco’s face to glow a bright red.

“I- ah-” he stammered as Jean kissed him again.

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Jean whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder as they slowly began to pick up the pace again. Marco rubbed Jean’s back lovingly as they stayed conjoined at the hip.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll find time to sneak around. Especially at night”. Jean closed his eyes for a moment, imagining several nights of being close to him before waking up the next day to have it be their own little secret. That was okay by him, and by Marco too.

It was nearly nightfall when the pair had finally made it back, the sleeping quarters seen just ahead in the distance, lit by the torches lining the paths. They sighed, letting go of each other as they attempted to keep some semblance of normality of who they were before.

A hacking noise was heard, and Marco whipped his head to the side to see Ymir chopping wood. “Ymir?! What are you doing out so late?” Marco gasped. Ymir got up, striding toward them as she spoke. “Dumbasses back there are bickering. I’d rather be out here in order to avoid a headache.” she said flatly. Jean could only nod, as he had no idea what to say in reply.

“Fair enough,” Marco said nervously, watching as she crept closer to Jean. She pulled down the collar of his shirt and smirked.

“Ah Marco, it seems you finally learned how to ride horses.” she quipped. Jean nearly died right there on the campground and Marco let a hand shoot up to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Ymir!” he exclaimed before laughing out of embarrassment and defeat. She cackled before resting an arm on his shoulder, eyeing Jean’s absolutely horrified expression. “I’m proud of you, really. It was about time something was done about you two.”

Jean straightened out, a hand covering half of his face.”You… oh shit. You won't-”

“Tell anyone?” She finished, cutting through the bullshit. “No, ‘course not. That’s up to the two of you.” she smiled, calming the boys down.

Marco looked at her with a gentle gratitude. “Ymir, thank you. But… How do we keep this from everyone else? I just- I’m not ready. Jean isn’t ready.” he suggested before looking to Jean who was nodding furiously in confirmation. Ymir put her hand to her chin in momentary contemplation.

“Look, I’m not telling you all my secrets. But I can give a few. For now though I’ll just say this: if Christa and I can get away with it, so can you two knuckleheads.”

Jean’s eyes widened. So many bombshells in one evening. Ymir and Christa? Together? Thinking of it now, he wasn’t that surprised, but the sudden admittance of it caught him off guard. “Wow” is all he could muster before Marco tenderly put his head on his shoulder, making his face flush a light pink.

Seeing this, Ymir couldn’t help but grin. They were cute, and she unfortunately had to concede to that. “Well, I’m turning in for the night-” she began as Marco brought her in for a hug, interrupting her goodbyes.

“Thank you Ymir, really” he whispered. She patted his back. “Anytime man.” she concluded before breaking the hug to turn back. “Sleep tight!” she winked, and Marco looked back at a flushing Jean.

“How do you feel?” he questioned, unable to read Jean’s expression.

He ruffled Marco’s hair. “Good,” he said. “Really good”. He cupped Marco’s cheek and leaned in to meet his forehead. They breathed in the warmth of each other before pulling back, knowing they had to actually go back this time. “Meet me in my room, twenty minutes.” Jean hushed, and Marco bit his cheek.

“Fifteen” he quipped, jogging off to report their mission.

“Deal.”

[rosileeduckie]

Get your way

Uh-oh, looks like you’ve incurred some tickly wrath! Bet that was your plan from the beginning though, wasn’t it?

For anonymous, who requested from the tickle prompt list #13, “Aww, is it too much for you?” for Kirishima and reader!

SFW. Potential warnings: none. My Hero Academia tickle fic.

Word count: 840

~*~

Okay, maybe you deserved it. Maybe you deserved the consequences that came from you being, bluntly, a little shit all day. Maybe that behavior—hiding your best friend’s phone, distracting him during training, stealing his snacks, and generally being sarcastic about everything—warranted some retribution. Some. Not so much that it could legally be classified as cruel and unusual punishment. Torture, really, the longer it went. But then, you wouldn’t have acted so in the first place if you hadn’t expected just a response, had really been waiting for it all day.

Kirishima’s hands seemed to be everywhere, tickling you with practiced fingers scribbling over your stomach, worming under your arms, pinching the tops of your knees, fluttering under your toes. He had the patience to make sure every spot got thorough attention, but he and you played this little game frequently enough that he knew which spots in particular would get you squealing and snorting and shoving hardest against his seemingly immovable pin on your legs to the carpet. “Aww, is it too much for you?” he teased, barely heard over your head-thrown-back, heels-ground-into-the-floor guffawing.

After a few minutes hopping between your worst spots, Kirishima withdrew his hands, cracking his knuckles and letting you catch your breath. Only to steal it once again by pinning your arms above your head with a grin that was both fond and pure evil. “You know, you could just ask me to tickle you rather than be rude all day,” he said, keeping your arms pinned with one hand and using the other to teasingly wiggle his fingers inches away from your exposed armpit.

You tried to keep your eyes from fixating on Kirishima’s fingers, as that would do nothing to expel the rosiness from your cheeks. Nor did the thought of swallowing your embarrassment and shyness about liking being tickled to ask for that very thing, even in asking your closest friend. Sure, maybe it would be easier in theory, but that didn’t stop your mouth from feeling dry when you even tried to whisper the words aloud to yourself. Besides, once you got into a snarky need-to-be-tickled mood, it was difficult to shed such a mood without certain external help. “I could,” you told Kirishima, flashing him a grin of your own. “But that would take away half the fun.”

The red-haired student rolled his eyes and nodded, his wiggling fingers diving in to pinch up and down the muscle of your raised arms and spider into the hollows of your underarms. “If you could bear to actually use your words instead of annoying me until I’m ready to wreck you,” Kirishima said with a wink, chuckling when your cheeks visibly grew all the warmer. “I know you, sport. Can’t fool me.”

“Shut up!” you managed, any venom in your voice lost when Kirishima started planting raspberries on your belly and sides until shrieks interspersed your laughter.

“Nope,” Kirishima replied. “Say please, and I’ll stop.”

Even if you could have said anything, you wouldn’t have asked for your “punishment” to stop. Words were hard, and laughter was as good an excuse as any not to fumble through them. You did offer Kirishima a shake of your head.

Kirishima pulled back his hands once more, that time suddenly and so leaving your laughter heaving in your chest and your arms limp above your head. “Say please,” he said again, “or I’ll stop.”

Your brow furrowed and your lip puffed out in a pout. It was also hard to put on a grumpy face with a smile having resided on your cheeks for so long. When Kirishima chuckled at your nonverbal reply, you almost couldn’t help but smile in reply.

“One polite thing today,” Kirishima said, hands hovering over your worst spots with a grin. “That’s all you gotta say.”

Seeing his hands so promisingly close to your worst tickle spots made your breath hitch. Kirishima was far kinder than most of your other friends, who would absolutely torture you into asking for tickles before ever touching you. He just asked you for one moment of admission, one word to affirm how much of that day your thoughts had been eagerly occupied just waiting for that moment. You took a breath. “Please?”

Kirishima’s beaming grin set a wobbly smile across your mouth before the word had even left your tongue. “And?” he prompted.

A little more than one word. Kirishima knew you were strong; he believed in you, even as he had to be rude himself about teasing you into talking. “Thank you?” you guessed, quickly rewarded by Kirishima’s scribbling fingers diving in to play your nerves like a musical instrument with the vigor of a drum soloist. It made you blush to your ears every time Kirishima was silly and sweet enough to stretch that comparison and say your laughter was musical.

With both of you having gotten your way, Kirishima grinned and settled in to tickle you until “thank you” was all your giggle-high would leave you with breath to say.

~*~

Taglist:

@kanene-yaaay

@hexalianrebel-blackfeathers

@wordsofa 

[telli1206]

The Heart Will Follow (Ch. 3)

Jay’s never had a crush...until he met Carlos. And now he can’t stay away.

Carlos doesn’t know what to make of Jay’s presence, yet. But what should he do, exactly, about a boy that’s both cute AND terrifying?

A collection of Jaylos isle meetings, inspired by this beautiful headcanon I came across randomly that I can’t get out of my head. 

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Forever In Your Mind

“So...he just...left?”

Carlos bites his lip and lets his gaze drop to his lap. He’ll look anywhere to avoid Evie’s concentrated stare right now. He can hear the concern in her voice, but it feels too new, too...unsettling, to have someone care about his safety. He’s just not used to that. At all.

“I wonder why...” he hears Evie mutter to herself, and he looks up to catch sight of her furrowed brow and lips pursed tightly in thought. When she glances up and sees Carlos watching her, her eyes immediately soften, and she places a hand over his, flashing a warm smile to try to reassure him.

“Jay is so weird sometimes,” she muses, shaking her head. “Who knows why he was out there. The important thing is, he left you alone. Right?”

“I guess,” Carlos agrees, heaving a sigh. He decides against telling Evie exactly why Jay said he had chosen to leave him alone. He couldn’t really explain what Jay had said, honestly. Why would he give a shit about how Carlos’ mom would react? And his...eyes? Yeah, he definitely didn’t need to upset Evie any further with more of Jay’s weird comments.

“I-I didn’t get the impression that he’d try to steal from me again,” he offers, and quirks a smile when Evie beams back at him. 

“Good! So let’s not waste another second then talking about that...that skeezy thief,” she huffs, and shifts her focus back to her open textbook. She flips through a few pages before noticing how Carlos has stilled, and is now sitting stiff and unmoving beside her. There’s a look of distress on his face, and his cheeks are blooming the brightest pink color. 

“Ok. Something else is wrong. What is it?” Evie demands, and Carlos squeaks quietly at the forcefulness in her tone. He’s biting his tongue, but Evie can see the way his eyes are continuously darting to the door and back.

“No! Carlos, tell me you don’t. You don’t need to...” She pinches her nose, sighing in frustration at the way Carlos shifts in his seat, his hands pressed firmly into his lap. “You didn’t go before class started??”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t have to! I swear. It...it just came up all of a sudden.”

Carlos can feel the guilt pooling in his gut already. He didn’t want to ignore all the help Evie had given him, all the advice that she had gathered to survive Dragon Hall.

Initially, Carlos had no regrets about the cup of coffee he drank this morning. More like the exact opposite - he was grateful. 

Cruella had thrown a full mug at his head as he was trying to leave for school, which wasn’t unusual. Even though she had agreed to let him attend classes in exchange for extra chores after school and on the weekends, his departure every morning was a painful reminder to her of the chores that wouldn’t get done until later, including her breakfast dishes.

What WAS unusual about this morning, however, was that Carlos had managed to catch the mug this time without barely a spill of the scalding tar black coffee that it contained. With his mother already stomping out of the room in a fit of angry rambles to no one but herself, Carlos had taken full advantage of the hot liquid, flooding his belly and providing some satiation and warmth against the chill of the morning air.

It wasn’t until now, when the drink had caught up to his system, did the heeding of Evie’s number one warning cause him a tinge of remorse.

“Y-you’re going to have to hold it Carlos!” Evie hissed, her voice shrill with fear. “I wasn’t lying when I said that leaving class ALONE is a suicide mission!”

Carlos tries his best to settle his squirming. He crosses his ankles tightly, keeping his hands pressed firmly down to help ignore the feeling building inside. But the pressure is just too intense to ignore. He looks up at Evie just as the tears start to well in his eyes.

“Shit, FINE,” she groans, smacking her hand to her forehead. “Listen to me, ok? If you’re going to do this, there’s only one way to go.”

-----

Carlos shuffles quickly down the hall, trying his best to be quiet. Evie’s directions were very specific, and he plans to follow them perfectly. The little pangs of regret he feels for upsetting his new friend, his only friend, are still fresh, and he has no intention of hurting her like that again. Not after all she’s done for Carlos already.

“Take a right - you’ll walk past three classrooms and a bathroom. Walk past the bathroom. Do NOT use that one, Carlos. Ok? Keep walking. Promise me you’ll keep walking.”

He squeezes his eyes closed and scoots past the bathroom as promised, despite his borderline painful need to go right now. He’s not going to make it much longer, and he starts looking around at all the isolated doorways, contemplating the option of relieving himself there if he can’t manage to find the very specific bathroom Evie told him he absolutely had to use.

Luckily, he spots it just a few feet away on the other side of the hallway, exactly where Evie said it would be. He breathes a short sigh of relief as he darts across and slips through the door.  

At first glance, the bathroom looks and sounds empty. But he knows better than to trust his senses completely. So Carlos takes a quick scan of each corner and stall to confirm that he is, indeed, alone before sliding into the last stall closest to the window and locking the door behind him.

Carlos completely forgets the world around him then, lost in the exhiliration of finally being able to relieve himself. He’s had to pee for so long he can’t even stop the happy groan that escapes his lips, the pressure inside immediately gone in that blissful moment. He’s so focused on that pleasant feeling that he almost...almost...doesn’t hear the soft creaking of the bathroom door opening.

It’s a slow sound, just barely audible, but he manages to catch it anyway, the years of constant need to remain alert and attentive now on his side. He  sucks in his breath and forces himself to stop his stream, wincing in pain at the involuntary pause. He hops onto the toilet seat ledge nimbly and balances there, remaning motionless, quiet, and with his ears piqued to listen.

The door closes with a soft scrape along the damaged linoleum floor, followed closely by the pad of slow, deliberate footsteps. They pause for a moment at each stall as they move along, clearly looking for something. Or someone.

When they make a stop in front of Carlos’ stall, his muscles tense uncomfortably to make himself be as still as possible. He squeezes his eyes shut and silently wishes for whoever’s on the other side to leave him alone.

But instead, the feet step closer to him, and he hears a dry chuckle.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” Jay sing-songs. “I know you’re in there, De Vil.”

Evil, poor Evie’s going to hate him for this.

Carlos lets out a breath and drops to the ground with a loud stomp. No point in being quiet now is there?

“Fine, fine! You caught me, ok? Just, let me finish pissing and I’ll come out. I’m almost done.”

“Aw, I interrupted your pee pee break??” Jay teases. “Sorry, pup! By all means, continue.”

Carlos rolls his eyes as he turns back to the toilet. Word travels fast at this school, and his mother’s transgressions were the talk of Dragon Hall within a day of his arrival. The puppy jokes and nicknames that have already started are beyond annoying, but there’s not much he can do about it.

He’s focused on finishing now, trying to hurry himself so Jay doesn’t have time to entertain the idea of breaking in the stall. But only a second later he can hear the lock jostling, making him jump a little and drop his aim. He curses at the pee trickling on his feet, shaking off and hurriedly tucking himself in just as Jay frees the latch and pushes the door open. 

Carlos is met with a wicked smirk, which Jay immediately drops to a frown when he spots Carlos fumbling the button of his shorts closed.

“Boo, you’re no fun,” he mumbles, sauntering closer. Carlos stumbles back, slamming the backs of his knees into the porcelain bowl of the toilet and causing him to arch awkwardly. He turns his body and catches himself on the tank before he can fall farther, taking the opportunity to flick the handle and flush before he launches himself back.

“Hey there!” Jay snorts, grabbing Carlos around the waist and pulling him close when Carlos’ body lands against him. The boy is quick to twist and squirm, freeing himself from the thief and lunging for the door. Jay is faster though, and slams the stall shut with one hand before Carlos can escape.

“Come now, C, did I say it was time for us to leave??” Jay tuts. Carlos presses his face against the stall door, biting his lip hard to avoid a snappy retort. He’s at Jay’s mercy in this stall, and doubts he’ll be a fair match against the boy’s muscles, rippling obviously from the cutoff sleeves of his vest.

A surprisingly gentle hand cups under Carlos’ chin, guiding his face away from the door. Reluctantly, he follows it, until his body is turned and fully facing Jay. His face is tipped upward to meet Jay’s smile, which seems less menacing but somehow still cocky and triumphant. Carlos can’t fight the sneer on his own lips, which only prompts more laughter from Jay.

“Ohhh, someone’s a little fiery, huh De Vil? You’ve got some balls, considering you’re the one invading my bathroom without my permission.” 

Carlos perks a brow, glaring questioningly at the brunette. “Your bathroom? I-I ...really? Ev-I mean, nobody, told me that.”

Jay shakes his head at that, and releases his grip on Carlos’ chin, letting his fingers drop to tease along his jawline instead. Carlos holds his breath at the gentle sensation, pushing himself into the door with enough force that he can feel the latch digging into his back. It’s painful, but if it’s the only way to spare some space between him and Jay, he’ll take what he can get.

“Guess that’s lesson one then, pup,” Jay taunts, fingers still lightly caressing Carlos’ face. “The halls are mine when class is in session. You got that?” Carlos musters a short nod. “Good. And that includes any place there’s not a teacher. You need to use the bathroom? Grab stuff from a storage closet? Or even just hide out in there, you gotta pay the toll.”

“T-toll?” 

Jay still feels too close, so Carlos tries to shift back more, which only produces a sharp pain when the latch scrapes him harshly again. He’s grateful for the distraction, though, when Jay dips in closer and grins wide.

“Yep. Everyone’s gotta pay up. No exceptions.”

Carlos stares at Jay for a moment, but feels uneasy when the boy is more than happy to stare back at him, their noses close and practically touching. He swallows thickly then, letting his gaze fall to the floor between them as he carefully sorts his words.

“I-I...but...Jay. Y-you know. I already told...” he looks up for a second and catches a glance at Jay’s now audacious smirk. And that makes him seethe.

“You know I don’t have anything,” Carlos states flatly, feeling a new surge of confidence. “I already told you. My mom’s a bitch, I barely get food and clothes. You think I have shit to spare for you?”

He shrinks back after his bold outburst, waiting for Jay’s response. But the thief doesn’t move, and his smirk doesn’t fade. He does take a generous step back though, allowing almost an arm’s length between him and Carlos. Carlos relaxes slightly at that, breathing a soft sigh of relief when he’s able to free his back from the painful latch. But even with the space between them now, Jay’s eyes never leave his. Carlos hasn’t even seen him blink! And the lingering stare is making him shiver.

“Well, not all tolls have to be cash and stuff, do they?” Jay retorts, licking his lips a little. “I’ve accepted, other...forms of payment. But you know that, don’t you? Smart guy like you. I know you’ve heard the rumors.”

Carlos swallows again, his mouth feeling horribly dry all of a sudden. He has heard the rumors. How could he not? Jay and Mal are the big bads of the school. There’s plenty of stories being passed around by everyone, mostly pointing out the best ways to avoid bodily harm at the hands of the two of them. And while he has heard that both are mostly appeased by money or things to hock for money, the entire student body is also aware of Jay’s willingness to trade, physical pleasures, as well. Though Evie had made it clear that it’s usually girls that makes those kind of offers, the kind that Jay is happy to accept, Carlos can’t help but wonder if that’s what Jay’s implying right now. Because the way he looks at him, and the constant lazy scans of his eyes up and down Carlos’ body, are giving him pause. 

Can Jay be asking for that? From Carlos? That seems...impossible.

But then Jay leans back in, bracing an arm above Carlos with a brow cocked and a suggestive curl to his lips, and Carlos thinks it might actually be entirely possible.

“I think you know what I’m thinking.” Jay interrupts Carlos’ thoughts with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Up to you, pup. You barged into my bathroom and used my stall. Now, how are you going to make that up to me, hm?”

Carlos chews on his lip, refusing to dare a look at Jay. He’s not sure what to say if he did, so he keeps his eyes trained on his fingers, tangling and untangling them together while he thinks. 

Fuck, he really should have listened to Evie.

Both boys are distracted then by the slam! of the bathroom door and irritably loud clacks across the linoleum.

“Carlos?? Are you in here??”

Evie! Carlos bites back a smile.

“Ev-mmph!”

A hand claps over his mouth, with Jay’s eyes wide and glaring at him. Carlos squirms, twisting away from Jay’s hand and wriggling along the stall door in the process. Then they hear an audible sigh, followed by a few slower clicks forward.

“Carlos, I know you’re in there.”

He wants to answer, but Jay keeps his hand in place, putting a finger to his own lips to silence Carlos.

“Jay, I know you’re in there, too.”

Jay grits his teeth and rolls his eyes as Evie raps harshly on the door.

“Come on, boys. Do you think I can’t see your feet? Stop wasting my time and open up.”

Jay grumbles, dropping his hand from Carlos’ mouth and giving him the chance to scurry away from the door. Jay tries to reach for him again but Carlos slides back quickly, jamming himself behind the toilet and against the cement wall to avoid Jay’s grasp.

“Well fuck,” Jay grunts, giving Carlos a frustrated glare. At that moment they here the latch click, and Jay steps back just in time to avoid the door swinging open.

“Boys,” Evie scolds, her eyes stern as they dart between Jay and Carlos, before finally settling on the dark haired boy in front of her.

“And what do you think you’re doing, Jay?” she scolds, crossing her arms as she glares coldly at him. “You know you don’t belong in here.”

“Calm down, Blue,” Jay snickers. “You know damn well I go wherever I want. Besides, you’re the one in the men’s room, aren’t you? Last time I checked, you weren’t properly...equipped, to come in here.”

He glares back at her, a proud smirk splayed on his lips. But Evie doesn’t falter, stepping forward instead and marching her way slowly towards the other boy in the corner.

“As if I’d ever want to use a men’s room anyway,” she snaps back, reaching a hand towards Carlos, He grabs it, intertwining their fingers with a relieved smile. Evie flashes a grin his way before returning to Jay with a disgusted sneer.

“And you’ve never seen what I’m equipped with, so don’t you dare try to go around talking about me like I would actually stoop to being one of your little fucktoys.”

She gives Carlos a gentle tug and he springs quickly away from the wall, following Evie’s lead to stand behind her, placing her between him and Jay.

“This bathroom is neutral territory and you know it.” Evie grits, leaning into Jay’s face. “You’re this close to doing your own chemistry homework,” she threatens with a pinch of her fingers. “I bet Jafar wouldn’t be too keen on you getting kicked out of school and losing all your marks here.”

Jay scoffs and looks away, but stays silent. Evie breaks into a smug grin, shoving Jay lightly in the chest. “So, Carlos and I are going to leave now, and you can find another form of payment elsewhere. Got it?”

She whips away before Jay can respond and struts out of the stall, dragging Carlos along behind her. They manage to reach the door before Jay stomps out after them.

“Hey! You wanna be a little bitch then we could just re-nig on our deal! What do you think of that? Just leave you to the fucking wolves at this school. Puppy, too,” he adds with a nod to Carlos. “You’ll get beat so bad the first week you’ll be begging for us again!”

Evie’s gaze softens, and she looks at Jay with a bit of pity before turning back to Carlos.

“Sweetie, go right out the door and wait for me, ok?” Evie asks gently, but Carlos’ brow is furrowed, and he looks confused.

“But-”

“Carlos, please? I’ll be right out. We just need to...talk. It’ll just take a minute.”

Carlos watches her for a moment, searching her face. She smiles brightly at him, and he finally nods and walks out into the hall and leaves them alone.

Evie gives an exasperated sigh. “Look,” she starts, and she reachs for Jay’s hand to give it a squeeze. His eyes widen in surprise at the gesture. “I’m going to let this slide, ok? I just...don’t think you’re thinking straight right now.”

Jay throws a heated glare at Evie as her lips twitch into a smirk. “You don’t think you’re being subtle, do you?” she chuckles, shaking her head. “Carlos may not see what’s going on, but he’s the only one that’s clueless, Jay.”

She drops his hand and takes a step back, reaching for the door handle. “He’s my friend,” she whispers, just loud enough for Jay to hear. “And I’m going to protect him, so just...don’t do anything you might regret.” 

Evie pulls the door open slightly and moves to leave, but pauses when she hears Jay snickering behind her.

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”

She glances up through the doorway and catches a glimpse of Carlos just outside. His eyes are wide with curiosity and worry, and Evie can’t stop herself from smiling.

“Take it however you want, Jay,” she quips over her shoulder. “I was only trying to give you some friendly advice.”

“We’re not friends,” he hisses through his teeth.

"Maybe we’re not,” Evie replies coldly, “But we’re not enemies, are we? Unless you want to change that? You know where to find me if you do,” she teases with a wiggle of her fingers.

“Bye for now, Jay-Jay.”

Evie giggles to herself as she walks out of the bathroom, ignoring the muffled roars coming from behind the now closed door and looping her arm through Carlos’ to pull him along.

“We can study at my house tonight, ok? I just need to see about fixing one little problem and then we can get going.”

[pine-lark]

but... consider... Arion getting some wasabi

OH

That’s evil...

I like it :)

Please take this lil writing as a token of my appreciation

"One of the other little birds says you're not supposed to be eating bugs 'n stuff. Says it's bad for your digestion or something. I guess that explains why you can't keep anything down, huh?" He laughed as he said it, voice like a freezing leaky faucet.

Arion tried to blink away his words. Like everything else lately, they were too fuzzy to think about too hard. It hurt. So he nodded and pretended he was listening intently, hoping that would be enough.

Heston keept rambling, hands with chopsticks between a couple fingers throwing vague gestures over his desk as he spoke. "So my birds don't eat meat. Interesting. Can't say it won't stop me from using you as my little compost bin for leftovers, or even using you in the compost if you can't handle it... but, hey." He turned sharply to Arion, then. So despite the ache in his stomach that had him hunched over with his eyes screwed shut, he snapped to attention at the audible movement in the room.

"I have something green left over from takeout. It'd be a shame to see it go to waste."

With a couple of hefty, gigantic moves, his arm swung from where it was perched on the desk to snatch a little green lump from his plastic dish between two chopsticks. A little toss sent it gently tumbling, half-sticking to the desktop as it did so, in Arion's direction. He eyed it dubiously.

Laughter sparked in Heston's eyes. "Go on, little bird. It's for you. Take it."

Following one heavy, dry swallow, Arion swayed to his feet, stumbled a little, and ever so carefully stepped over to the small green heap.

Arion reached to touch it. He bent at his knees before it to steady himself. With a few sharp flicks of his gaze back and forth between it and Heston-- who hadn't taken his eyes off little Arion the entire time, which was beginning to worry him-- Arion scooped a handful into his palm. It stung a little on his skin, but he paid no mind to it.

Quickly, he thought. As much as I can before he takes it.

And in one swift move, he swallowed the whole handful. Some of it got stuck behind in a second swallow. And that's when he felt it. The merciless fire taking hold of his throat. The tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Airways constricting. Involuntary coughs wracked his body, keeping him on his knees, hacking and hacking and hacking, with no relief.

His whole body stung. His tongue was deformed, by now, he was pretty sure, beyond healing. Something like steam built up in his nose and hot fog blanketed his eyes. He shoved his fists up in them in frustration, still fighting with heavy, heaving movements just to breathe.

Arion cried out in confused agony, just once, unable to spare any more breath. Stinging tears mixed with snot and hot breath. Desperate, assuming this was something Heston was controlling directly, he leaned forward to rest his head on the table, and whilst he clawed at his hair, he begged, breathless, "Please, I'm sorry. Please, pl- stop, please."

---

It's been a hot second since I've been around and this ended up being more than a little snippet so I'm tagging people

Tag List

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump​, @sola-whumping​ @haro-whumps​, @inaridriscoll​, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @ahorriblebimess​ @whump-me-all-night-long

[neverthrive]

Just gonna leave this old ass fanfic here

Adventuring is a rewarding occupation, providing an abundance of wealth, the respect of peers, and even a fulfilling sense of self worth. Even so, the constant action takes its toll, and every once in a great while an adventurer has to take a step back, breathe in deeply, and just get away from it all. Which is exactly what Jake had been planning for himself and his human brother.

It was a simple idea; take a break from their regular schedule of evil slaying, butt-kickery and all around, nonstop awesomeness. Find some remote location that holds nothing but tranquility in store for the duo to just chillax at for a few days. Just the two of them, a dog and his boy. It was perfect, but like any other well laid plan, there was a monkey wrench destined to find its way into the cogs of said perfection and jam Jake's precise synchronization up something awful. This particular monkey wrench goes by the name of Marceline.

"What are you dweebs up to?" Inquired a melodically cynical voice that belonged to none other than the ancient noirette in question. Marceline stared down ever curiously at the mixed species siblings and their growing mess as she liesurely drifted on the air over their heads. From what she could tell, her mortal friends appeared to be gathering heaps of useless garbage and stowing the junk in their already cramped luggage, for some reason or another.

Finn took a moment to acknowledge the vampire's presence, looking up from his loaded pack to face her. "I'm not actually sure, myself... Jake just told me to start packing my crud, and I guess that's what I'm doing, so does that answer your question?"

"Not in the least." she replied curtly before turning her now suspicious gaze in Jake's direction. The dog paid Marceline no mind as he continued to toss his various and mostly useless possessions into a sack. A rubber duck, a length of rope, a jar of peanuts, a pair of socks... Finally, he stored two empty glass bottles and closed the sack, still oblivious to the vampire's questioning stare. "Jake, what the plum is with all the hullabaloo?"

"Nope." Jake snapped, mildly irritated.

"'Nope'? Nope what?" She pressed him, ignoring the dog's tone.

"No. I'm not gonna tell you because you'll just want to come with us and muck it up. It's s'pose to be just me and mah bro, and you have no part in it. So no, Marceline, you can't come camping with us." Jake retorted in his best attempt at sounding authoritative, but in trying to iterate just how serious he was, the fact that he was suppose to be withholding information had slipped his mind a tad. He soon realized his mistake and growled in frustration. "Forget I said that last part!" But ironically, that last part about ignoring that previous last part was ignored by both teens.

"We're going camping?" Finn and Marceline asked in unison, excitement bubbling up in their throats.

"Yes, Finn, WE are. And no, Marceline, WE are not. Got it?" Jake answered pointedly. "It's camping time with Finn and Jake. I didn't hear Marceline anywhere in there, so step off sister!"

"Well fine! Maybe I didn't want to go on your stupid trip anyway!" Marceline pouted sorely and turned to leave, but Finn, being the model peacekeeper he is, blocked his friend's exit. "Get out of the way, Finn. I'm obviously not wanted here anymore." The vampire queen tried to push the boy aside, but no matter how hard she shoved, the squishy blob of flesh and heroism persisted to keep her from leaving.

"Come on, Jake's just being a butt. You don't have to leave on account o' him bein' a Mr. grumpy pants." Finn gently wrapped a hand around Marceline's forearm and began to lead her back over to his brother so as amends could be made.

"He doesn't even wear pants, dude." she huffed out in retortion as she let herself be pulled back towards the junk heaps that the magical dog was still busying himself with sorting through and packing into napsacks and suitcases and the like.

"Jake..." Finn verbally nudged his brother to outstretch the olive branch to Marceline, but an apology seemed hesitant in forthcoming. "Come on, man. You know you done bad in yourself bro, and I know you know how to make it right again." Finn's prompt appeared to have worked this time, eliciting a defeated sigh from Jake.

Dropping his bags of assorted and worthless loot, Jake turned to face Marceline who now had her arms crossed over her chest and was avoiding eye contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Marceline untensed a bit at that. "It's not you, It's just that I really wanted to have some bro time with Finn, y'know? To recapture those times we used to share when we was wee pups." Jake inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty scent lingering about from the, until recently, long forgotten contents of that once overstuffed closet in the corner. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd regret this decision later, and his gut was almost never wrong, but he couldn't ignore his guilt and empathy for Marceline. She just wanted to hang with her friends. "So... You want to come with us, then?"

The vampire's sour mood dissipated immediately, her pout rapidly shifting to a grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Heck yes I wanna go camping with you guys! So when are we leaving?" Marceline asked almost giddily.

"Well I guess since you're coming with us, we probably shouldn't be heading out 'til just before sundown." Jake answered thoughtfully. Having so much time before they were to depart allowed Jake some spare moments to cool it with all the preparations and freed up his thinkin' schedule a bit. Suddenly, a thought pervaded his mind that the dog rather took a shining to. "If we're bringing guests along now, Lady Rainicorn's coming too!" and with that, Jake took off to go inform his girlfriend of how he'd decided she would be spending the next few days. The matter was entirely non negotiable.

Finn and Marceline stood idly by as Jake hastily absconded out through a nearby window. The young hero turned to his immortal friend "You know, he actually does wear pants..."

"Really?"

"Yup."

A quarter hour before dusk would settle in, the four campers had reached the landing Jake scouted out beforehand. It was a small pocket within the forest, not too far from a river, vacant enough to comfortably fit everyone but with a dense enough canopy to shade any vampire from daylight at high noon. Having acquired a suitable base of operations, the only thing left standing in between Jake and his cherished relaxation was setting up camp. The duties were divied up between two groups.

"So Lady and I are gonna pitch our tent, by ours I mean hers and mine. I don't know what either of you are doing so... Sleep under the stars or whatever. But also, we need a campfire, so you guys should maybe gather some sticks and twigs and stuff, and it'll be math. 'Kay." Jake then spoke something in a language neither Finn nor Marceline could comprehend to Lady, who laughed in response, and the two magical creatures diligently began piecing together the frame of their shared tent. The rainicorn giggled lightly every time Jake slipped a tent pole into the corresponding connector she held.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at the spectacle and made a face. "Gross..." She thought it best to linger around the couple and their disgusting adorableness as little as inhumanly possible and began to head towards the surrounding thickets. Finn soon followed suit, tailing behind his friend into the thick of the forest to gather materials for their fire.

"So like, sticks, huh?" The human remarked as he bent over to scoop a discarded twig from the earth.

Marceline turned to see Finn's pitiful offering. Their fire would need a lot more fuel than some measly green branches. "No man, we need bigger stuff than that." she explained. "And preferably a little more dead." she added.

"Bigger?" Finn thought it over for a moment. "Alright, bigger." Turning to face a tree, the stout teenager grappled the trunk and with all his might attempted to pry the poor unsuspecting eudicot from the soil. "I need your wood, tree! Give it up, yo!" Finn continued his struggle while Marceline cackled at his random act of foolishness.

Seeing no sign of Finn relenting any time soon, his undead friend intervened. "Finn, we don't need a whole tree. And you most def don't gotta yank one out'a the ground. C'mere, ya goober." she beckoned while barely supressing her laughter. Finn looked from Marceline then back to the tree in his grasp, releasing the bark from his grip and gaining nothing from his efforts but sore arms.

"Look," she pointed to a fallen branch that looked as if it'd been laying on the forest floor for a few seasons now. "This is the kind of stuff we're gonna need. Big enough to burn, and not impossible to pick up, got it? Now get it." Finn did as instructed, bending to take the dry, rough chunk of high octane campfire fuel in his arms. "Alright, now just find a lot more like it and we're good to light 'em up."

"How many more?" Finn asked wearily.

"I don't know. Lots, I suppose. Have to keep it going for a while." she replied, venturing deeper into the woods to search for any more decent firewood she might per chance stumble upon. Figuratively, that is, it's hard to sumble when your feet don't touch the ground.

"Bleh..." Despite his contempt for such menial labor, Finn once again followed the vampire to gather what they needed. It was an easy enough job, but way too dang boring for a man of action. Finn needed excitement, and lugging sticks around wasn't providing.

When they'd finished gathering the firewood and the time came to actually light the fire, Finn demanded he be the one to do the deed. And so there they sat across from one another, a neatly arranged pile of dead wood between them. Finn furiously stroked the sticks together in a fruitless attempt to catalyze a spark.

"This usually works! These things must be broken, or something..." Finn pouted and heaved the useless wooden shafts into the nearby shrubbery in frustration.

"Here," Marceline moved herself closer to the bundle and spawned a small flame in the palms of her hands. Touching the flame to the tinder, the pile of miniature lumber and bark ignited almost instantly. Finn stared down at the blazing fire, then glanced up to Marcleline, a smug, toothy smirk plastered across her face.

"You cheated!" he yelped, pointing accusingly at the girl who succeeded so easilly where he so miserably failed.

"Finn, don't be jelly of my totally sweet vampire powers." Marceline replied, her expression never faltering.

"I'm not jelly! Maybe jam, but not jelly. Just admit you cheated! Vampire powers is cheating fo' sure." he insisted.

"Nope." The vampire playfully let her forked tongue slide out from between her fangs, mocking the disgruntled human.

"Whatever..."

"Hey, you guys made the fire! Rad!" Jake exclaimed as he padded his way over to the two from his now fully assembled tent.

"Yeah, we totally did it! 100% group effort here." Marceline chimed almost sarcastically. "So who wants to roast marshmallows?"

"... Then the puppy looked under his bed, and saw two glowing green eyes! The pup was so scared, it almost wee wee'd!" Finn stood over his three friends, the crackling fire below lighting his features in distorted illumination. He raised both hands above his head, digits stretched and curled as claws in the most menacing display the boy could muster. "The nebelung under the bed reached out to the scared little puppy and..." Finn paused, turning to Jake who'd heard the story right along with Finn in their youth and knew what came next. "TICKLED THE PUPPY!" Finn pounced on his brother and poked his wriggling fingers into the dog's soft flanks. Jake snorted and snickered at the human's tickle attack as the two women watched on. Lady found the sight to be quite amusing, adorable even. Marceline just sucked the red from a can of kidney beans in stark indifference.

"If you two are done with your brotherly gropefest yet, maybe I could tell a real ghost story?" Marceline cut their fun short and assumed her position over the campfire as current story teller as the brothers returned to their seats. "This isn't the first time I've been in these parts of the woods. I came through here some years back, how long ago exactly is a little fuzzy. But I wasn't alone. No, I had friends with me, just like I do now, and just like now, there was a dog among my group.

"We were just hiking through, you see, we had no intentions of staying. No, that would be foolish! We knew better, we'd heard the stories of what happens around here after dark. Weird stuff... Spooky happenings, y'know? But the dog, he got lost-"

"Oh no! Not the dog! The dog always dies first!" Jake interrupted with his sudden fearful outburst.

"Well anyway..." Marceline shot him a scornful look, and continued. "The dog must have started straggling, because when we stopped to rest, he was nowhere to be found. Of course we looked for him, we stayed together as a group, we weren't about to split up so we'd all be lost in 'The Forsaken Forest'. But no matter where we searched, there was no sign of the poor lost doggy. It wasn't 'til well after dark when we found him. He was huddled in a bush maybe twenty or so yards from where he was last seen, shaking uncontrollably with his face in his hands.

"He wouldn't show us his face. He just kept on mumbling some nonsense about 'whispering trees' and 'eyeball rockets'. When we finally pried the dog's hands from his face, he had no eyes! Just two gaping sockets where his looking globes used to be! Once we got him to calm down, he told us the whispering trees of the forsaken forest used some hoodoo to turn his eyeballs into jet packs and they flew right off of his face. Wait..." Marceline stiffened and tilted her head to one side as if intently listening to some faint noise off in the distance. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jake squeaked, cowering into his girfriend's embrace. Cuddling with Lady Rainicorn made him feel secure, but it wasn't enough to make him totally forget he was in the alleged 'Foresaken Forest'.

"It sounds like..." she leaned in toward Jake, and with a completely straight face, with a hint of what might pass for something distraught in her tone, answered "Whispering."

That's all Jake needed to hear. He gave his friends a surprise performance of his scream song and tore off to his tent as fast as his four legs would carry him, separating himself from the 'evil' trees outside with a thin layer of nylon. No way in the flippin' Night-o-Sphere was he letting some piney mischief makers steal his precious eyes. Lady chuckled and followed after him, knowing Jake wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight after that fright.

Finn and Marceline shared a laugh at Jake's expense. When their howling merriment subsided, they realized they were alone once more. Finn fed a few more branches from their dwindling supply into the blaze, stoking the flames.

"So, have you really been out in these woods before?" The boy asked, now feeling uneasy not knowing if the vampire's story was true or not. Finn'd witnessed stranger things, so believing tall tales came easily to him.

"Yeah, I have. But not how you're thinking I did, that story was bogus." Finn was relieved. "Naw, my old man took me camping somewhere around here when I was younger, before that whole 'fry incident' happened. It's one of the more pleasant memories I have from my upbringing." Marceline sighed and watched the flames consume their fresh meal through hazy, half lidded eyes. The age-old young woman contently recalled the time she and her father shared out in this forest so many years ago.

"Is that why you like camping?" Finn pulled her out of her train of thought. "Becuase your dad brought you?"

"Yeah, probably." she admitted. "It's just nice to chill out in the wild, with some friends or family or whatever. It's kind of peaceful. So how 'bout you, Finn? Have you ever been camping?"

"Well, once pop took me, Jake and Jermaine out for a weekend of fishing. Y'know, a father and his boys." Finn still missed his parents, they were such kind old folk. No one else would look twice at the human freak, but they raised him as their own. "But it was actually just the back yard, there was a pond there too, and we were told we couldn't go inside the house 'til the weekend was over. Dad made us some sort of little shelter out of some dead trees and ferns and all we ate was the fish we caught, but Dad made sure to stock the pond with lots of fish beforehand, so we had plenty. It was a pretty good time, even if it wasn't the wilderness like this."

"It's not where you're at, Finn, all that matters is who you're with." Marceline asserted, and felt a certain truth to her words resonate. In her experience, this was an immutable fact, in good company, fond memories could be made anywhere. Finn always seemed like good company, and he'd given the vampire an abundance of fresh memories she hoped would not fade any time soon.

"Yeah," Finn nodded gingerly. "that's deep." The human stretched his arms wide and yawned in deeply. It was getting late, and an adolecsent boy needs his sleep. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Finn took a few paces away from the campfire and found one of the various packs he'd brought with him on this excursion at the base of a large tree. Opening the zipper, he reached inside and withdrew a very large, very new looking gortex sleeping bag and unrolled the bundle of fluff and warmth, laying it across the ground. The tuckered hero wasted no time before hopping into the over sized, silky feeling cocoon, but before he could drift of to the land of Sweet dreams, he was disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" demanded the very abandoned feeling vampire queen.

"You're nocturnal." Finn retorted bluntly before rolling over to face away from the dying fire.

"But I've been up all day!" she protested. "My sleep schedule is wack, and it's pretty much entirely your fault."

"Hey, it's your own choice to pester us during the day. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it. Hehe." Finn laughed at the irony of that figure of speech used in this particular instance and noted that he's not exactly one to be clever with irony, and it was mostly just coincidence, but an awesome coincidence at that. "Can't you just like, sleep hangin' from a tree or somethin'? Bats do that all the time."

"No! For one, that's actually an insulting generalization, and two, I don't think I can maintain myself in bat form while I'm sleeping." Marceline explained. It sounded logical enough of a reason to rule out sleeping in trees, and there was no way she was about to sleep atop the cold dirt. "Scootch over, I'm getting in with you." she ordered.

"No way! Why didn't you bring your own sleeping junk?" Finn countered.

"Because I didn't think of it and vampires were never bestowed with the gift of foresight, now make room!"

"You can't!" Finn barked.

"Why can't I?" she challenged.

"Because... You're a girl..." Finn's face brightened with reddish hugh.

"Are you saying you'd rather sleep with a boy?" Marceline asked slyly, raising an eyebrow in playful inquiry.

"Well no... But..." Finn sputtered, "This isn't fair!"

"Life ain't fair, get used to it," the dead girl shot back while making her way to Finn and his comfy looking sleeping bag that he was being oh so greedy trying to keep all to himself. Finn hesitated, but after seeing Marceline was dead set on gettin' all up in his bag, he reluctantly relented his opposition and allowed her entry, slipping in beside him.

Marceline noticed how spacious it was inside, still comfortable enough even with the both of them fully encased up to their necks in the puffy fabric, and she almost couldn't help but to be suspicious that Finn's end game was to share this sleeping bag with someone all along. Silly human, he'd only have to ask, no need for reverse psychology and mind games. But then she realized this was Finn she was thinking about and how his intentions never run any deeper than face value. Marceline couldn't see Finn, the genuine goober he is, devise some elaborate plan entailing sleeping bags and psychological warfare all to result in getting her to sleep with him, speaking only in the most literal sense of the term.

Then Marceline realized something else. She was dreadfully uncomfortably laying in this position. "Finn. I need a pillow." she informed.

Disturbed once more from the verge of slumber, Finn exhaled audibly and cracked his sore and crusty eyes. Scanning about the surrounding darkness for something that might sate the relentless vampire's pestering, Finn peered a fairly large, stout stone not far from where they lay. Removing his arms from the confines of the sleeping bag he was now being forced to share, he grabbed hold of the rock and placed it by Marceline's head with a dull thud. "Use that." he instructed coarsely before returning to his previous position and trying once more to sleep.

Marceline stared at the rock in awe for a long moment before deciding it was a horrible candidate for a pillow. No, she'd need something softer, with some give. Something... Squishy. And per chance, it just so happened that there was something exceedingly squishy laying right beside her. So with no further thought or reasoning, Marceline curled herself around Finn and layed her head on the softest point she could find between his shoulder and chest.

"What the flip are you doing?" The hero questioned when feeling his friend's arms snake around his body.

"Shut up." she hissed, momentarily lifting her head from his chest to make eye contact. "You're lumpin' comfortable, so deal with it. Now lay there and be quiet like a good pillow." And with that, she nuzzled back into the fleshy swells of Finn's torso.

As awkward as this situation was, Finn couldn't deny that it was maybe even a little pleasant. But also mostly uncomfortable, for him at least. So to right this, Finn hauled his arm out from beneath the cuddly vampire and repositioned it around Marceline, so now they were in some ungraceful, and clearly completely platonic embrace. Nope, nothing going on here, just a couple o' bros in a sleeping bag is all. Snuggling? Naw, none of that going on here, bro.

Feeling Finn's arm wrap around her back and rest somewhere near her waist, reciprocating her cuddle, Marceline grinned into the adolescent adventurer's chest. "I know you're enjoying this, probably more than you're letting yourself believe, but don't expect it to happen often." She took a moment to glance back up to meet Finn's embarrassed gaze. "You just so happened to have been the most comfortable place for me to spend the night." Reaching up to play with the ears of Finn's hat, she added "Y'know, you're no Hambo, but you're quite the snuggly little bear."

Finn's face flushed skarlet, or maybe it never stopped being that color, he couldn't tell. But either way, he definitely felt significantly warmer around the collar after that remark. He wasn't too sure he liked being Marceline's 'snuggly bear', he imagined it might be something reminiscent of what Lady Rainicorn would call Jake, if she spoke english. And Finn for sure didn't think he was ready to have with Marceline what Jake had with Lady. But here they were, closer to any other girl than he'd ever been, unburnt by her touch and unscalded by any callous words that carelessly fell from her mouth.

Finn gave some thought to this and realized it wouldn't be so bad to be more than simply friends with Marceline. She was probably the greatest gal he knew, and almost certainly the least complicated, even if that's not saying all too much. But he could easily envision their relationship taking a turn for the romantic. By the time he'd worked up the courage to profess that thought to her, a rather obnoxious snore seized his attention. Finn snapped his eyes down in his bed buddy's direction to find she'd already fallen fast asleep. So, the adventurer, pushing all silly thoughts of relationships aside, closed his eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening and was finally allowed rest.

It wasn't the muted sunlight shining through the leaves overhead, ticking at his eyelids, that woke Finn that morning, nor was it the stirring of the girl still in his arms. It was the earpiercing shriek of utter shock and surprise let loose from his older brother's agape maw. Finn's eyes shot open, sitting up quickly and turning his attention from Jake to Marceline, taking in the situation and how it might look to anyone outside of the sleeping bag.

"This probably isn't what it looks like!" Finn piped up defensively almost without thinking. His brain kicked in and told him that whenever someone says those particular words, it's almost always exactly what it looks like.

"Oh my grawd, dude! You guys didn't... Did you?" Jake gasped, flabbergasted. "Just tell me you kept it PG13, please."

"Dude, what the hey! We're both fully clothed, okay!" Finn stepped out of his sleeping bag to prove he was, in fact, not in the nude. "She just forgot to bring any camping gear, so I shared. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright... I guess I might have been overreacting a bit..." Jake mumbled ashamedly, averting his gaze from his two friends he just so blatently accused of indecency.

"A bit?" Finn chuckled. "It's a'ight man, let's just forget about it." Finn's stomach let out a low growl. "So what's for breakfast, homie?"

Jake felt a mite cheerier now that they'd moved on past that terrible misunderstanding. What an awful, horrible revelation to wake up to first thing in the morning. "Canned food, yo. It's all we got since we pollished off the marshmallows last night."

"Sounds good, man." Finn responded with a nod. He looked back to his vampire friend who was still wrapped in his sleeping bag. She was in a sitting position, watching the two brothers, holding the poofy top of the bag up to under her chin with strangely bare arms. "C'mon Marcie, stop being a lazy butt. It's time to get up." The human coaxed.

"Remember that thing you said about how we're both fully clothed?" she asked with a bashful smile. "If we've learned anything this morning, it's that you guys are great at jumping to conclusions." She motioned with her eyes, directing Finn and Jake's attention toward a pile of her discarded flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

"What the flip, Marceline!" Finn cried out, bordering on the hysterical.

"What, I got hot! Besides, it's not like I'm completely naked. Glob Finn, don't be such a perv!" Marceline huffed indignantly, floated up from the ground sleeping bag and all, snatched the shirt and pair of jeans from where they lay and was gone into the dense forest, presumably to get dressed.

"What in the flip just happened, Jake?" Finn asked flatly as he continued to stare dumbfoundedly out into the woods where he last saw the lunatic who wore his sleeping bag like a toga.

"Sounds like you're having girl troubles, bro." Jake answered, gingerly giving the confused human an empathetic pat on the back.

[bi-robins-club]

jason had just settled onto his couch with a jane austen novel and his favourite peach iced tea when damian crept in through his window. he sighed internally and decided to simply ignore him. he had told damian to use the front door (nevermind the fact that jason rarely used the door) and more importantly? he was freaking comfortable. after a few minutes as jason flipped idly through the book, damian cleared his throat. jason sighed again, outwardly this time and reluctantly dragged his eyes up to his youngest brother. baby bat was shivering slightly from the rain outside and jason simply rasied an eyebrow as he sipped at his tea. scowling, dami stomped over to jasons bathroom to dry off. he rolled his eyes. how dramatic. damian was acting like he sentenced titus and alfred the cat to their deaths instead of how he was actually saving jason from deep cleaning his rain soaked carpet. (he was still going to deep clean the carpet the next time he tidied up but still)

when damian stalked back into the room, looking less like a wet, angry kitten and more like a dry, angry kitten, jason titled his head back and established eye contact.

"so what brings you over to my neck of the woods, demon spawn?"

instead of snapping back like jason expected, damian simply stood there looking extremely uncomfortable. he shuffled his feet, opened his mouth then closed it and sat next to jason on the couch he splurged way too much on.

"i don't know how to tell you this" dami began, hesitant "but i believe harper is experiencing thoughts of suicide"

jason jerked up, almost knocking over his tea (and what a damn waste that would be) before fixing damian with a look. he hadnt noticed anything different in roy lately but he knew more than anyone that depression acted strangely and was hard to pinpoint. his mind raced with thoughts of why roy might be suddenly suicidal, from a sudden relapse to not getting a happy meal toy included in his 3.99 box of clogged arteries. "why do you say that, damian?"

"i have been keeping an eye on his health since he became a close confidant to you and last night he said something worrying that i am still not able to parse the meaning of" jason smiled lightly at that, in damian speak he was basically declaring that he cared for roy- if for nothing else than for how happy he made jason. still he shook it off and asked what roy had said that was worrying dami.

"he was patrolling last night" jason knew that. roy had been picking up his patrols since jason had a nasty leg wound. it was the reason he wasn't out tonight. "and he was on the phone with an unknown person, though i am inclined to believe it was either Starfire or Canary" okay, still not surprising "and then he said that the only place he could die happy was between your thighs" oh hello blue screen. yes jasons mind was in the middle of rebooting but could you hurry it along? he almost missed what damian said next. "not only does he wish for death upon himself, he wishes for you to give it to him!"

"damian" jason managed, frantically trying to figure out a way to explain to his baby brother without including his sex life. "uhh its just an expression"

damians face brightened up slightly. "really? he does not wish to smother himself between your thighs?"

"yeah, its like...like just a way to say... mind your business? mmhmm" he struggled to get out, pulling an explanation out of his ass.

"you have told father to mind his business a thousand times but i dont recal you ever using that one. is it new?"

oh god. jason would rather die again than continue this conversation.

"uhh its only used if you're close to someone" jason didnt know what he didnt wrong but dami's eyes widened in clear worry. "i thought you and father were reconnecting? has something happened? are you fighting again?"

well shit. jason had not thought this one through. fuck roy and fuck his mile wide kink that centered around jasons thighs. he was going to kill him. and he wouldnt even use his thighs. "oh nonono dami we're fine, just not as close as me and roy" he hedged, pleading to gods he didnt believe in to stop this conversation with whatever means necessary. strike him dead if need be but *please*. damians eyes narrowed "and exactly how close are you with harper, jason?" jason stared in disbelief. how had his nice relaxing evening turned into such a shitshow? damian was fine with roy when he and jason were just friends but now that he was (correctly) assuming a relationship, his over protective instincts were kicking in? christ. he remembered how when dick and babs finally started dating (again), damian seemingly lost all respect for her and called her an evil harlot more than once.

thankfully he was saved by answering in the form of the best person jason had ever met aka duke thomas. he announced his presence by awkwardly coughing. jason met his dark eyes and mouthed 'help me' over damians head. duke smiled as if it was getting pulled out of him by torture but nodded.

"hey dames, dick wanted you to join him by the docks when you finished up here" damian scowled "cant you see i am clearly not finished yet"

"hah, well dick was facing up against scarecrow and i think he needed some back up but you know him"

"yes, he wont admit he needs help when he very clearly does" damian sighed "very well, ill go check on dick. you stay and question jason. " and with that damian clambered out the window and after he disappeared from sight, jason threw his head back to stare at his ceiling and groaned. duke laughed at him.

"hey daisy duke?" duke grumbled at the nickname and jason cracked a smile "how did you know i needed back up?" duke winced and ran a hand over his dreads. he made a face and jasons soul was slowly draining out of his body. "oh haha funny story" duke rocked back on his feet and faked laughed "damians com was still connected to the channel" jason froze.

"who was on the channel oh my god" duke smiled thinly and his hand paused on his head. "other than me? everyone." jason buried his head in his hands and let out a high pitched whine. duke consolingly rubbed his shoulder. this is why jason loved him. he hadn't even laughed at jason like tim, dick or steph would or started plotting death like damian started to. he and cass would just offer support. jasons favorite brother and sister right here folks. duke sat down beside him

"listen. i know what it's like to be outed when youre not ready and when i heard damian grilling you about roy, i thought i would help" jason turned and stared at his brother. duke was staring at his hands and avoiding eye contact. "i got caught with a boy when i was 15 in high school. its pretty shitty to be gay and poor in a homophobic neighbourhood but its worse to be gay, poor and black." jason knocked shoulders with him. "if you tell me the name of whatever asshat outed you, I'll shoot him for you." duke let out a waterly laugh. "they kept bullying me for being gay but if they even listened, they would have realised that im pan" he joked "its a completely different thing after all". jason snorted

"that was horrible"

duke winced "yeah, it was wasnt it. im bad at this" it was jasons turn to avoid eye contact now.

"talia once caught me with a league operative. a male operative. i was so paranoid for days until i caught shiva leaving her rooms. i got the courage to tell her i was bi and she just patted my cheek and asked how my training was going."

duke huffed out a laugh. "bruce gives you shit but i for one think your lesbians moms are cool"

jason laughed with him "just wait until you meet Ducra. shes a badass"

"ducra?" he questioned with a weird look. "how many moms do you actually have? i knew about diana and your assassin moms but thats a new name" jason burst into laughter at the expression on dukes face. "its not fair man. steph is the only other one with a mom and you have four! you need to share" jason choked on his laughter and shoved duke.

"first of all, its only *three*. ducra is like my badass abuela"

"dont you already have a badass grandma? have you forgotten about Ma Gunn? she threatened to shoot bruce in the dick last week!"

"yes well excuse you i need strong female role models in my life, fuck you" the two of them continued to joke around for a little while longer before jason caught a flash of black kelvar outside his window and sighed. duke followed his eyes and smiled before patting jasons shoulder and pushing off. "have fun with the one strong male role model in your life. im going to see if cass needs help" both of them knew that cass wouldn't need help but jason accepted the excuse for what it was. "me and steph are still coming over to study tomorrow. college is kicking my ass and i need you to explain this English assignment to me"

jason scoffed "im not writing your essay for you"

"eh worth a try. bye jace" duke gave a two fingered salute and slipped out the window. jason took the brief reprieve to sip his tea and mourned when he discovered the ice had melted and watered down the peach taste. for the third time that night, someone crept into his window. oh well. third times the charm right? jason wasn't going to acknowledge bruce until he said something himself. it was a repeat of damian. jasom read his book as it got increasingly uncomfortable.

"jason."

"bruce" jason drawled, not lifting his eyes from his book. bruce grunted like the neanderthal he was and jason finally huffed out a heaving breath before marking his page and looking up. bruce looked supremely uncomfortable. actually his face looked exceedingly neutral but jason knew how to read bruce and that was the brow furrow of how do i deal with jason without fucking it up? jason was well famailairsed with that one.

"you know i love you" jasons own eyebrows rose. bruce only said 'i love you' like four times a year tops. and he usually never wasted it on jason. bruce deflated at whatever face jason must have made. goddamn it. this was why jason always fought with bruce with his helmet on, he couldnt control his facial expressions for shit. "no you dont know that." bruce smiled thinly and to jasons suprise, quickly crossed the room and knelt, placing his hands on jasons shoulders.

"even if you dont believe it, and its my own fault that you do and i hate that i ever caused you to even doubt my love for you, i swear that i do, jay lad" jason was completely frozen. he had expected bruce to yell at him for letting roy go unchecked on patrol last night and how irresponsible he was yada yada, not this declaration of feelings that he had no clue how to deal with. he couldnt remember the last time bruce called him that. it had to have been when he was still in those scaly green panties and pixie boots. and not the adult verison that jason picked up from a halloween store on a whim just to see roys eyes.

bruce sighed and drew jason into a hug. when bruces shoulder started getting wet, jason was horrified to realise he was crying. "i wanted you to know that i wouldnt love you any less for loving a man. but you have to know that i love you in the first place for that to happen" bruce said self deprecating.

"shut the fuck up" jason said sniffling and gripping his dads back. "i hate you"

bruce laughed softly at him before pressing a kiss to the side of jasons head. "i want you to know that i expect roy-and you- over at dinner on sunday. i need to meet the man that stole my babys heart" he murmured. jason laughed wetly "youve already met roy, you just want to con me into actually coming to family dinner"

bruce smiled "that was before i knew you two were dating. roy needs to know what hes getting into" jason leaned back enough to stare into bruces eyes and weakly punched him in the chest "dont threaten my boyfriend. he refused to look at me for two weeks after t was done with him" bruce sighed longingly "its times like this when i remember what caused me to love talia in the first place."

"bruce!" the aforementioned man laughed and hugged jason tightly before stepping back a few steps. "Sunday dinner. you and roy. 8 pm." on a whim jason reached out and snagged bruces hand. "hey" he started, swallowing "you wanna stay for a while? we could watch a movie or something" bruces eyes softened and he nodded. "let me change out of the suit."

and if roy had crept in after patrol only to see jason napping on his dads chest to a shitty action movie playing in the background and took several pictures, well that bruces fault for not waking up when roy stumbled it. (nevermind the fact that bruce had every single one of those pictures saved on his phone) (nevermind the fact that after roy put his phone away, he was greeted to the sight of batman glaring at him as he twisted a batarang around his fingers. it was sorta ruined by the fact that jasons curls was hiding the lower half of his face but roy was still adequately terrified)

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson TEASER

title: voltaire to versace 03 TEASER

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: a lil over 10k

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office. Apparently, Dolley and James had spent their afternoon together, taking a walk through the city. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley’s sappy smile. “Thank you so much, dear. You’re too good to me.”

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, “But you know I’d do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I’m-about-to-cry voice, so I’m not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore.”

“Oh, of course; I’m truly a parasite,” Dolley sighed. “Taking you in as my roommate, paying for your ramen — how evil of me.”

“I pay half the rent, and ramen costs fifty cents!” Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. “Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven’t even seen James’s friends.” Dolley’s voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. “I may not be the only one having some fun.”

“Have you even seen James’s friends?” Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley’s silence told her all there was to know. “That’s what I thought. He’s an econ student, so it’s probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money.”

“Or they could all be just your type,” Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. “Tall, hot, and older.”

“First off, I don’t have a type, and second, just because you’re dating an ‘older man’,” — The final two words were said mockingly — “doesn’t mean that his older friends aren’t still douches.”

“I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type.”

“Based on what?”

“That professor of yours?”

“Dolley!” Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. “Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don’t make it a thing,” she murmured, jaw tense.

“Oh, we’re well past that, dear,” Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. “But if you’ve agreed to the party, I won’t push my luck.”

“Smart choice,” she muttered bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?”

“Of course.”

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk’s surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They’ve gotta connect ‘em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are.” She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"