#also way more international visitors

[referencees]

For anyone that lives in a ‘tourist’ destination like me, have you noticed a shift in the number of people visiting and the length of time they stay?

I live in a popular ski town that’s (somewhat) near the Bay Area and since covid we have been absolutely inundated with tourists. This year for new years people started showing up right after Christmas, but they’re still here??? Like our town is still jam packed with people, grocery stores are empty and traffic is insane bc we don’t have the infrastructure to support this many people.

And I just think, do none of these people have jobs??? Like I understand remote work but even then you still have to work, how are all these people just fucking around and skiing all day for two weeks straight????

Especially bc it seems that so many people have less money post covid so how are more people vacationing? I just don’t really get why it’s gotten so much worse.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The majority of censorship is self-censorship

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

I know a lot of polymaths, but Ada Palmer takes the cake: brilliant science fiction writer, brilliant historian, brilliant librettist, brilliant singer, and then some:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#terra-ignota

Palmer is a friend and a colleague. In 2018, she, Adrian Johns and I collaborated on "Censorship, Information Control, & Information Revolutions from Printing Press to Internet," a series of grad seminars at the U Chicago History department (where Ada is a tenured prof, specializing in the Inquisition and Renaissance forbidden knowledge):

https://ifk.uchicago.edu/research/faculty-fellow-projects/censorship-information-control-information-revolutions-from-printing-press/

The project had its origins in a party game that Ada and I used to play at SF conventions: Ada would describe a way that the Inquisitions' censors attacked the printing press, and I'd find an extremely parallel maneuver from governments, the entertainment industry or other entities from the much more recent history of internet censorship battles.

With the seminars, we took it to the next level. Each 3h long session featured a roster of speakers from many disciplines, explaining everything from how encryption works to how white nationalists who were radicalized in Vietnam formed an armored-car robbery gang to finance modems and Apple ][+s to link up neo-Nazis across the USA.

We borrowed the structure of these sessions from science fiction conventions, home to a very specific kind of panel that doesn't always work, but when it does, it's fantastic. It was a natural choice: after all, Ada and I know each other through science fiction.

Even if you're not an sf person, you've probably heard of the Hugo Awards, the most prestigious awards in the field, voted on each year by attendees of the annual World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon). And even if you're not an sf fan, you might have heard about a scandal involving the Hugo Awards, which were held last year in China, a first:

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/science-fiction-authors-excluded-hugo-awards-china-rcna139134

A little background: each year's Worldcon is run by a committee of volunteers. These volunteers put together bids to host the Worldcon, and canvass Worldcon attendees to vote in favor of their bid. For many years, a group of Chinese fans attempted to field a successful bid to host a Worldcon, and, eventually, they won.

At the time, there were many concerns: about traveling to a country with a poor human rights record and a reputation for censorship, and about the logistics of customary Worldcon attendees getting visas. During this debate, many international fans pointed to the poor human rights record in the USA (which has hosted the vast majority of Worldcons since their inception), and the absolute ghastly rigmarole the US government subjects many foreign visitors to when they seek visas to come to the US for conventions.

Whatever side of this debate you came down on, it couldn't be denied that the Chinese Worldcon rang a lot of alarm-bells. Communications were spotty, and then the con was unceremoniously rescheduled for months after the original scheduled date, without any good explanation. Rumors swirled of Chinese petty officials muscling their way into the con's administration.

But the real alarm bells started clanging after the Hugo Award ceremony. Normally, after the Hugos are given out, attendees are given paper handouts tallying the nominations and votes, and those numbers are also simultaneously published online. Technically, the Hugo committee has a grace period of some weeks before this data must be published, but at every Worldcon I've attended over the past 30+ years, I left the Hugos with a data-sheet in my hand.

Then, in early December, at the very last moment, the Hugo committee released its data – and all hell broke loose. Numerous, acclaimed works had been unilaterally "disqualified" from the ballot. Many of these were written by writers from the Chinese diaspora, but some works – like an episode of Neil Gaiman's Sandman – were seemingly unconnected to any national considerations.

Readers and writers erupted in outrage, demanding to know what had happened. The Hugo administrators – Americans and Canadians who'd volunteered in those roles for many years and were widely viewed as being members in good standing of the community – were either silent or responded with rude and insulting remarks. One thing they didn't do was explain themselves.

The absence of facts left a void that rumors and speculation rushed in to fill. Stories of Chinese official censorship swirled online, and along with them, a kind of I-told-you-so: China should never have been home to a Worldcon, the country's authoritarian national politics are fundamentally incompatible with a literary festival.

As the outrage mounted and the scandal breached from the confines of science fiction fans and writers to the wider world, more details kept emerging. A damning set of internal leaks revealed that it was those long-serving American and Canadian volunteers who decided to censor the ballot. They did so out of a vague sense that the Chinese state would visit some unspecified sanction on the con if politically unpalatable works appeared on the Hugo ballot. Incredibly, they even compiled clumsy dossiers on nominees, disqualifying one nominee out of a mistaken belief that he had once visited Tibet (it was actually Nepal).

There's no evidence that the Chinese state asked these people to do this. Likewise, it wasn't pressure from the Chinese state that caused them to throw out hundreds of ballots cast by Chinese fans, whom they believed were voting for a "slate" of works (it's not clear if this is the case, but slate voting is permitted under Hugo rules).

All this has raised many questions about the future of the Hugo Awards, and the status of the awards that were given in China. There's widespread concern that Chinese fans involved with the con may face state retaliation due to the negative press that these shenanigans stirred up.

But there's also a lot of questions about censorship, and the nature of both state and private censorship, and the relationship between the two. These are questions that Ada is extremely well-poised to answer; indeed, they're the subject of her book-in-progress, entitled Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet.

In a magisterial essay for Reactor, Palmer stakes out her central thesis: "The majority of censorship is self-censorship, but the majority of self-censorship is intentionally cultivated by an outside power":

https://reactormag.com/tools-for-thinking-about-censorship/

States – even very powerful states – that wish to censor lack the resources to accomplish totalizing censorship of the sort depicted in Nineteen Eighty-Four. They can't go from house to house, searching every nook and cranny for copies of forbidden literature. The only way to kill an idea is to stop people from expressing it in the first place. Convincing people to censor themselves is, "dollar for dollar and man-hour for man-hour, much cheaper and more impactful than anything else a censorious regime can do."

Ada invokes examples modern and ancient, including from her own area of specialty, the Inquisition and its treatment of Gailileo. The Inquistions didn't set out to silence Galileo. If that had been its objective, it could have just assassinated him. This was cheap, easy and reliable! Instead, the Inquisition persecuted Galileo, in a very high-profile manner, making him and his ideas far more famous.

But this isn't some early example of Inquisitorial Streisand Effect. The point of persecuting Galileo was to convince Descartes to self-censor, which he did. He took his manuscript back from the publisher and cut the sections the Inquisition was likely to find offensive. It wasn't just Descartes: "thousands of other major thinkers of the time wrote differently, spoke differently, chose different projects, and passed different ideas on to the next century because they self-censored after the Galileo trial."

This is direct self-censorship, where people are frightened into silencing themselves. But there's another form of censorship, which Ada calls "middlemen censorship." That's when someone other than the government censors a work because they fear what the government would do if they didn't. Think of Scholastic's cowardly decision to pull inclusive, LGBTQ books out of its book fair selections even though no one had ordered them to do so:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/06/books/scholastic-book-racism-maggie-tokuda-hall.html

This is a form of censorship outsourcing, and it "multiplies the manpower of a censorship system by the number of individuals within its power." The censoring body doesn't need to hire people to search everyone's houses for offensive books – it can frighten editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers and librarians into suppressing the books in the first place.

This outsourcing blurs the line between state and private surveillance. Think about comics. After a series of high-profile Congressional hearings about the supposed danger of comics to impressionable young minds, the comics industry undertook a regime of self-censorship, through which the private Comics Code Authority would vet comings for "dangerous" content before allowing its seal of approval to appear on the comics' covers. Distributors and retailers refused to carry books without a CCA stamp, so publishers refused to publish books unless they could get a CCA stamp.

The CCA was unaccountable, capricious – and racist. By the 60s and 70s, it became clear that comic about Black characters were subjected to much tighter scrutiny than comics featuring white heroes. The CCA would reject "a drop of sweat on the forehead of a Black astronaut as 'too graphic' since it 'could be mistaken for blood.'" Every comic that got sent back by the CCA meant long, brutal reworkings by writers and illustrators to get them past the censors.

The US government never censored heroes like Black Panther, but the chain of events that created the CCA "middleman censors" made sure that Black Panther appeared in far fewer comics starring Marvel's most prominent Black character. An analysis of censorship that tries to draw a line between private and public censorship would say that the government played no role in Black Panther's banishment to obscurity – but without Congressional action, Black Panther would never have faced censorship.

This is why attempts to cleanly divide public and private censorship always break down. Many people will tell you that when Twitter or Facebook blocks content they disagree with, that's not censorship, since censorship is government action, and these are private actors. What they mean is that Twitter and Facebook censorship doesn't violate the First Amendment, but it's perfectly possible to infringe on free speech without violating the US Constitution. What's more, if the government fails to prevent monopolization of our speech forums – like social media – and also declines to offer its own public speech forums that are bound to respect the First Amendment, we can end up with government choices that produce an environment in which some ideas are suppressed wherever they might find an audience – all without violating the Constitution:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

The great censorious regimes of the past – the USSR, the Inquisition – left behind vast troves of bureaucratic records, and these records are full of complaints about the censors' lack of resources. They didn't have the manpower, the office space, the money or the power to erase the ideas they were ordered to suppress. As Ada notes, "In the period that Spain’s Inquisition was wildly out of Rome’s control, the Roman Inquisition even printed manuals to guide its Inquisitors on how to bluff their way through pretending they were on top of what Spain was doing!"

Censors have always done – and still do – their work not by wielding power, but by projecting it. Even the most powerful state actors are not powerful enough to truly censor, in the sense of confiscating every work expressing an idea and punishing everyone who creates such a work. Instead, when they rely on self-censorship, both by individuals and by intermediaries. When censors act to block one work and not another, or when they punish one transgressor while another is free to speak, it's tempting to think that they are following some arcane ruleset that defines when enforcement is strict and when it's weak. But the truth is, they censor erratically because they are too weak to censor comprehensively.

Spectacular acts of censorship and punishment are a performance, "to change the way people act and think." Censors "seek out actions that can cause the maximum number of people to notice and feel their presence, with a minimum of expense and manpower."

The censor can only succeed by convincing us to do their work for them. That's why drawing a line between state censorship and private censorship is such a misleading exercise. Censorship is, and always has been, a public-private partnership.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

Wait for you | L.N.

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Nothing can stand between true love. But what if said love is taken from one's memory?

Warnings: angstt, some fluff:3

Word count: ~2,3K

Lando had been told since he was very little, how time passes slowly when one is not enjoying themselves. But good God, no one could have prepared him for the agony that the past two months have brought into his life. And how it was entirely the play of no one else but the woman he loved that was becoming his ruin.

To put it easier, today marked the start of May, which meant that it has been exactly two months since you were cursed with amnesia following a minor car accident.

How it happened and more importantly why, not even the doctors could tell.

Lando was told that you’d get back most memories in the first few weeks and if that did not happen then the time can be extended into a month for the return of life as they’d known before the accident.

It was only a day later as your eyes set upon your visitor and without any introduction you knew exactly who it was.

“Oscar!” your voice held longing and excitement.

Your best friend was standing in the doorway smiling with all his might, while a certain someone was clearly overlooked. Lando thought that he could burst out sobbing just that moment as your eyes passed over his as if he were only a stranger. And to you he was. Now at least…

That’s how the past two months have been. Lando looking at you looking at Oscar…

You did still spend most of your time in the garages with the McLaren team, but you were there not for Lando and he didn’t know how much longer he could go without telling you all about your past.

‘Screw those damn doctors’, Lando thought. Maybe if he was allowed to remind you, you would be sitting next to him right now, gracing him with one of your brightest smiles and asking him about the car and not Oscar.

Sometimes when Lando is exceptionally tired he forgets that now is a different you than his you. He plops down on the sofa beside you and lays himself down on your thighs. How is it that you always smell so good? Touching you has always held a relaxing nature to Lando and now it was just as splendid. Almost as splendid… Now your hands did not lovingly engulf him in your warmth, there was no kiss on his head, there was only a stiff hand petting his shoulder. Lando felt internal cold radiate from your touch.

Your hugs have gone cold too.

Lando knew that blaming you was wrong as it was in no way your fault. You didn’t choose to forget him but still remember your best friend Oscar. But God, that did not lessen the pain.

Two months. It’s has been two months and Lando has almost no hope left that you’ll ever look at him with a loving gaze again.

He has done it all. Repeated his actions from the past, when he was trying his best to ask you out. It worked last time, it made you fall in love with him, but now it was a dead end as he could see you force a smile on your face each time...

If Lando’s life was not reduced to an absolute nothingness, he also had to watch his teammate and friend win his first title before him. Although that didn’t hurt half as much as watching you, watching Oscar in the same way you used to watch him standing on the podium.

His heart was screaming at you. No! Look here! Just a bit to the right! I’m here! Please see me…

Your eyes did drift to Lando and you did offer him a thumbs up, but the look in your eyes had also drifted, to a new look altogether. Your eyes were no longer reserved only for him and that thought alone took living out of life and turned it into mere existence.

Lando still remembers (how could he ever forget really) the way your soft gaze spoke louder than words could. Your eyes were love personified. And now they were on Oscar, not on him...

If Lando thought his heart broke the moment he saw you in that hospital bed and you had no recollection of whom he was, now it fucking shattered into tiny, tiny pieces.

As more days flew by Lando started losing it. Too early to accept that he’s lost you, too late to get you back… Those were the only thoughts roaming around in his head.

You on the other hand knew nothing of the boy’s torment. To be honest you knew nothing of that certain boy.

If it was not for Oscar, you feel like you would have never even looked twice at someone like Lando Norris. Yes he was gorgeous and had eyes the sweetness of a morning blue sky, but he was also a guy who had everyone’s attention and he drank it up like a thirsty man.

Since you waking up in the hospital, Oscar has been doing everything to acquaint you with Lando. He was never too forceful with making his two friends a pair of friends as well, but he was relentless, never fraying from the task.

Oscar told you things about Lando that were hard to believe at first. Like yes, Lando was a good guy, just as Oscar said, though you could feel how the older man was holding himself back in most occasions as if to not overwhelm you. It made you confused.

Lando Norris confused you.

He’d watch you while you were with Oscar without saying a word, then some other time he could not shut up about something when it was only you and him, which didn’t happen much.

Lando was also a very touchy person, he’d hug you, put his hand around your shoulders or rest his head on your lap after a session.

It was sweet how he seemed to like you so much, but sometimes it felt like there was something more and you were missing that all narrative.

So to repeat, Lando Norris confused you. Intensly.

But you also confused yourself.

It confused you how your own hands would naturally find their place wrapped around his torso or resting on his back whenever he touched you. How your fingers would thoughtlessly tangle themselves in his curls whenever his head rested upon your thighs.

It was all very confusing yet strangely relaxing.

 “Osc?” you looked up from your place on the counter to find your friend wiping sweat away from his face.

“What’s up?” Oscar’s voice was out of breath.

“Is Lando okay?” you watched the older boy stomp out of the garage. His eyes a beautiful storm.

“Agh.. he’s pissed at himself for the mistake on the last lap, heard he was talking himself down on the radio and the interviews,” Oscar let out a sign of concern.

You’ve always been empathic towards other people and you’ve begun caring about Lando even if he was weird at times, but he was Oscar’s friend and certainly really nice to you.

“I feel bad for him… he beats himself up a lot,” your head stayed turned at the direction Lando had just walked out.

Oscar seeing the opportunity decided to use it wisely, “Maybe you should go talk to him?”

“But we’re not that close, I don’t want to make him more upset by prying information from him,” you quickly turned back to your friend.

“But do you want to talk to him?” Oscar held eye contact with you as if trying to prove you something important.

“He’s sad and he’s alone. I just don’t want him to be alone…” you pick at your nails, not clearly understanding where this care for the older boy came from, but Oscar knew and he knew that he’s done it, he has paved the last tile for you to take the first step towards your Lando. He could see it in your movements, just like the first time all those months ago.

“Then go, don’t let him suffer alone for longer than he needs to,” Oscars words meant more than you could understand in this moment, but all you could think about was the sweet boy who was now beating himself up alone in his room.

It didn’t take long for you to jump off the counter and set of in the same direction Lando had just minutes ago.

“Lando?” you knocked on the door, peeking into his driver room, something about the scene feeling too comfortable as if you’d done it time and time again before.

“Oh he’s not here hun, he went outside to cool off a bit,” you came face to face with his PR manager, a sweet woman indeed.

“Have you any idea where?” you inquired, you wanted to find him as soon as possible.

“I’m not sure dear, but I’m sure you’ll find him.” she gave you an encouraging smile before exiting the room, leaving you alone to rake your brain for a place where Lando might be.

So you went to the only place where you knew no one would go to, simply because there was nothing to see, unless you looked up.

There he stood, leaning on the railing, lone as the first star in the night sky, and then you heard it, his heartfelt cries echoing in the perimeter, filling the lonely space with sounds of pain.

You slowly come closer to him.

“Lando?” you put your hand on his shoulder.

Lando’s hands are wrapped around you in a crushing hug before you could even finish your sentence, his face buried into your neck as his tears pooled into the crevice of your collarbone.

When you snap out of the shock, you barely graze his body with your hands and he remembers that it’s not you. At least not the same you that used to be his and detaches himself from your warm hug apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry” he cries more as he looks into your eyes and the look in your eyes haunting him, you don’t look at him like that anymore. He turns away from you and slumps down on the bench crying with his whole body which makes your own tears build.

You could feel his pain, that’s how prominent it was.

“Lando please don’t cry like this. It’s just a sprint not a grand prix even, and that one mistake was nothing, you still finished on the podium. Please Lando you should not beat yourself over this.”

His cries do not lessen so you take the matters into your hands, literally.

You put your hands on his face, wiping his tears with your thumbs while telling him all the best things that he is.

“You - are certainly too good of a driver to worry about such a thing and you are too good of a person to hurt yourself so much over a mistake. Lando Norris you are not allowed to beat yourself up over a mistake in a race! You cannot. I’m taking away your right, the only person that can tell you anything bad about your driving is me! Understood? From this moment on you’re the greatest man on that track unless I say otherwise!”

Lando now noticed how he stopped crying because he was focusing on your voice that was all directed at him and no one else.

“Don’t you think Oscar is better than me?” Lando’s voice was small with uncertainty.

“Oscar is great and he knows it, you on the other hand seem to forget it at times… I’ll make sure you never forget. Deal?”

“Deal,” he let out a breath holding your hands close.

You freed one of your hands from his grip making him open his eyes, terror in them, up until you ran your hand through his curls, fixing his hair a bit before your eyes travelled back to his.

“What?” you asked perplexed by his gaze.

“You are a really good person Y/n,” Lando’s eyes glided upon your face as if he were kissing your skin with his gaze.

“You deserve to have good people around Lan,” your voice softened further.

There it was. That word. His nickname. Lan.

The last time he heard you say it was the last time you were his you.

Before you forgot him…

“Let me take you out to dinner,” when would he ever shoot his shot if not now.

“Are you seriously using this time to ask me out?” you chuckled as you held his hand firmly.

“You can’t say no or I’ll cry again,” Lando gave you his best puppy eyes and you positively folded in his touch.

You chuckle at him,“But only because I hate seeing people cry,” you try to convince yourself as your heartbeat had picked up due to the unbreakable eye contact from the man. And it did physically pain you to see him cry.

When you walk him back to the garage where the team is beginning for a debrief you stop him, before he can go in, with a whisper in his ear.

“Just for the record, I wouldn’t have said no,” you kiss his cheek and give him the eyes, the eyes he’d been waiting for, for months now.

You were coming back to him and Lando knew he’d give anything up just to have his girl’s eyes gazing back at his…

^^

A.N. ... there most probably will be a second part... hehe..

[ihavemanyhusbands]

High Risk

PART TWO: SILVER TONGUED DEVIL

Also on AO3

Part One // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.1k words

Chapter Summary: In order to form a deeper connection with Hannibal, hoping to keep him complacent, Doctor Chilton allows you to have dinner with him…. Mostly unsupervised.

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, slight canon divergence (frederick is still head of baltimore state hospital), manipulation all around, some jealousy, corruption, smut, handjob, kinda audio voyeurism but not really?, also kinda exhibitionistic but not really??, some alcohol consumption, aaaand thats all i can think of rn but lmk if i missed anything!

————-

You waited outside of the double doors with a guard, patiently carrying Hannibal’s meal tray. He had a visitor, a mutual acquaintance of Doctor Chilton’s, and they were not to be disturbed.

You couldn’t understand why you had to be standing there, but you figured it was a power move on Doctor Chilton’s part. Reminding you of your place. 

Your eyes flicked up to the security camera in the corner, suspecting he was watching more than one of them at a time. More than half an hour had passed, the silence stretching on infinitely. The guard had briefly tried to engage you in small talk, but he had quickly realized it was pointless. You already knew what sort of questions he would ask if he felt like he had any leeway, and you were not in the mood for it.

Already there were rumors speculating the sort of favors Hannibal was asking of you. You’d felt the gazes on you, caught the murmurs behind your back. You couldn’t deny that the more animal part of you, the one that had no such regard for personal safety, hadn’t thought about him that way. 

A few times, he had slipped a folded piece of paper for you to find when you retrieved his meal trays. Always sketches of you, symbolic renditions meant to convey messages. His attention to detail was astounding. Almost… devoted, in a way. 

Every time you posed for him, you found yourself enjoying his focus more and more. The thrill of it all was narcotic, but you only hated that it had brought other people’s attention to you. 

The doors suddenly opened and a tall, well dressed woman stepped out. She was strikingly beautiful, with icy blue eyes and neatly styled dark hair. Her lips were painted ruby, which further accentuated her features in an elegant but almost severe way.

Doctor Alana Bloom was her name. You’d heard of her from both Doctor Chilton and Hannibal, but you hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting her in person until then.

“My, you’re a looker,” she said, inspecting you as if you were an insect under a microscope. “No wonder.”

You only smiled politely, internally seething. She could see right through you, smiling in return.

“He’ll charm the pants off you if you’re not careful.”

With that, she walked away, heels clicking down the hallway. The guard next to you let out a huff and you shot a glare in his direction.

He pushed off the wall and followed her, while you turned the other way and slipped into Hannibal’s cell room.

“Sorry, it might be a little cold,” you said as a greeting, making your way over to the slot. 

“You were waiting for me?” He asked.

“I was told to wait until you were done, yes.”

He noticed you were avoiding looking at him, though the displeasure itself wasn’t directed at him. He smiled a little to himself with satisfaction.

“Doctor Bloom is an old colleague of mine, but our history goes a little further than that,” he said. “A futile affair, that was.”

“No rekindling the flame then?” You asked before you could stop yourself. 

Of course that wasn’t what the visit was about, you knew as much. But you were still bristling from her words, and the smugness in them.

“No,” Hannibal said. “I’m afraid we are mutually uninterested, though we have some business left over.”

You hummed in thought, composing yourself. “I apologize for asking, it’s none of my business.”

“You may ask me whatever you want. I won’t mind telling you.”

You tilted your head to the side, where another camera was perched up in the corner. 

“We don’t have such liberties,” you said pointedly. “Though who knows? Maybe there’s an argument for our case.”

With that, a small, coquettish grin and a glance in his direction. Hannibal sat up straighter, licking his lips.  He glanced up at the camera, also well aware that Frederick was listening.

If anything, the two of you had been enjoying toying with him in any small way you could. It drove him crazy, but he mostly seethed in silence, knowing he was equally matched in this game.

“Perhaps dinner might be a good place to start,” he said.

“Oh yes, I would like that very much,” you said, exaggerating a wistful sigh. “But we shall see.”

————————————

“You know, you’re getting a little bold with all these requests,” Doctor Chilton said, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I know you have your methods of trying to get information out of him — or at least you think so,” you said, unbothered. “I mean, he has been much more forthcoming because of me, hasn’t he? I have my methods, too.”

He let out a sardonic chuckle. “Clearly. Others seem to think so, too, no?”

You didn’t give in to his goading, changing the subject instead. “Much luck with Doctor Bloom?”

“Some, actually,” he said, his sneer faltering. “But that shouldn’t really concern you. You’re still his favorite little doll to play with.”

And you mine, you thought to yourself, containing a grin.

“I’m aware,” you said instead, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s not too unreasonable to have dinner with him, especially with the glass still separating us.”

“Oh, but you’d be so much more useful if you were up close and personal. I could put you in one of the interrogation rooms and keep him handcuffed... But the problem is, he asked for total privacy. No cameras and no audio recordings,” he countered. “I cannot possibly do both. You know that’s not how it works.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, but you already knew what the obvious answer was.

“No cameras, then,” you said. “I would say that’s fair, no? You might not care for the video footage, anyway, not without sound.”

He narrowed his eyes but nodded in assent, knowing it was the best he would get. The ghost of a self-satisfied smile was on your lips, pleasure at getting what you wanted dancing in your eyes. 

As long as the rest of the team was getting the information they needed, by whatever means necessary, he supposed he couldn’t grouse too much. Regardless, that didn’t make him any less annoyed at being backed into a corner.

“You get an hour and a half tops,” he said with finality. “Work your magic. And wear something nice, why don’t you?”

————————————

The table had already been set for you when you arrived. A mediocre attempt at something romantic, with a few little tea lights and a half-dead flower in a plastic cup. You supposed the guards couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense, but it was also more mockery on Frederick’s part. 

But at that very moment, you couldn’t care less. In fact, you found yourself… excited for the night's events. 

It was nice not to wear your uniform for once, your nicest black dress in its place. It was nothing too special, but you only wore it on certain occasions, such as dates.

And while this may be the macabre version of a date, it was a date nonetheless.

You’d styled your hair differently, put on a little make up and even wore perfume, which you were rarely able to do. It was liberating in a way, as if granting you permission to step out of bounds a little more. You wouldn’t waste such an opportunity.

Your heels clicked softly on the linoleum floor as you slowly paced the room, anxiously waiting. You glanced down at your watch, and right as it hit eight o’clock, the door opened. Hannibal was led in by a guard, his hands cuffed in front of him. He smiled at the sight of you, his eyes roaming up and down to better appreciate you. 

Your heart immediately started racing, both from nerves and giddiness. You focused solely on him as he was led to the table, the situation becoming less surreal by the second. Despite the fact that he was in his usual jumpsuit, you could tell he had meticulously groomed himself as best as he could. 

Another guard came in to place two trays on the table, but the food wasn’t from the cafeteria. Apparently, Hannibal had been allowed to cook a two-course meal, dessert included. There was even some wine, but you had to settle for plastic cups instead of glasses. Not that either of you seemed to mind, too busy sizing each other up. 

It felt strange, not seeing him through a thick panel of glass, but it was even stranger to sit right across from him. You only had to reach out your arm and you’d be able to touch him… if it wasn’t forbidden, of course.

“I’m surprised Doctor Chilton did not join us for dinner,” he said as the guard cuffed him to the table.

“He’ll be here in spirit,” you said, briefly nodding at the two guards before they stepped out of the room. “But I think it’s better this way, don’t you agree?”

“Much better,” he agreed, pausing a moment until the door finally shut. “You look beautiful, by the way… And you smell good enough to eat. Just as I thought you would.”

You grinned at his dark sense of humor, suppressing a shudder as you crossed your legs and leaned back. “Well, flattery will get you anywhere.”

“And wine?”

He grabbed the already uncorked bottle of wine and raised his eyebrows. You nodded and he poured for both of you. 

“We shall see,” you said, taking the cup from him and holding his gaze.

“Well, a toast to our very gracious host,” he said, raising his cup. “For making all this happen.”

You tapped your cup against his with a soft cheers before taking a sip. He proceeded to give you a detailed explanation of what you would be eating, nearly putting you in a trance. His voice had a hypnotic quality to it, managing to soothe your nerves. Without really noticing, the two of you were leaning forward, the conversation taking on an almost intimate quality – even if the subject matter was anything but. 

Before he touched his food, he encouraged you to try first. He watched you eat, his amber eyes lingering on your lips as you licked them. You had never tasted anything so complex or refined, but knowing it was put together by him made it even more of a delicacy. You let out a pleasured hum, barely holding back from getting another bite.

“My compliments to the chef,” you said, taking another sip of wine instead. “It’s almost enough to convince me to eat anything you cook.”

He chuckled. “Oh, if we were not within these four walls, I would have made a whole feast just for you. I’m sure Frederick has told you of my dinner parties.”

“But then it’s likely we wouldn’t have met outside these walls,” you said, not wanting to talk about Doctor Chilton. “Unless, of course, you frequent this sort of place.”

“I am not unfamiliar, I will give you that,” he said. “But our meeting has been the only good thing about this whole situation, and for that, I am grateful.”

You put a hand on your chest, teasingly pretending to be touched. “How sweet, are you going to quote more Byron for me next?”

He laughed, finally digging into his food. Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you continued to eat. Perhaps it was partly due to the wine, but it also helped that you were eager to listen to his thoughts on things. You were well aware of his intelligence, and it was stimulating to finally talk to someone that had so many layers to uncover.

By the time you got to dessert, he was bold enough to spoon feed you the first bite, awaiting your reaction. The taste was just as amazing, but you were more interested in the gesture. The way he was gazing at you with ardor, kindling your insides – A hunger of a different kind. 

“Tell me something,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it weren’t for Frederick, would you have accepted an invitation to dine with me?”

“Depends, if you’d played your cards right, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it would’ve been possible.” You tilted your head to one side slightly. “But you’re much too valuable, are you not? They have to keep you happy.”

“You certainly have.” 

You let out a huff of amusement, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand. Briefly, you thought again of all the rumors circulating about the two of you. This time, though, it didn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore. They’ll keep talking anyway, so why not just do whatever the hell I want?

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Do you always manage to get what you want?” 

He shrugged as if he couldn’t help it, making you chuckle. “What’s your secret, hmm? How do you do it?”

“You aren’t able to come any closer, are you?”

“Of course not, Hannibal.” You pretended to scoff. “We’ve got to keep our hands to ourselves, too.”

There was a devilish grin on your face as you slowly got up from your seat. You slipped your shoes off and brought a finger to your lips to indicate silence. It was titillating, truth be told, to be straddling the fine line between reckless abandon and caution. Especially when you were clearly leaning more towards one side.

“Pity,” he said, watching your every move, smile mirroring your own. “I would have liked to whisper it in your ear.”

You slid onto the chair next to him and he turned his body to face you. You looked down at his jumpsuit, locating the zipper, before looking back into his eyes. He slightly dipped his chin in assent, and you reached a hand up to his chest.

“Tell me something else, then,” you said, dragging it down slowly so as not to make much noise. 

“Like what?” he asked, holding his breath as more and more of his body was revealed. 

His blood was quickly flowing south, the consequences of this becoming apparent as the zipper reached the end of the line. Your mouth fell open in both surprise and eagerness, exhaling a shuddery breath. He kept his hands off as you carefully eased his erection out of his underwear, fingertips brushing the velvety underside.  

“Anything at all,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you? I want to hear your ideas on love.”

You stood up and slid your panties down your legs without lifting your dress too much. You watched him swallow hard as you sat back down, letting the fabric fall on his lap.

“For the mess,” you whispered in his ear, your body pressed close to his. “And a little souvenir for you to keep after.”

He nodded, spine straightening as you planted a kiss just beneath his earlobe. You held his gaze as you spat in the palm of your hand and reached down to curl your fingers around his shaft. His hips immediately bucked into your grip, and you heard him suck in a breath.

“Love, hmm?” He cleared his throat. “You want to know what makes me tick?”

“Absolutely,” you purred, hand moving up and down slowly, wrist flicking slightly when you reached the tip. “Though I may already have a few ideas...”

As much as you wanted to tease him, elongating his pleasure, you didn’t have much time to spare. Your faces were close together, but you fought off the urge to kiss him. His breathing became more labored as your hand continued its rhythmic movements, the heady scent of you – and of your arousal – enveloping him.

He’d had his fantasies about you on many late nights, but your actual touch was another thing entirely, better than what he could have imagined. And knowing he was affecting you in the same way… the chain of his handcuff rattled against the table a little as he strained, trying his hardest not to touch you back. He would want you to be loud, anyway, and that was not an option there.

“W-well, I certainly like to be surprised,” he said haltingly. “And I admire boldness. But to love in itself is a bold a-action, wouldn’t you agree?

“I wouldn’t know much about that,” you said, slicking his pre-cum around the head of his cock with your thumb. “But I do know how to be a lover.”

The light graze of your teeth on his earlobe made his body jerk, his cock pulsing in your hand. You picked up the pace, his chest heaving as his hips almost involuntarily rocked to meet each stroke. Your lips moved to his jaw and down to his neck, and you listened to him babble about something else, trying to fill in the silence. 

Your attention was on his body’s reactions and you could tell he was dangerously close to the edge.  You silently warned him not to stop talking as his cock began to twitch, and you had only seconds before you quickly had to cover your hand with your discarded panties. He bit his bottom lip as he spilled all over the fabric, little noises of pleasure stuck in his throat, one hand gripping your arm. 

You smiled against his skin, lavishing his neck with some more attention as he faintly sighed your name. And when he was done riding out his high, you turned his face towards you and planted a small kiss on his lips as if to reward him. 

He was panting, still lost in the dizzying aftershocks of his orgasm, but you helped clean him up some and zipped his jumpsuit back up, your panties still hidden within. You glanced down at your watch, seeing you only had twenty minutes left. 

You slipped back to your side of the table as if nothing was amiss, but the devious glint in your eyes was undeniable. He was lost and he knew it, already wanting – no, needing – more. So much more. Luckily, it was as you had said; He’d always been good at getting what he wanted.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight, Hannibal,” you sighed contentedly, already aware you would be carrying this with you for the rest of the night. “You sure are good company.”

“As are you,” he said, his voice calmer, though something was lurking underneath. “Perhaps… we might arrange for it to happen soon.”

A thrill danced over your skin at the prospect of it. “Perhaps. Only if you’re on your best behavior.”

------

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter two of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. Reader is described as being "curvy." I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Chapter 1

*************************************************

1934 Philadelphia

The subtle scratch of your pencil against the smooth page of the sketchbook filled your quiet bedroom. One look at the ticking clock on your bedside table stated that it was past midnight, but you didn't care. The dark circles under your eyes the next morning were well worth it, tiredness forgotten as the haze of creativity dulled the weariness of the day you'd had.

It was your fifteenth birthday, and although your parents had thrown you a lavish party to prove that the y/l/n family had not been touched by the destruction of the depression and were not concerned with the horrors of war overseas, there was only one person that you wanted to be there.

Ben wasn't of course. He was still at boarding school number five, and you imagined that a number six was already in order, given his track record.

You smile to yourself when you think of your best friend. You hadn't seen him in two months, not since you walked with him to the train station and he tried to act like he didn't care that his father was sending him away again, but you knew he did.

The things that Ben's father said and did to him made anger surge behind your ribcage. You didn't understand how his father could be so callous, so uncaring. You also hate that it drove Ben to drink, though Ben didn't seem to drink quite as much when you were around, because he knew that you didn't like it.

The party would have been more entertaining if he was there. Yes he did tend to get drunk and flirt with whatever walked past him, but he always had a way of cheering you up. And he had a wonderful knack for keeping your mother at a distance, who prayed that Ben would stay away from you, but never did.

If he was there your mother wouldn't have hovered over you all night, slapping away your hand every time you tried to take a piece of cake or hiss something at you when you pulled at the itchy pink dress that she brought home three days ago, your least favorite color. When you got dressed for the party you felt like a porcelain doll in a China cabinet, made to be looked at, but never touched.

It wasn't too far off. Being the only daughter of one of the richest families that lived in Philadelphia your reputation and pedigree were two of the most important things to your mother. It meant that in a few years you would be married off to another rich family, have rich babies, and then put your own daughter through the same cycle of hell all over again.

Suitors were already beginning to trickle into your life, sons of your father’s business partners each screened by your mother before the introductory meetings where you felt bored, stiff,  choked by the thick fabric of the dresses your mother picked out, and plastered with makeup. All of course the best of Europe, which you had no idea how your mother managed to get given that there was a war on.

Ben was the only thing in your life that wasn't planned and you loved him for it.

You look up at the dark corner of your room to get a view of the long shadows that creep along the bedroom floor, and cut through the light coming from the gas lantern on your bedside table. You try to distinguish the sharp edges and smooth curves and watch them take shape beneath the ministrations of your pencil against the page.

Art was your only escape, the only thing you did that your mother approved of.

"A proper lady should have a hobby." She had sniffed, but then narrowed her eyes at the graphite and ink stains on you hands.

Part of the fun is the mess. You had thought to yourself watching her disapproving look.

A tap on your window makes you lift your gaze from the page and look towards the window seat that faces out the third story of your home onto the street below.

Ben is crouched there on the ledge that juts out only a foot from the outer brick wall a wide smile on his face that you can't help but return. You had been friends since you were both eight, when your parents threw yet another party and you found Ben in one of the side rooms trying to avoid his father. When his father tried to come in to find him, you lied and said you hadn't seen Ben.

And when his mother died two years later, Ben would show up some nights, scaling the large tree outside your window to stay with you. He never wanted to talk about it and you never asked, instead you talked about everything else until you both fell asleep.

You felt your heart thud loudly in your chest and a familiar warmth tracing lightly against your skin when you lock eyes with him. It was hard to be in love with your best friend. But you were, and you couldn't tell him. You didn't want to ruin the only meaningful relationship you'd ever had in your life. Ben knew everything about you, you trusted him and you couldn't imagine what it would be like to live your life without him, didn't want to.

Sometimes you hoped he felt the same way. When you woke up before him in the morning and the light from the window made his hair lighter and he held you close to his chest because in his sleep he had wrapped his arm around you. You liked to pretend that he did it on purpose, not just because there was barely any room between the two of you in your bed because now you both weren't as small as you used to be. You don’t know when Ben got so broad, tall, and muscular, but now it was impossible to ignore, especially being pressed against his chest when you woke.

 It was improper to be that close in bed together of course, but you didn't care. You didn't care what other people thought about him or you. He was your best friend, and although you wished for more, you wouldn't turn your back on him just because other people thought he was trouble.

Which he was.

You put your sketchbook down and go to the window to unlock it. "Ben what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't miss your birthday." He smirks as you take his hand to help him into your bedroom.

"What about school?"

"Wasn't a good fit." Ben pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and you try not to think about what it would be like to do it yourself.

"Uh-huh. What you're really saying is that you flunked out of another boarding school just to make it back for my birthday. Right?" You laugh.

"Thought it would be a nice birthday surprise." He leans forward with a smirk. "Would you like to unwrap your present?"

You roll your eyes and raise a hand to push him back, but he catches it against his chest.

"Come on. You're telling me that you didn't miss me? Not even a little?" Ben pretends to be hurt.

Of course you missed him. When he wasn't there it felt like apart of you was gone, but you couldn't tell him that. You knew that Ben didn't feel the same way. He was just flirty, all the time.

"No."

"Liar." He says. "How was the big party?"

"Oh it was the bee's knees." You snark. "I danced with Howard Stine and he stepped on my toes, my mother didn't let me eat and bought me a ridiculous dress-"

"Let me guess, pink?"

"Pink and ruffly. I looked like a giant cupcake."

"I'm sure Howard loved it." Ben sing-songs.

"Shut up." You punch his arm. "He's not that bad-"

"With a boring name like Howard, imagine how boring he'd be in-"

"Big talk from a guy named Benjamin." You interrupt.

The look in Ben's eyes darkens for a minute. "I'd be happy to prove you wrong."

You shake your head at him to stop the flush in your cheeks and avoid the way your breath catches in your chest at his words.

It would be so easy to give in to him, but you knew that Ben didn't see you that way. Ben had chased after anything and everything that caught his eye. If you were to give in, you were afraid of what would happen after. Ben was your best friend and if you crossed that line what would it mean?

"You're incorrigible."

"If that's another word for gorgeous then yes, yes I am."

You turn back to the bed and where your sketchbook waits, trying to calm your racing heart.

"But you don't want your birthday present?" Ben asks from behind you.

"What happened to you being the present?"

"I am a gift, but I did get you something."

You turn and see that Ben is holding out a package wrapped in gold paper a little bit larger than a book. Surprise momentarily spikes at the back of your mind. Ben had gotten you gifts in the past, but you hadn't expected one this year, especially since he just got out of boarding school.

"Did you steal it?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not this time."

You take the box from his hand and sit down on your bed to peel back the paper. "I can't believe you actually wrapped this."

"The saleswoman did. Now she was really-"

"Don't need to know." You shake your head with a smile, eyes still on the gift. When you finally pull back the paper you can't help but smile. It's a box of watercolor paints, a package of brushes, and a small pad of watercolor paper. "Ben-" You look up at him with a wide smile. "Thank you!"

 "Do you like them?" Ben asks hesitantly, he looks almost nervous.

"I love them! I've never tried to paint before."

"I know. I remember said you wanted to try. Plus I thought you could do some nice nudes of me in color-" Ben smirks.

"Ben!" You snort.

“I’m just trying to help you learn how to draw anatomy.” He wets his lips with his tongue arching an eyebrow in a challenge. “Of course there are more fun ways that I could teach you that.”

“Ben!” You flush bright red.

“Sorry. Sometimes you’re too easy.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” You shake your head at him with a smile.

An odd look crosses his face, but it disappears as quickly as you see it.

"Honestly, thank you. I can't wait to try these out." You look back down at the paints, admiring the silver box they came in.

"You're welcome."

Ben hovers by the window at the edge of your room as if debating whether or not he should stay. After all these years you noticed that Ben had trouble with the idea that you genuinely wanted him there. You knew it stemmed from his father's constant disapproval and his father's constant need to push him away, and it made your heart break for him.

And yes, maybe Ben did fill his life with brief flings and alcohol, but he was still your Ben.

"You’re going to stay right? Because you’ve already missed my birthday and I’d like to know how you got kicked out of boarding school number five.”

He nods once a small smile quirking the edge of his lips before he removes the dark jacket with the embossed prestigious logo of the aforementioned boarding school. It catches on his shoulders and you look away before he can see your blush.

“Are you hungry?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Ben, when was the last time you put something in your stomach besides alcohol?” You raise an eyebrow. He couldn’t lie to you and you knew he was only saying no because he didn’t want you to have to creep downstairs in the dark and also because he didn’t want to admit that he was hungry.

“Earlier.” He says it with a shrug, looking down at the coat in his hands to avoid your gaze.

“Well I was going to go see if I could find some of that birthday cake anyway. I haven’t eaten since this morning and all I had was half a grapefruit.”

“Another diet?” Ben frowns.

“Mother thinks I can slim down a little more. Says that I’d get more suitors if my hips were not so big.” You try not to dwell too much on it, you’d been dealing with your mother’s constant berating  since you were born. The corset you’d worn at the party was so tight that it left bruises on your hips and under your arms, but your mother had been pleased with how it looked. “She won’t be happy until I’m thinner than a chicken bone I suppose.” Instead of looking at Ben you stand and turn to look at yourself in the full length mirror in the corner. You never thought that your hips were too big or that your chest was, yes you were more curvy than any of your friends but you liked it.

"You shouldn't listen to her."

You shrug.

"I'm serious y/n. You're-" Ben stops talking.

"What?" You turn to look at him again eyes wide and open.

"Well you're-" Ben looks nervous again, tightening his hands on the dark jacket. He swallows. "You're not fat." Ben finishes.

"Well I don't think I'm fat Ben, but thank you." You can't help but be a little disappointed with his answer, you were hoping that he would say that you were beautiful.

My mother thinks I’m fat. You try not to wince when you think it, but instead you focus back on Ben.

"Alright, stay here. Try not to wake my parents up."

"Trust me that's the last thing on my mind doll."

*************************************************

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[yandereworlds]

Care to share some fun facts about Dr. Laurence? *wink wonk* he's such an interesting character and I'd like to know more about him ^^

DR. LAURENCE HEADCANONS!

Dr. Laurence - he's damn good at what he does, no two ways about it. But he's the kind of guy who's got a deck full of cards but only shows you the top two. He's all about strategy, always one step ahead. Not to mention he's got that charisma thing down pat which lets him spin any tale in his favor. 

It goes without saying that due to his medical expertise, Dr. Laurence knows the human body inside and out, including the points of vulnerability. Armed with this knowledge, he doesn't rule out using it on his S/O if situations demand it, but only as a final resort when it comes to neutralizing them. Although he's not a fan of resorting to such measures, he also doesn't hesitate if the situation calls for it.

Dr. Laurence is the type to become easily tongue-tied around his partner. Merely sharing a room with his loved one can get him all rosy-cheeked, with a whirlwind of thoughts sweeping through his mind. He manages to maintain a cool exterior, but internally, he's definitely over the moon!

One thing Dr. Laurence truly enjoys is taking care of his partner's health. While others might consider medical checkup routine, for him, it's an opportunity to share a special, intimate moment with his S/O. Holding them intimately, running checks and tests, these moments are precious to him. Needless to say, the health and well-being of his beloved always top his list of priorities.

Dr. Laurence has a bit of a peculiar habit - he likes to keep mementos of his S/O, sometimes without their knowledge. It could be anything - strands of hair, misplaced eyelashes, or even pieces of clothing. And that hospital gown you wore that one time? He found it irresistible, so he had to keep it. Of course, he stashes these items safely away in a private spot. On the off chance, someone stumbles upon his collection, he swiftly brushes it off as 'random clutter,' but never lets anyone discard it. He'd even go the extra mile figuring out better ways to keep them hidden, and might even bring them home. Is it creepy? Definitely. Does he care? Not really.

Dr. Laurence truly cares about you - so much so that he won't stand by if he sees you neglecting your well-being, even to the point of stepping in forcefully if necessary. If you're refusing to eat, he won't think twice about resorting to a feeding syringe to ensure you're nourished, he'd personally see to it that you maintain your hygiene or even go as far as drugging your food to make you rest if you're overdoing it. Right or wrong, in his eyes, it's unthinkable to watch his darling deteriorating from neglect. So, in his mind, why not step in and do the caring for them?

Dr. Laurence will ensure that your family remains oblivious to your actual situation. He'll spin a tale, something about you being afflicted with a severe illness that demands a long hospital stay and no visitors, lest you spill the truth. But that wouldn't keep your family from sending things your way - stuffed toys, heartfelt cards, fresh flowers. This would irritate him to no end. Why were they showering his darling with such tokens? As if you needed anything else when you had him, right? Despite his frustration, he won't discard these gifts. Instead, he devises a scheme to pass these presents off as his own. So, he replaces their notes with his name, playing the doting partner at every opportunity. "Look, Y/N, I thought this teddy might keep you company." He'd assure your family that their tokens are being received well, all while hijacking their efforts for his own credit.

Dr. Laurence may have good intentions (sometimes), but he's far from flawless. There are moments when his partner's words and actions can really throw him off. Despite being a master at maintaining a pleasant facade, even he has his brink. When pushed too far, his recourse could be as extreme as keeping his S/O sedated for an entire week. Each time you regain consciousness, you'd find that all too familiar syringe stuck in your arm with Dr. Laurence's regretful words, "I never wanted this, Y/N... Maybe rest is what you need." This approach takes a toll on him, too. Missing the sight of your expressive eyes and the sound of your voice? It eats him up inside. But he feels it's a necessary lesson to instill. He sees it as the only way out.

All Dr. Laurence can wish for is that someday, you'll acknowledge that all he's done stems from his profound love for you. You'll get it, won't you? Then both of you can finally find happiness. That's his ultimate wish, no matter what the repercussions might be.

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[simplybakugou]

Story Mode 3 | Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route

⋆ PAIRING: gamer/streamer!kaminari x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: mentions of hospital and stab wound; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1.1K

A/N: i finished this at 1 am last night but passed out right after so proofreading this was a journey lmao. we're getting so close to the end!

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the kaminari cap

Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route Masterlist

The curtain dividing Kaminari’s hospital space got pulled back once more, this time Sero entering the small room. He had a worried expression plastered on his face.

“Did Deku leave?” Sero asked.

Kaminari sat up, wincing when he subconsciously and absentmindedly used his injured arm to move himself. “Yeah he left like ten minutes ago. Where’d you go?”

“I was in the chat room,” Sero blurted out.

Kaminari put Sero’s fidgeting fingers and his nervous nature together as he pursed his lips at his friend. “You told them what actually happened, didn’t you?”

“They kept asking questions, man! I don’t like lying, you know that,” Sero uttered exasperatedly. 

“I didn’t want them to worry…”

“I know and I get that. Just don’t be surprised when you get an angry visitor.” Sero raised his hands up in front of him in defense. 

“Oh god, Mina’s on her way isn’t she?” Kaminari questioned, cringing at the thought of Mina yelling at him like she usually does when he does something stupid.

“I’m not telling you anything, alright?” Sero turned around swiftly, pulling the curtain again to make his exit. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

“Hey! Get back here, you traitor!” Kaminari exclaimed out to Sero, who ignored his pleas and left.

Kaminari leaned back in his bed, looking up at the ceiling as he waited in anticipation. He was convinced Mina was on her way. Or could it be Bakugou that was visiting him? He certainly was angry about the reckless plan Sero and Kaminari had come up with. 

A very large part of Kaminari wanted you to come visit him but he told himself it wasn’t going to happen. You were busy with planning for the party which was happening quite literally tomorrow. He knew you already had a lot in your hands to deal with, which was a major reason why he wanted to keep his wound a secret. 

Also, why would you visit? Everyone kept teasing him about his “relationship” with you, but it could barely be considered a relationship. You both expressed your likeness to one another and that was as far as things got. Who knew if you even liked him enough to visit him anyways…

As Kaminari was swept away in his self-deprecating thoughts, the curtain pulled back once more and Kaminari rolled his eyes internally. “How many times are you gonna barge in here, dude?!”

His eyes flicked downwards to the curtain, taken completely aback when Sero wasn’t standing before him. Instead a woman was. And she looked pissed.

“Um, sorry I think you have the wrong roo–” Kaminari stopped mid-sentence. There was no reason for a random woman to be angry with him… unless…

“Y/N?!” Kaminari exclaimed, sitting up in his bed. He was completely dumbfounded. He had just convinced himself that he wouldn’t see you that night, but here you were. 

You approached his bed, examining his physical state until your eyes landed on his bandaged arm. Your jaw clenched in anger as you looked back to his face. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Kaminari couldn’t respond as he was still processing what had just happened. While texting with you in the chat rooms, his rudimentary brain couldn’t help but create an image of what you looked like. Sometimes you were a celebrity and other times you were just a grey figure he was talking to. But there was no way for his simple brain to ever imagine someone this beautiful to stand before him.

You sat yourself down on the same stool Deku had sat on moments ago. You gingerly grabbed Kaminari’s hand, turning his wrist gently to look at the bandage. “How could you be so reckless?!”

You continued to express how upset you truly were, asking empty but exasperated questions but Kaminari couldn’t hear a word. He was focused on how warm your touch was against his and how soft your fingers were on his skin. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine this scenario… 

“Are you even listening to me?” You asked, even more angered than you were initially. 

Kaminari snapped out of the daze he was in as his golden eyes met your (E/C) ones. Even when you were pissed at him you looked adorable. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your face heated up immediately and to Kaminari’s disappointment you dropped his hand from yours from your flustered reaction. Kaminari winced slightly as you dropped his arm from your touch and you immediately grabbed his arm, more carefully this time, feeling guilty for hurting him accidentally. 

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly.

“No,” Kaminari said, his voice strained. He hunched over, gripping his arm lightly. “You should give it a kiss to make it feel better.”

Your face fell immediately as you saw him holding back a laugh as if he had done the funniest thing he could’ve come up with. “I should smack you right now.”

Kaminari laughed, sitting up straight, grabbing your hand and holding it in his. “Nah, you like me too much to do that.”

You became flustered once more, not used to this smooth side of him in person. “Shut it.”

Kaminari chuckled, amused at how successfully nervous he had made you, thinking your reaction was adorable. “So, you came running over when you found out I got hurt?”

“No, I came running over to yell at you,” You corrected him, even though it was mostly out of concern. 

Kaminari straightened up as he looked at you intensely and more seriously. “I’m sorry for making Sero keep this from you… and for lying to you.”

“You better be.” You narrowed your brows at him. “Don’t ever do something like this again, alright? I don’t care how long I’ve been in this organization. You can’t go and do something this reckless even if it’s for me, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” Kaminari nodded. “Wait, should you even be here like this? It’s way too dangerous for you to be out this late especially when that Unknown guy is still after us.”

“Worry about yourself first, Kaminari,” you said, shaking your head disapprovingly at him. “The office isn’t too far from the hospital so I called a cab straight here.”

Kaminari’s thumb brushed over your knuckles gently as his hand was still wound tightly in yours. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Call you what?”

“Kaminari.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to call me Denki. I only want to be Denki to you.”

“Denki,” you repeated, making him grin widely. You smiled shyly at him as you came to your senses at how close the two of you were. His hand felt strong in yours and your stool was so close to his bed. He was subconsciously leaning into you and you knew exactly what was about to happen.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

[nasa]

Soaring into Aerospace: NASA Interns Take Flight at EAA AirVenture Oshkosh

Sustainable Aviation Ambassadors Alex Kehler, Bianca Legeza-Narvaez, Evan Gotchel, and Janki Patel pose in front of the NASA Pavilion at EAA AirVenture Oshkosh.

It’s that time of year again–EAA AirVenture Oshkosh is underway!

Boasting more than 650,000 visitors annually, EAA AirVenture Oshkosh, or “Oshkosh” for short, is an airshow and fly-in held by the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA). Each year, flight enthusiasts and professionals from around the world converge on Oshkosh, Wisconsin, to engage with industry-leading organizations and businesses and celebrate past, present, and future innovation in aviation.

This year, four NASA interns with the Electrified Powertrain Flight Demonstration (EPFD) project count themselves among those 650,000+ visitors, having the unique opportunity to get firsthand experience with all things aerospace at Oshkosh.

Alex Kehler, Bianca Legeza-Narvaez, Evan Gotchel, and Janki Patel are Sustainable Aviation Ambassadors supporting the EPFD project, which conducts tests of hybrid electric aircraft that use electric aircraft propulsion technologies to enable a new generation of electric-powered aircraft. The focus of Alex, Bianca, Evan, and Janki’s internships cover everything from strategic communications to engineering, and they typically do their work using a laptop. But at Oshkosh, they have a special, more hands-on task: data collection.

“At Oshkosh, I am doing some data collection to better estimate how we can be prepared in the future,” said Janki, an Aerospace Engineering major from the University of Michigan. “Coming to Oshkosh has been an amazing experience… I can walk around and see people passionate about the work they do.”

The NASA Pavilion at EAA AirVenture Oshkosh is full of interactive exhibits and activities for visitors to engage with. NASA Interns Alex, Bianca, Evan, and Janki are collecting data in the pavilion to help improve future exhibits at Oshkosh.

In addition to gathering data to help inform future NASA exhibits and activities at Oshkosh, the interns also have the opportunity to engage with visitors and share their passion for aviation with other aero enthusiasts. For Evan, who is receiving his Master's in Aerospace Engineering from the Georgia Institute of Technology, “being able to be here and talk with people who are both young and old who are interested in what the future of flight could be has been so incredible.”

Alex, Evan, Bianca, and Janki pose in front of NASA’s Super Guppy, a specialized aircraft used to transport oversized cargo.

At Oshkosh, one memory in particular stands out for Alex, Bianca, Evan, and Janki: seeing NASA’s famous Super Guppy in person. With a unique hinged nose and a cargo area that's 25 feet in diameter and 111 feet long, the Super Guppy can carry oversized cargo that is impossible to transport with other cargo aircraft. 

“We had a very lucky experience… We were able to not only see the Super Guppy, we got to get up close when it landed,” said Bianca, who is receiving her Master's in Business Administration with a specialization in Strategic Communications from Bowling Green State University. “From a learning experience, it gave me a way better basis on cargo aircraft and how they operate.” 

For Alex, who is receiving his Master's in Aeronautical Engineering from the Georgia Institute of Technology, it was exciting to see the Super Guppy’s older technology integrated with newer technologies up close. “There have been a lot of good memories, but I think the best one was the Super Guppy. It was cool to see this combination of 60’s and 70’s technology with this upgraded plane.”

Evan and Janki pose for a photo while walking around EAA AirVenture Oshkosh.

With Oshkosh coming to a close this Sunday, July 30, Alex, Bianca, Evan, and Janki also reflected on advice they have for future NASA interns on how they can get the most out of their internship: be curious and explore, connect with people who work in the field you’re interested in, and don’t be afraid to ask questions.

Alex advises potential NASA interns to “dream big and shoot for your goals, and divide that up into steps… In the end it will work out.” For Bianca, being open and exploring is key: “take opportunities, even if it’s the complete opposite thing that you were intending to do.”

“Ask questions all the time,” said Evan. “Even outside the internship, always continue asking people about what they are knowledgeable on.” And Janki encourages future interns to “Follow your own path. Get the help of mentors, but still do your own thing.”

Visiting Oshkosh and want to see NASA science in action? Stop by the NASA Pavilion, located at Aviation Gateway Park, and see everything from interactive exhibits on sustainable aviation, Advanced Air Mobility, Quesst, and Artemis to STEM activities–and you may even meet NASA pilots, engineers, and astronauts! At Oshkosh, the sky’s the limit.

Interested in interning with NASA? Head over to NASA’s internship website to learn more about internship opportunities with NASA and find your place in (aero)space.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[youcouldmakealife]

How did James realise he was in love with Holden? Not that we can't see it in his actions, but Holden I think is more vocal (in his thoughts at least) about what he loves about James?

He was already there before they got to Winnipeg.

Here's a few things in full disclosure.

None of them are outright, but, as you say, Holden's more vocal, who's used love or head over heels a few times already in his internal monologue, so we all knew it was coming sooner rather than later, since his internal monologue has a tendency to become an external monologue if he isn't careful (and that isn't a word I'd use to describe him, though it's a great one to describe James.)

And factually speaking, it hadn’t even been a few days. Hardly more than twenty-four hours since he’d last woken up beside Holden, and James was breathing him in like it’d been weeks since he’d last had a chance to touch him. Longer.

The way James frames this it's easy to miss that he is literally counting hours since he last got his Holden Chase fix.

Very important note for this and all the following: they are on a trip together. They can see each other. They have spoken. It's sometimes hard to remember, because they're both being such dramatic bitches this whole trip you'd think there was a continent between them and they couldn't even send letters.

After James could finally detach from him without feeling like he was about to hyperventilate,

The thought of not touching Holden putting James on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack was...perhaps a sign.

Created guidelines, James holding onto every part of Holden he could reach the entire time, like he was the blanket James dragged with him everywhere as a child.

James loved that blanket so much. Don't ever talk to him about it.

...finding Holden sitting among their teammates at the airport gate, eyes on his own phone. Exactly where he was five minutes ago, the last time James looked for him. It may have been less than five. Possibly closer to three.

He is now counting minutes.

But homesick or not, for the first time James can remember, he doesn’t want to lock the door behind him, mute his phone, turn away any visitors who arrive at his door. Doesn’t want to barricade himself in his home until he can stand being around people again. For once, James doesn’t want to be alone. It scares him a little. Would probably scare him more if Holden wasn’t clearly experiencing the same sort of emotions, though he doesn’t seem to be scared at all.

This is James Alexander Erickson for 'I'm totally in love with him good thing it's obvious as fuck it's mutual'. He knows.

Also, kind of too much/not easy to quote, but he wouldn't have told Mrs. Schneider there was someone in his life if he hadn't been in love at that point. The fact he was dreading dinner with the Schneiders so much was him knowing that he was going to have to be honest because lying about there not being someone would feel like a betrayal.

He doesn’t know what Finn knows, and he isn’t sure he wants to, but he does trust him. With everything, and Holden’s part of that now. A big one, he thinks.

Also this bit.

Everything but the words said at that point. He hadn't said the words to himself then, or at any point before Holden said them out loud, but as soon as Holden did he had a sort of... 'oh okay that makes sense me too'. reaction (after a slight delay. Because he processes things more slowly than most, especially verbally, and also he had, you know, been awake 30 seconds when Holden said it.)

Horrifying note to end this up: it has been less than a week, timeline wise, since that part occurred, because these two have had an...eventful few weeks.

(What a hilarious fucking treat it will be to do an LBTE of these two lunatics some day in the future.)

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 4

"Hey Eddie, what happens if you stick a finger up someone's ass?", Dustin asked.

Eddie choked on nothing and looked up from the map he'd been studying. He cleared his throat and flailed his hands at his young ward.

"The fuck Henderson?"

"I asked Steve about it once but he said he wouldn't tell me yet."

"Steve?!" Eddie got up while slamming his hands down. "As in the prince? As in the one I have locked away in the dungeon as we speak?"

"Yeah", Dustin replied, unbothered by the shadows shifting behind Eddie as his hair began to stand on end.

"I will say this in the simplest terms I can. Stay. Away. From Harrington."

Dustin put down the anatomy book he'd been reading. "But he's not dangerous. At least not while he's caged up. He's got pretty decent knowledge of how to hurt someone though."

"Oh I'm sure. He comes from a long line of people who live to hurt." Eddie moved from behind his desk, leaving the map behind. The fireplace was burning bright, the sun had set long ago and Eddie should have sent Dustin to bed by now, but he liked the company. "You know what his family has done."

"I do, but it's not like he's done it. He doesn't deserve to sleep in a shit hole just because his family is a bunch of assholes", Dustin said.

"And who's to say he isn't just as much of an asshole? Apples don't fall far from trees." Eddie moved to stare into the fire. He had been studying the map of his kingdom to think of ways to move his citizens and creatures. He didn't want to displace people, nor seem like he was conceding the border, but the Harringtons weren't giving him much of a choice.

"Can't you just give him some new clothes? He's literally starting to smell."

"I want you to stay out of the dungeons. You keep it up and I'll tell your mom that you're fraternizing with the enemy."

Dustin let out an offended scoff, upset that Eddie would go as far as tattling on him. Well, he had ways around that. Curious about the royal hostage, Dustin had intercepted the servant going to give him his meal and took over that task. But since Eddie told him he couldn't go anymore, Dustin got someone else instead.

Mike had to be bribed with a book, but he went and asked Steve what was worse, internal bleeding or dying of infection.

"Are you one of Dustin's friends?"

"Just answer the question so I can get outta here", Mike sighed.

"I'm not a doctor. I don't know which is worse. But infection is definitely more gross", Steve said. "Especially if it's on your-"

"On your what?", Mike pressed.

Steve considered how much of a pest Dustin was when he didn't get a straight answer and decided that having a conversation partner so he told Mike what he knew about infections while eating. Mike's jaw never left the floor.

"Eddie was wrong about you. You're so-!" Mike stopped short when Steve looked up at him. "You're uh, you're fine, I guess. Do you know a lot about gross stuff like that?"

"I don't know about a lot. I know a thing or two", Steve shrugged. That name came up again, Eddie. Steve was almost interested enough to ask about him but figured he was probably just someone else in the castle that hung out with these kids. And apparently he was someone they looked up to.

From then on, he had a rotation of visitors to bring him food. Dustin was still around, and he'd met Mike. But now there was also Lucas, who mostly asked about the fighting techniques Steve knew about. He also met Will, who usually came with a list of questions Dustin had but also asked about his kingdom in general. Something about the whole thing caught Steve off guard and he asked Dustin the next time he saw him.

"Does your king only employ children?"

"What? No, we don't get paid, but we should", Dustin rolled his eyes as he slid the food over. "We just live here. Lucas and Mike wanna be squires. And I-"

"Where are all the monsters?", Steve asked.

"You probably mean the demobeasts. They live outside, you know, like most animals." Dustin looked at him like he was stupid. It was a common expression on his face.

"They're not like, crawling around?", Steve hadn't even seen so much as a rat, even here in his cell.

"It's not a wild house", Dustin crossed his arms. "I brought one demodog into the castle and Eddie lost it just because it tore up some scrolls."

"You and this Eddie guy hang out a lot? How come you've never sent him down here?", Steve asked.

"He's pretty busy. Plus, he doesn't like you that much."

Steve didn't need to ask why. He was an enemy prince, after all. So far, only Dustin and his friends had shown him anything resembling kindness. Just a day ago, someone had been sent to 'clean' him. Which was really just tossing a bucket of cold water at him. And even those that knew him beyond his status weren't so loving and warm. It was why Steve wasn't surprised that his family had yet to burst through the doors to save him.

--------------------------

Alric had known long before he got a letter that his son had been taken and by whom. Steve's escorting party had returned much sooner than planned. Many of them injured, but none dead. They had reported to their king the events and just who was responsible. Still, Alric waited for the official word, just to see what that devil of a king wanted in exchange for his son.

It turned out to be a call to end his aggression and enter a truce. A call to discuss the details of the truce more in person. To sit at the same table as equals and figure out how to live harmoniously as neighbors.

He threw the letter into the fire.

Such terms were unthinkable, as was sending a reply of any kind. Alric would allow his silence to do the talking.

When it went on week three without any sort of word, Eddie called his council to discuss.

"What does it mean when a king doesn't care about his prince?", Eddie had asked.

"It's got to be a ploy", Nancy said. "He wouldn't abandon his only son."

"Unless he was some sort of disgrace", Jeff said. "But then again, something like that would have hit the rumor mill already."

"How can a prince be disgraced? They get away with everything", Robin commented.

Eddie was pacing around the table in the council room. "The point is, dear old dad doesn't seem to bothered with this. It's almost like he wants to be rid of him."

"So what do we do?", Jeff asked.

"We need a clearer picture", Nancy said.

"Clearer picture...", Eddie mused, pausing in his pacing. Then he let out a very loud, every exaggerated groan while bending so far backwards his head almost touched the floor. "Time to visit my favorite hostage."

Part 6

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void

[mixelation]

oh yeah i also wrote some of the fall out of the chunin exams from minato's pov

the [...] marks an unwritten scene or two lmao

***

Minato looked at the genin’s report first thing in the morning, opening it even before his assistant brought him coffee. 

He was surprised it was in Tori’s handwriting and not Itachi’s. Itachi had always been picky about reports (and everything else anyone might do), and Minato often found his notes even on subordinates’ individual reports. Surely Itachi hadn’t told Tori to do the report. But the alternative also seemed strange. Who could convince Itachi not to at least write his own notes?

The format was also non-standard, but Minato didn’t mind it. Tori had somehow condensed the entire mission into a single page, front and back, with important events succinctly outlined in a logical, easy-to-read flow. To this page she’d stapled twenty-seven pages of what seemed to be notes on the conversation they’d had to produce this report, which were more detailed but not in an order that was easy for an outsider to follow. 

The contents of the report turned out to be insane. 

Minato had talked in length with Kushina about her version of events. He knew the details of the actual exam, their plan and Iwa’s eventual attack. He knew that, somehow, Itachi would end up rescuing Kushina alone while Tori and Deidara had gone after Morino. He knew what Itachi had deemed important for him to know immediately, which was that Tori had elected to make several decisions to manipulate Konoha’s international relations. 

He had assumed the way they’d accomplished these things would be wild. He’d somehow underestimated how wild. 

For one thing, apparently Deidara had fought the Tsuchikage. This was stated very matter-of-factly in the middle of a paragraph with no particular fanfare, and made Minato choke on his coffee. 

There weren’t even any supplementary notes about this fact. Deidara had barged into the Tsuchikage’s box, screamed to a bunch of foreign dignitaries about Iwa kidnapping his sensei while everyone was distracted by the tournament, and then he’d fought the Tsuchikage. That was it. No further comment. 

Deidara had also done this with enough skill to then leave the battle site in sufficient chaos that no one had been able to immediately follow him. This at least had detail; Deidara had simply broken enough of the building that the Tsuchikage’s guard he hadn’t killed needed all hands on deck to save their important foreign visitors from its imminent collapse. 

Jiraiya had linked Deidara to a lot of destroyed structures– and buildings which were only partially destroyed in very sophisticated, calculated ways– but what the fuck. Deidara was eleven. A team of Iwa demolition experts couldn’t pull that off nearly as cleanly. 

Part of Minato’s assumptions had been that Tori and Deidara had stayed together. Tori was extremely clever, and probably much more talented in fuuinjutsu than she let on, but she was very demonstrably not well-skilled in combat, and she’d shut down her own chakra in a last-ditch effort to stave off her own poisoning. That she would stick to a more combat-oriented person in a support role had been her MO as long as Minato had known her. 

This, it turned out, was an incorrect assumption to the degree that Minato wasn’t even really sure how Tori had accomplished what she had. She had… simply walked into Iwa T&I, if he was reading this correctly. The report simply said she’d “infiltrated it through the back door.” Her supplemental notes clarified she’d done this via “the super secret jutsu of being twelve and unintimidating.” Then she’d called on a random T&I employee that she described as “looking slightly confused about his job (you know the type)” and convinced him they were meant to be relocating prisoners to help her move Morino. 

These… these were not normal infiltration tactics. Minato had no idea what she was talking about. 

At least with Itachi, Minato knew he was one of Konoha’s best and brightest. Minato would never order him to infiltrate a place by himself, but he understood how he’d done it with ample abuse of genjutsu and murder. He didn’t understand how Itachi had known where Kushina would be, and this was never commented on, but this question was extremely low priority. 

Minato called back in his assistant and asked for a second coffee, and for her to schedule an all-day meeting the next day with Team 4 and some of Konoha’s leadership. 

He probably wouldn’t keep everyone there all day. But he wanted everyone available. 

The rest of his day was spent in more meetings on the Iwa fiasco. Morino was stable and talking, which pleased him. Tori’s report was copied and passed around to various offices for record-keeping and analysis, to see if anyone could divine Iwa’s motives and goals from their actions. 

Shikaku sauntered into his debriefing with Minato with a copy in his hand. 

“What the fuck is this?” he said, waving it. 

“Team 4 is… resilient under stress?” Minato tried. 

“More like Team Disaster,” Shikaku snorted, then dropped into a chair across from Minato. 

Minato liked Shikaku. He’d call them work friends, maybe, as much as a Kage and his subordinate could be work friends. Shikaku was several years older and had usually been stationed in different parts of the war from Minato, but their sons were the same age, and Shikaku was always open for commiseration about the joys and challenges of fatherhood. Minato didn’t really get invited to afterwork events, but sometimes when they were both working late, Shikaku would show up with a couple beers and a few moments of friendly chat. 

Today Shikaku’s friendly observation was, “Do you think they’re lying?”

Minato stared at him, nonplussed. “About what?”

Shikaku slapped the papers he was holding with the back of his free hand. “All of it. Some of it. It’s pretty unbelievable. A team of our best Jounin couldn’t pull this off.”

Minato frowned down at the original report, laid out on his desk. It did… well, it had occurred to him that some of Tori and Deidara’s parts, which neither Kushina nor Itachi had witnessed personally, might be exaggerated. 

“Itachi was with them when Tori wrote the report,” Minato said finally. “He wouldn’t put up with a story he didn’t find believable.”

“He’s a genius, but he’s still only thirteen,” Shikaku said. “I’m not saying it’s likely. I’m saying it’s possible. Both Inoichi and I agree you didn’t do enough to vet those two.”

Minato sighed and leaned back in his seat. They’d been over this. He, too, would have liked to vet Tori and Deidara more and give them a longer probation period, but he’d also needed them for this mission. 

“Let’s assume it’s a true and fair report of events for today,” Minato said at length. “I’ll let you and Inoichi grill them to your hearts’ content tomorrow.”

Sikaku raised his eyebrows. “And grill them I will,” he promised. “Fighting the Tsuchikage and his guard in close combat? Being twelve no jutsu? C’mon.”

They moved onto what Minato actually wanted Shikaku to talk about. It was unclear what Iwa’s motive was, or what their plan had been, if any, and for how long they’d been planning it. Their many, many analyses of Iwa’s movements and communications leading up to the chunin exam had borne no major red flags.

Tori’s report had made the astute observation that the window for synthesizing and then implementing the chakra poison before it broke down was quite narrow. Iwa would have had to produce it all during the week prior to the tournament, which meant there was some advanced planning, but they theoretically could have made these plans after Team 4 had arrived. 

“They would have had to arrange all the equipment and ingredients too,” Shikaku pointed out. “That would have taken months.”

“Unless they already had it for other reasons,” Minato said. This idea, unfortunately, raised a bunch of other questions about why. 

“True,” Shikaku replied. “But they’ve never used it before, and we have no intel on what they might need it for that they couldn’t get some other, less convoluted way.”

Shikaku had also gone through the reports on the exam itself, both the half-page Tori had dedicated to it and Kushina’s sprawling initial report she’d penned while babbling to Minato about how she was okay, she promised.

“There’s at least four places I believe an assassination was attempted,” Shikaku concluded. “Your Team Disaster just… didn’t notice, somehow.”

“Oh,” Minato said. He… also hadn’t noticed. 

“The first is during the second phase of the chunin exam,” Shikaku said. “Kushina-san states that Tori was attacked by six other participants.”

“Oh,” Minato repeated, now seeing the problem. This had really been a blip on his radar too; Kushina had not expended an ounce of concern for her weakest student. This detail had only made it into the report as an example of Tori making friends immediately with a Kiri-nin in line for the Seven Swordsmen. 

But no, actually, they had split up the Konoha genin and sent them off with inadequate weapons. This would have seemed immediately suspicious and unfair, if only it had slowed any of the genin down remotely. 

“If I’m right that they were assassination attempts, the earlier attempts are sloppy,” Shikaku observed. “They might have been less well planned. A rushed decision, maybe.”

“Why?” Minato asked. 

Shikaku stared at him meaningfully. “You waltzed one of their pet project kids right in there and said he was yours.”

Well. 

“That reason doesn’t explain the poison synthesis,” Minato said finally. 

“True,” Shikaku agreed. “It’s not the best theory. But we don’t have a best theory yet.”

The last item they discussed was the one that gave Minato the most anxiety. 

“The reason they chose chakra poisoning…” he started. The main reason villages had started trying to stock it during the war was that it was one of the very few ways to reliably take down a jinchuriki. 

Shikaku let out a long, tired breath. 

“We’ve had no known intelligence breeches on Kushina-san,” he said finally. “My current theory is that because she’s a wildcard and all they really knew was that she has high chakra reserves, they wanted something guaranteed to work. But I have no way to verify this.”

“I get Jiraiya on it,” Minato decided. 

The Tsuchikage’s communication on the matter arrived by hawk late in the evening, which was about the fastest turnaround time Minato could have expected. 

Minato was, at least, in a decent mood when he received it. Kushina had brought Naruto and a home cooked meal up to the office for dinner, and he’d had a good forty-five minutes of laughter and a good-bye kiss from his wife. Shikaku hadn’t come by with a beer, but Akimichi Chouza’s wife had sent a tin of sweet sticky rice treats up to the other two thirds of Shika-Ino-Cho, also working late on this, and a couple of them had ended up on Minato’s desk. 

The Tsuchikage’s letter was brief. He did not mention Kushina at all, offering no apology, explanation, or even acknowledgement his village had done anything to her. Instead, he wrote condolences for Minato’s out of control team and forgiveness for their incredible feats of property damage. 

As an act of good faith, we will not request monetary compensation for said damages, only that your team be appropriately disciplined, the Tsuchikage’s secretary had written. We do request an international statement from you, disavowing the heinous and untruthful lies your genin chose to shout at our guests in what we could only assume was a poorly considered prank. 

Damages listed all but outright admitted that Deidara had indeed personally attacked the Tsuchikage and then sauntered off largely unharmed. Minato couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

What the fuck?

xXx

[...]

xXx

Two things of note happened the following week. 

One, the Mizukage sent him a letter, penned by her own hand. 

I have heard a terrible rumor, which if true, we in Kiri find most sympathetic, the letter started. Further down the page, she continued, Of course, Kiri must discourage any unnecessary retaliation, especially given… [here, Terumi Mei listed a non-exhaustive list of six different post-war treaties] …but know that should this escalate, Kiri is ready to honor its alliance, if we find this rumor to be true. 

Terumi Mei then requested Konoha’s official statement in a tone that Minato would venture to call gossipy, and hinted that she wanted to know if he wanted her to contact the Tsuchikage or not. She’d left a lipstick print next to the Mizukage seal, which… Minato was not going to unpack. 

Their alliance with Kiri wasn’t especially strong. Kiri had switched their allegiance from the Konoha-Suna side to Iwa-Kumo midway through the war; they’d only negotiated from a peace agreement up to something more like an “alliance” when Terumi Mei had taken over. Their shinobi still regularly clashed along the border, and all their alliance meant was that Minato and Mei just sort of politely looked away and didn’t escalate. On top of that, one of the post-war agreements, as insisted upon by the leader of Ame who’d strong-armed his way into negotiations last moment, was that no shinobi village could enter into an alliance which would require them to join another village’s declaration of war. In other words, an “alliance” didn’t mean Kiri would fight with them, or even lift a finger for them, should the need come. 

But it was probably the most positive letter he’d ever gotten from another Kage. 

Kiri’s support was also, notably, not something Oonoki seemed to believe Konoha had achieved in his communications. This was a definite win for them. 

Nice job, Tori, Minato thought. 

Then he buried his face in his hands at the thought. No. Tori could never find out that had worked the way she’d thought it would, or else she would interpret this as carte blanche to do whatever she wanted. 

The second thing that happened threw their entire intelligence department for a loop. 

He received a letter, not by hawk, but in the form of an animated, flying paper crane. It landed on his desk and then just sat there while his entire ANBU guard descended upon it. Minato was shuffled out of his office while a total of ten experts verified it was safe to touch. 

Eventually, someone unfolded the paper to discover it was a letter. 

Ame has uncovered some information you might find interesting, a feminine hand had written. We invite you to visit to talk it over. Attach one of your Hiraishin to this paper and come by whenever you wish. 

Under it she’d written: 

You may bring whoever you like. Your Team 4 seems interesting, for example. 

“There’s no way that’s not a trap,” Shikaku said when Minato read it outloud. “Definitely don’t do that.”

Shikaku was right. No one in their right mind would invite Minato to send in a Hiraishin marker. Still, Minato pouted about it to Kushina in bed. 

“No one ever invites me,” he complained. Hiruzen had visited other villages plenty of times. Other Kage regularly got to go show up for Chunin Exams, at the very least. But nooo, everyone politely suggested he just send a representative, because he was the scary guy who’d just plant markers to break in again whenever he wanted and kill everyone or whatever they thought would happen. 

“I wouldn’t plant a Hiraishin marker on an ally,” Minato said. 

Kushina looked up from her second attempt to get through the most recent Icha Icha. 

“Yes, you would,” she said bluntly. 

Minato pouted some more.

[beiasluv]

Hiii! Love your writing! I was wondering if you can write a cute avatar fic with the reader is human and lo’ak or netayam falling in love with reader and always checking on her like checking if her mask is on properly and stuff. Thank youuuu 🥰🥰🥰

lo’ak x human!reader

a/n: YES PLEASE, I WANNA WRITE FOR LO’AK / enjoy 🤍

masterlist

being one of those babies who got left on pandora has its pro’s and con’s

pro’s, you get to spend time on this excellent planet, instead of the crusty dusty earth.

con’s, it gets quite lonely.

you imagine it couldn’t get worst; until your human friend, spider, wandered out of the lab for the first time. not being of the age yet, you were basically left behind by him.

for the first few times, you felt isolated and lonely in the lab. you started to recognize how weird the lab actually is, how quiet it gets during the day and night, how the pandora plants glowed in the dark, and different tools wiring around the lab

spider, being a good friend he is, never visited the lab, unless he is terribly hungry. which, he crammed a lot of stuff into his mouth, and without a glance, he’s off into the forest.

well, you always like to babble to grace since you were a baby. now, she’s your only candle burning. it felt weird at first, but who is there to actually care? none, you can talk none sense all day long.

grace twitches sometimes to your blabbing but non other than that. crazy as it might sound, it gave you a little hope that she was listing to your heart and soul.

until one day, spider brought some visitors.

he introduced you to kiri and lo’ak. your breath was taken away by the resemblance of kiri to grace, it was like eywa responded to your prayer for a friend. kiri connected to you immediately like you’ve known each other for so long. well, she’s glad that at least there is another girl alive.

the other visitor gave you a lingered look on your small frame and your face

you didn’t say anything but a lump in your throat started to form. had to excuse yourself out of the room to catch some breath, but faith isn’t quite on your side, or is it?

“hey, i saw you back there, are you okay?” he crouched down held your shoulder questioning.

“i- i am fine, thank you.”

“by the way, i’m lo’ak, nice to meet you,” he held out his blue giant hand.

“i’m y/n,” you reached out for his hand, which it engulfed your tiny hand in it, spreading the coldness against your skin.

lo’ak was definitely screaming internally how small your hand was compared to his. on that moment, unknowingly, he made a vow to protect you and swear with his life on it.

“your face is getting hot, are you okay?” you cubbed his reddened face in your tiny hands.

flustered lo’ak entered the chat

now, that was about 5 years ago. lo’ak was still a baby (even though he was bigger than you, but anyways) you guys were still 13 years old. until these past few years, puberty hit him like a BUS

he had grown taller, obviously, and more muscly. his chubby face grew some sharp angles, contrasting to his soft pouty lips

your frame had changed as well. you’ve grew more comfortable in your own flesh and body, which lo’ak definitely noticed.

he just loves how tiny you are (compared to him) and how easily he can crush your bone in his hand. hell yeah, he can even lift you off the ground with one hand. it made him even more determined to protect you from everything this planet had to offer

you guys didn’t grew only physically, but also emotionally. your souls bonded and fitted together perfectly like a piece that was missing from each other.

one day, lo’ak decided to took an action and asked you to be his partner, and he did it the sweetest way possible.

that whole day, i can guarantee that you guys barely had a moment where you skins are not touching each other. he lovesss staying close to you, especially that special day.

when you agreed to finally leave the lab, he was so thrilled. to the point that he never leave your side like you are a baby 🥺

“got your mask?” he caressed your face.

“yep.”

“oxy- oxygen tank?”

“yep.”

“good girl,” 😳 he petted your hair. “let’s go,” without a second word you are hurled up against his back.

always carrying you arounddddd. when you say you can walk yourself he would be like: “noooo, sweetheart, you will hurt your feet, let me carry you.”

if you say he’ll get tired he’ll say that he’ll never get tired of you, plus you fitted perfectly in his embrace. AHEM, just another excuse to hold you close.

of course, he loves to change up the position around. his favorite is bridal style, cuz who doesn’t love seeing your face every time he looks down. plus, he can feel your hands around his neck and your breath against his chest.

your favorite have to be piggy back, ALL THE WAY. you love holding your body against his back. plus, teasing him by kissing his neck is so funny. he’ll tremble in your touch and his purrs will slip out 😳

if you are flying together, he will be super extra EXTRA careful for you, like wrapping an arm around your waist smth like that 😩

will and definitely have a safe word with you. if he gets too extreme sometimes, you’ll have to pull him back (you dirty minded, guys, i was talking about like jumping off a clif or smth 😳)

but you rarely have to use the safe word because he is super caring for youu

he knows how your much your human body can take and will be super acknowledging towards that. if you are tired, he will immediately drop everything and hold you close so you can have a nappy time 🥺

made it as his habit to always carry around an extra mask, in case sometime goes wrong

buttt his favorite of all time would be touching your skin and hands

it brings comfort to him when he knows that he isn’t the only one with five fingers in the family. well, yes, his dad might have them, but he never really acknowledged the judgment from others. people respected him, lo’ak just wanted a simpler life like his dad’s.

your babyboy is sad, so you will do something. every night, he will be showered with comforting and reassuring words. holding his hand and emphasizing on his pinkie, you will kiss them one by one. intertwining them as if you will never take them off.

“see, we have the same pinkie, and these fingers are special. you are special to me, lo’ak.”

we all know that in that moment he wanted to crush you in his arm and inject you into his vein. he loves you so much but it pains him for not being able to hold your face.

so, obviously, his favorite place to spend time with you is at the lab. BECAUSE he can caress your face and every inch of you without the problem of the mask.

he loves tracing down from your eyebrows, feeling the tickling sensation against his fingertips, your nose, how they are more curved out from your face than his, and your mouth, touching your juicy lips as he resist the urge to plant a kiss on them

going down your chin, neck, and everything AAAAA

you LOVE touching his nose, how cute it is and how it twitches to every little sensitive things. your honorable mention is his tail, how it brushes and wraps against your skin.

BUTT YOU LOVE EVERY PART OF HIM PERIODT

he will DROOL if he sees you wearing them na’vi clothes. he loves how it accentuated your body and every part of you.

obviously, because it was more revealing to him and he is OBSESSED. gets protective when other people look at you tho >: “you are only my sight to see, only for me”

obsessed with your hairrr

whether it is straight, curly, wavy, long, or short he will find a way to style it according to na’vi’s culture.

will beg kiri to braid your hair and compliment you every 10 seconds

OVERALL = PROTECTIVE LO’AK BBG FOR YOU 10000/10

today’s a great day to take a break 🤍 emotionally and physically, you deserve it <3

@rosaryos / @bumblinbumblvee / @nyotamalfoy / @fangirl-2610 / @astablacksword / @lokisblueskin

[orobivrse]

scrap metal ♡ (frobin)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: nico robin x franky

wc: 2.2k

cw: mental illness, depression, body dysmorphia, dysphoria (but like cyborg dysphoria), comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive references, self harm, franky feels less than human

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I know x reader tends to do better on this app but I deeply adore frobin and I've always thought about the idea of franky struggling with his humanity. Its been a headcanon of mine since he was properly introduced.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Franky could never understand people who didn't have an inner monologue. His brilliant mind runs a hundred miles a minute; he's always got something to think about. He internally discusses future inventions and ship-building plans or sings to himself while he works. He spends most of his time thinking about his Nico Robin. He replays the day she said yes to being his partner in his head daily; he could spend hours thinking about her hair and smile. The mere thought of her tears fills Franky with a deep-seated rage. All she has to do is look at him, and he's on cloud nine.

Franky is in his development room, working on a new weapon design, when the door creaks open. He looks up to see Robin making her way over to where he's standing by his desk.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he says, his voice raising in volume as his mood picks up instantly upon seeing the woman he loves. Robin giggles at the affectionate term and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss the underside of Franky's jaw.

“Hello, Honey.” One of Franky's large hands settles around her waist to keep her at his side. Thinking about Robin when she's not with him, his emotions run high, but when she's in his arms, he's completely relaxed and able to enjoy her company without wandering fears of losing her literally or figuratively. He leans down and pushes his face into her neck; the cold of his metal nose makes her flinch at first, but once she adjusts to the feeling, she threads a hand through his hair and lets out a happy sigh as Franky presses his lips to her skin. He's wary of how much bigger than Robin he is and hurting her is an unforgivable sin, so he's gentle with his affection. He might be gentle, but he's still a pervert, so when his palm opens up to reveal a smaller hand that dips into the waistband of Robin's skirt, she tugs his hair to get him to lean back and look her in the eyes. She presses a kiss to his lips, which he happily reciprocates. “As handsome and tempting as you are, you need to behave. Anybody could walk in.”

She's right - of course, she is - Usopp, Chopper and Nami are all frequent visitors to Franky's workshop. He nods at her words, flushing red at the compliments. The compliments he's used to refer exclusively to how cool and ‘inhuman’ he looks. People tell him how talented he is as a shipwright and inventor in general, but anything regarding his looks comes off more as someone talking about a suped-up car than a human being. It's the one thing he can't get used to in his relationship with Robin. He knows she's not lying to him and that she really does find him attractive, but he still can't grasp how different it feels to be desired. He's completely prideful and not at all shy when he's pleasing her. In the bedroom, he's fully confident, but something as sweet and innocent as a kiss on the cheek has him so shell-shocked that he can barely speak.

“So, how come my beautiful angel came to visit me?” Franky asks after clearing his throat and going back to staring at his blueprints. Robin cheerfully laughs at the pet name. Franky has asked her how she really felt about all his dramatic names for her, and she had told him that they make her feel special; she had also made a morbid comment under her breath about how they'd add to an emotional yet creative eulogy for her one day and Franky had pretended not to hear it.

“I wanted to make sure you're getting enough food and cola”, she smiles, kissing the left side of his chest. Robin places a plate of food down on the desk, and he guesses Sanji had dished up dinner and Franky had been so focused on his getting some work done that he hadn't heard the cooks call for food over his inner argument over what size gun to add to his robot. He thanks Robin and begins to eat. When he's finished with his food, Robin picks up the plate and leaves, promising him she'll visit later as she goes.

Franky is once again left alone with his thoughts.

As he's working, his reflection in a mirror leaning against the wall catches his eye and Franky flinches. Sometimes, he forgets what he looks like and seeing a huge cyborg as flashy as him is jarring. He has to remind himself he's not a little child anymore; he's something way cooler. He goes back to his work and tries to ignore the thoughts that begin to swarm him. His eyes keep getting drawn to the metal on his body. He recalls how earlier Robin had flinched at the cold metal of his nose and how difficult it is sometimes just to hold her without fear he'll hurt her. Sometimes, he thinks she would be better off with someone who can keep her warm at night, like Jinbe or maybe someone younger and more conventionally attractive, like Zoro or Law. Franky is a brash and loud man, but deep in the pits of his heart, there still lies the broken, abandoned kid. The feelings of worthlessness that took over his body as a child never truly left him; even after he tried over and over again to replace them with metal.

His smaller hands shake as he finishes his food and pushes his plate away. He tries to pick up his pen and write again, but he can't focus at all. His initial plans have taken a backseat to the unrelenting self-doubt that he tries to keep locked away behind his smile. He pushes on with his work, absent-mindedly scribbling down plans for a self-upgrade. He doesn't realise he's crying until the door handle clicks and snaps him back to his senses. Now he's acutely aware that he's crying and that one of his crewmates is about to see him. Franky's manly tears aren't unheard of, so he's able to play it off to usopp, who has come to ask about weapon materials, as simply inventing something so cool it's made him emotional. Usopp laughs, tells Franky he can't wait to see it and leaves after getting the advice he'd requested. The tears leave Franky feeling off-kilter for the rest of the day.

Later that night, Franky is entirely unable to sleep. He tries to focus on Robin, who's sleeping beside him and matches her breathing, but it doesn’t work. He shifts around to get comfortable and rests a large hand on Robin's waist, and then it all comes crashing down. That hand is not a human hand. When you press his metal nose, it changes his hair, and that's not human anatomy. His stomach has an empty chamber that uses cola as a fuel, and that's not human. He has weaponry built into his body, and that's not human. Franky is not human.

He makes a strangled noise as if he's gasping for air, and he scrambles to his feet. The noise wakes Robin, and she asks what's wrong, voice laced with concern. Franky doesn't notice she's awake, and he can't hear her question over the uncomfortable ringing in his ears. He makes his way out to the deck, ignoring the worried expressions of Nami and Usopp, who are still awake. He can't verbally describe how he feels, but he reaches to his shoulder, where metal meets skin, and begins to claw. His fingers dent the metal with force, and he only stops when a hand much larger than his covers his and stops his movements. He looks up and sees Robin has used her power. She leans down to where he's knelt on the deck and when she comes into view, Franky notices she has tears in his eyes. He can hear Nami crying behind him and sees Usopp shaking out of the corner of his eye. A new feeling stirs in his gut that makes him feel ten times worse.

He feels guilty for upsetting them. He apologises, but Robin shushes him, cradling his face in her hands. The gentle care with which she approaches him is enough to kick-start the waterworks and Franky is once again reduced to tears. He sobs so hard it causes a sharp pain in his chest. Robin shoos away the younger strawhats and promises to give them an update later. It's now just the two of them and Franky slumps forward, burying his face into Robin's shoulder. His tears haven't subsided, but he starts to apologise before he can stop himself. He repeats ‘I'm sorry’, and though Robin's skin muffles the sound, she can hear him fine and well.

“What are you apologising for, sweetheart? What's wrong?” asks Robin, wiping his tears with her thumbs, and she holds his face to look at her. Franky flounders for an answer, struggling to find his voice. Robin is patient as always and gives him a moment to collect himself.

He doesn't know what to say. How can he tell her he feels alien, like a passenger in his own body? That his ‘skin’ doesn't feel like it belongs on his body. He doesn't know how to explain how nauseous the sight of his own ‘body’ has been making him feel without sounding crazy. Robin is an understanding woman, but how much can she take?

“I feel more like a box of scrap metal than a human”, he says, cringing at how raspy and unsure his voice sounds. Robin remains silent, expression unchanging as she listens to his explanation. “I just wanted to get out of this ugly body. I didn't mean to scare you or the kids”, he says. He tries to avert his eyes despite Robin's hold on his face. He worries he's upset Robin further, but she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“First of all, I'm not scared of you, and neither are Nami and Usopp. We're just worried about you because we love you.” she says, moving a hand from his face to run it through his hair. “Secondly, your body is not ugly. You're my Franky and I like you just the way you are.” Her voice wraps around the violent words in his mind and strangles them out, easing his mind slightly. “I'm not going to pretend that I understand your pain, but I do know how it feels to be shunned, and I want you to know that will never happen to you here with us.”

Franky listens intently as Robin speaks. Her words don't take away his pain, but they at least calm him down. The strange, itchy feeling under his skin eases up and he relaxes in Robin's embrace. He kisses her neck and whispers a thank you in her ear. She's patient with him as he lets her comforting words repeat in his head. His tears have stopped, but there's still one question bothering him, and he's unsure if it's appropriate to ask right now. Sensing that he has something to say, Robin encourages him to speak up.

“Do you ever consider leaving me? Like don't you want someone more attractive like -” This time, instead of being patient and letting him finish, Robin cuts him off with a scoff, shuffling so she's sitting in his lap.

“You look at me right now, silly man,” she says, guiding him to look in her eyes. “I love you, I want you, I need you,” she says. Surprisingly, it's the word ‘want’ that gets him the most. It's not that Robin needs Franky around to fulfil some type of urge but simply that she wants to spend time with him. They like each other just as much as they love each other, and the reassurance makes Franky's stomach stir for an entirely different reason. “and there is no one as attractive as you. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss to his lips. Franky feels much better now.

“What about Jinbe?” Franky asks to lighten the mood. It's common knowledge that Robin had a crush on Jinbe at first (so did Franky, but he'll never admit it)

“Hey! You like him too. We invited him into the bedroom once. You're my man forever,” she says, laughing into another kiss. They're sitting in silence for a while when Robin starts to yawn. “Now that you're feeling better. Do you want to go to bed?” she says, covering his cheeks in more kisses. Franky gets to his feet, scooping Robin up and carrying her off to bed

When Franky wakes up the following day, Robin is pressed up against his side and he feels at peace. As if she can sense him staring at her, Robin opens her eyes for a second, then smiles and goes back to sleep, snuggling further into his side. Franky feels content as he relaxes into the mattress. For now, his unsure feelings have subsided, and he feels more like himself. He knows they're likely to come again, but he also knows he'll have Robin and the rest of his family to help him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

frobin is so cute to me so I just wanted to write a cute comfort oneshot about them 😭

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Baldur's Gate #1

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

Might as well start compiling lore on the namesake of the game...

Featuring the city aesthetic (the depiction of it in-game wasn't nearly grey, damp or claustrophobic enough) and a mostly complete overview of the city and its major areas: the Lower City, Upper City, Outer City, Undercellar and Undercity.

Cultural titbits: like why you can't have animals bigger than peacocks; that you shouldn't live here if you have claustrophobia; how the Patriars clearly have it out for people with hay fever; the constant mould problem; where to go to get a glowing tattoo, a fake tan and the magical equivalent of a plastic surgeon; and why, in fairness to the Banites, the city requires very little effort to turn into a nightmarish police state under the control of an evil deity.

And if your Dark Urge is a sewer gremlin then that's a life choice they're making, not a Bhaalist thing: the Undercity isn't in the sewers.

-

The city state of Baldur's Gate is one of Faerûn's more important ports, situated geographically between the massive trade centres of Athkatla and Waterdeep. It began its life as a fusion of the early fishing hamlet of Loklee (formed around 0 DR) and the pirate and smuggler hub that formed nearby. It was a popular port with a shipyard and visitor's wharves by 204 DR. The natural harbour the man-made harbour is built on is one of the only places in hundreds of miles that's safe for ships to dock at.

Due to the lack of nearby settlements to form competition, the trade hub attained city status and import early in its existence. It briefly fell under the early kingdom of Shavinar, though this was mostly a technicality and the settlement continued to govern itself and continued to do so when the kingdom fell in 277 DR.

The area was first officially recognised in the history books as the city of of Baldur's Gate in 446 DR.

The primary spoken language of the Gate is Chondathan, however during the Spellplague the city attracted enough refugees to become one of Faerûn's most populated cities, and it's a diverse enough location that many people are at least bilingual (not counting Common): many speak Chondathan, their native/ancestral language and a third.

As a major port the city has always been something of a melting pot and encouraged a policy of tolerance - you don't want to drive away merchants and trade, after all. Likewise, in the interests of encouraging trade, the city has enforced a stance of political neutrality and refuses to be drawn into international problems.

Officially, the city prides itself on being welcoming to all ways of life, to the point where anyone and anything goes as long as they obey the laws and don't rock the boat; even the open worship of the majority evil gods is completely unremarkable - what if you want to trade with a place where those gods are a major religion, after all? While Umberlee is worshipped everywhere near the sea (under threat of tidal waves and drowning in retribution for not worshipping her), Baldur's Gate is one of the few places she has an actual temple.

A shrine to any god - regardless of what their faith does or preaches - can be established in any of the temple districts for public worship, and the law will pay it no mind.

This reputation for tolerance and neutrality means it tends to be one of the first choices for refugees and immigrants looking for a new start. The city is extremely crowded, with many people packed into tight spaces and narrow streets, and its population numbers surpassed the metropolis of Waterdeep decades ago; standing at 42,103 people in the 14th century, it has likely more than doubled since. Visitors often find it incredibly - possibly intolerably - loud and busy, while locals consider them to be backwater farmers who don't know what civilisation looks like.

While the city doesn't discriminate legally against any groups, its reputation for tolerance is somewhat overexaggerated. Peoples who are viewed as monstrous by the Realms at large, such as orcs and other goblinoids, or drow, can expect to feel unwelcome as with everywhere else. The recent wave of unwanted human refugees from Calimshan have a strained relationship with the established Baldurians, who view them as foreign and wish they'd just assimilate and start speaking Chondathan already. The city is a human settlement by culture and demographics, retaining its historical human majority, and while the demihuman minorities are part of mundane everyday life, there have been incidents such as in the early 14th century, which saw the rise of The Sure Helm: a human supremacy group who had an issue with the non-humans in their society and were known to carry out hate crimes on the likes of half-elves and half-orcs if they thought they could get away with it.

On a slightly saner note: you have the freedom of religion to worship a god who demands slaves and blood sacrifice, but it's a bad idea to advertise that... Or get caught slaving and murdering, unless you're a very high ranking priest.

--

Local bards tend to refer to the city as the Cresent moon in their lyrics and poems, after the shape of the city layout. The musical traditions of the Gate focus on "brassy-voiced tenors" and "delightfully smoky altos".

Baldurians frown on drunk, debauched and disorderly behaviour in public: there's no space for this nonsense and you're keeping everybody on the street awake.

The gate has an array of cosmetic services available in the markets of the Wide, where - as well as mundane tattooists and piercers - one can hire wizards in the market to perform cosmetic alterations with transmutation magic: glowing tattoos and other strange illusions, tans, magically affixing gems and jewellery like pieces to your body, changing hair colour, texture and style, changing your eye colour, altering your height or your weight or your sexual dimorphism, etc etc.

It's considered bad luck to harm a cat. Many of the animals moved into the area by hitching a ride on sea traffic, and as they're extremely useful for keeping vermin down both on land and at sea, Baldurians are fond of them.

If you need help carrying your shopping or finding somewhere in the city, most street corners have youths known as "lamp boys" and "lamp lasses" you can hire - so called because of the lanterns they carry at night. With the founding of the newspaper you can also find them hawking the daily papers.

The trade the city brings is the lifeline of the Sword Coast (South), and the only place one can buy foreign and luxury goods in the entire region. That said, these goods come at a significant mark up compared to the prices you'd find in Waterdeep or anywhere in Amn.

The majority of silver trade bars (bars of metal used in place of coins, for ease of transport) are made in the Gate, and the city sets the standards for this form of currency.

-

The city has always been heavily policed, and is known for being quiet and one of the safest cities in Western Faerûn; Baldurians don't expect much if any major disruption to the city's day-to-day life.

The city has its own City Watch - member of the watch being readily identified by their black helms, bearing a red stripe down one side - however the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company is the first thing that comes to mind when you mention law enforcement; you can barely go more than an hour without seeing at least one uniformed officer.

The City Watch used to be the city's police force, however by the end of the 15th century the Fist has taken on much of their role, and the Watch now functions purely as the private law keepers of the Upper City. They are permitted to live within the Upper City, and positions in the watch are now mostly hereditary.

Even when the Watch was the official city police the Fist boasted an army a thousand strong. By the start of the 15th century the Fist had taken over city patrols in a semi-official capacity. The two groups also overlap, and many of the Watch are also secretly members of the Fist. One in ten people in the gate - Watch or otherwise - are spies and informants for the mercenary company.

They may not be fully reliable as a police force however, as they are known to chose not to deal with some problems, declaring it a problem for the watch to deal with. Notably they do not police the Outer City and refuse to touch anything involving the Undercellar.

The Flaming Fist also has outposts in other realms, where it guards the foreign trade interests of the city, such as Fort Beluarian (a hamlet of 313 people) in the jungles of Chult on the Southern end of Faerûn. Being mercenaries, they are available for hire for any purpose that isn't considered flat out evil.

Of course the heavy policing and massive police presence, to anybody who cares to look closer at the city's outward appearance of security, is a giant tip-off that the city has a thriving underworld. The Thieves Guild is an ever-present force, and the religious tolerance means that there are a lot of other organised crime syndicates (ie the priests), murderers and extortion rackets running around. Such organisations keep close diplomatic ties to the Grand Dukes and the commander of the Flaming Fist.

-

The weather conditions are typically rain, sleet or fog depending on season and time of day, and the streets and buildings are almost constantly wet either from the weather or the sea. The architecture is almost entirely stone, as it's less likely to rot. The streets are often slippery, and straw or gravel from the river is sometimes thrown over the cobbles for grip. The citizens take advantage of the moisture and damp to use their cellars to cultivate edible fungi. Damp, mould and mildew are a common menace, but it did lead a wizard named Halbazzer Drin to make his fortune by inventing spells that banishes mildew (12gp per casting) and dry out an area without damaging anything (10gp), so services exist if you need to hire them. The spell is not known outside of the city; Drin refused to sell knowledge of the spell to anyone for any price or offer. Due to the damp, the streets have no banners or other hanging fabrics around.

Buildings tend to be tall and narrow, with shuttered slit windows placed high up, which will be firmly shut at night and all day in winter, to keep out the gales and invading gulls looking for places to nest. The extremely narrow streets of the Lower City are full of window planters and hanging baskets of flowers, providing the sole spot of colour amongst the grey. As the city streets are so steep and narrow, the city has a ban on allowing animals larger than a dog into the city (it's too difficult for them to navigate and likely to cause traffic issues).

Boxed in by its thick, heavily fortified city walls and with no space to expand the city has largely built upwards, and the streets are filled with stone buttresses and arches supporting the upper floors.

Due to its stony architecture and frequent overcast, the entire city is often referred to as the Grey Harbour by residents. (This is also the name of the actual city harbour)

The city is built into the chalk white cliffs around the harbour, growing in elevation until the settlement stops at the outermost walls.

By the 15th century, the city was firmly divided into the Lower and Upper Cities, the latter of which is built into the highest elevation, cut off by a wall. In the population boom that followed the mass immigration of Spellplague refugees, many people were forced to make space for themselves outside of the walls, building the Outer City. Beneath the city lies the Undercellar

Descending from the Undercellar is a labyrinth of tunnels leading down into caverns buried beneath Baldur's Gate; housing the ruins of a forgotten era, where the Temple of Bhaal stands over the ruins, surrounded by the restless spirits and walking corpses of undead residents ancient and brand new.

-

The Lower City houses most of the city, crafts and trade.

With the narrow spaces, cliffs, tall buildings and arches, the city can get rather dark at night. What public lighting is available is maintained by the citizens themselves. The wealthier parts of the Lower City, like Bloomridge, use oil and wick copper bowls, while poorer areas make do with candles in tin lanterns, usually such things are mounted on the walls and ceilings of the darkest corners; but when you want to navigate at night you'll usually be hiring lamp lads.

The Grey Harbour is one of Toril's most famous and best ports, frequented by legitimate merchant captains and pirates alike; many of the families living on the docks are the families of sailors. The area is very industrialised, sporting the shipyard, multiple cranes and railway tracks used to facilitate the moving of goods. The most notable structures are the Harbourmaster's Office, a tiny building with barred windows that deals with all trades and taxes - and the Water Queen's House at the end of the pier, which everybody with a brain makes offerings to and nobody looks too closely at whatever the Umberlant priests get up to in there, because the vast majority of people like breathing.

The Gate has little in the way of large fanciful festivals, but specific streets in the Lower City are prone to a centuries old tradition of "cobble parties", where the people living on a street pull up some chairs, benches and barrels and gather outside to share a mild drink, tell stories and chat. An ongoing cobble party can be recognised by the bright rose-red torches that are hung up along the street walls - these torches are made at Felogyr's Fireworks and can be bought almost anywhere in the city.

Bloomridge is as close the Upper City as you can get without actually gaining access, and houses the Gate's middle class. It was initially built in elevated platforms cimbing up the Upper City's walls using magic and Gondian engineering. It's various attractions - including fanciful architecture, florists, artisanal boutiques, fancy open-air kaeth houses (cafes) and dining houses (restaurants; also known as "skaethars" or "feasthalls"), and elaborate hanging gardens and floral arcades - made it attractive to those with wealth but no pedigree.

The district expanded as those who could afford to do so began purchasing and razing the original, less fancy buildings in the vicinity and building estates on the ground where they used to stand. Those who can't quite afford that instead opt to live in high class apartment buildings and flats over the local businesses. Buildings here often have rooftop gardens and balconies with pleasant vistas.

-

The Upper City is located in the oldest quarter of the city, the Lower City being built outside of the walls and stretching down to the harbour and then having the lower city walls constructed around it. The only gate connecting the two halves is the eponymous Baldur's Gate, the first of the many city gates constructed. It's also heavily guarded and the only gate by which outsiders may access the Upper City; there are numerous smaller gates, but they are exclusively used by patriars and those bearing family livery or bearing a letter of employment signed by a patriar. This district houses the Gate's oldest and most powerful families: anyone who isn't a patriar is either a servant or a watchman, who will most likely be a member of a family that has served a patriar family/the Upper City for generations. The exceptions tend to be a handful of the most successful and affluent business owners whose businesses have become popular enough with the nobility to be welcomed in. Every business and city service in this district exists to serve the upper class exclusively.

It's the most open and colourful part of the city; the shutters and doors are painted in fresh, vibrant paints. The streets are broad and well lit with ornate enchanted lamps; the terrain is mostly flat, unlike the streets of the Lower City, which can often resemble giant staircases.

Businesses that would cause unpleasant smells are banned from the area, and the Upper City maintains many gardens, windowsill planters and trellises where flowers bloom and fill the air with pleasant scents (unless you have hay fever, anyway). Wandering minstrels provide ambient music as they wander the streets - usually a singer playing a lute or harp accompanied by a flutist and perhaps a drummer who may provide a chorus.

They've also got drains, so the streets are less inclined to flood or turn to mud the way the rest of the city is.

There are no inns or alehouses here: a noble who wishes to drink will either host a party, attend a private club, or go slumming in the Lower City.

The Upper City houses the High Hall, also known as the ducal palace; the administrative building that provides a place for feasts, court hearings and government meetings. The meeting rooms are and have always been open for public use, however there is a rule that states you cannot rent a meeting room there twice within 48 hours (to stop people from monopolising the rooms). The High Hall used to be a more grim, military building but has since been renovated to appear more bright and friendly as a PR stunt following a giant riot over taxes.

The other two of the city's temples are located in the Upper City, the Lady's Hall - a Temple of Tymora - and the High House of Wonders, the temple of Gond (who is near enough the city's patron god). The building serves various purposes: a temple, workshops, factories and laboratories. When something deemed ready for the eye is released it can usually be viewed in the Hall of Wonders: a science museum across the street to the temple.

It's also where the Gate's largest marker - the Wide - is situated. It's the only large open space in the city, and the only open air market. Outside of festivals, performances and music is banned in the area. The Wide is usually packed with people forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and those who are hired to perform deliveries in the Wide are always tall and large, capable of seeing over the heads of the throngs and pushing their way through. Goods are carried atop tall poles that are strapped to the deliverymen's chests or backs. Prices are lowest in the Wide compared to anywhere else, and any transactions that cannot be performed within a licensed store must take place here by law.

Permits to rent space in the Wide for the day are limited, and they usually go to whoever has the money to bribe the bailiff, watchmen and other officials who have sway in over the market's administration - which is usually the merchants of the Upper City.

As well as the usual fare of goods, the Wide offers a large range of cosmetic services including the mundane body modifications and stylists that one would find on Earth, and more esoteric concepts that can only be accomplished with magic; such services and the artisans who provide them are seasonal and ever changing. The Wide is the most colourful spot in the city, and the only place that's the exception to the lack of banners and other hanging fabrics. Historically the Wide was open all day and night, but in recent times the watch has been closing the area at dusk - nobody except for the patriars may have use of the Upper City after dark.

The Wide is only closed if the area must be used for something else, such as public Highharvestide festivals... or because a patriar decided to close it off for private use, such as a ball or wedding.

Just outside of the market area is the rest of the Upper City's commercial area; stores, insurance offices, trade guildhalls, Ramazith's tower and the public entrance to the Undercellar - a flight of stone stairs leading down to a pair of heavy oak doors at the southern edge of the market. The doors are shut, but the Undercellar never closes and if you knock somebody will open them and usher you inside.

-

The Undercellar is a maze of underground passages lying beneath the city - mostly vaulted stone chambers created from the interconnected and abandoned cellars of the old Upper City, with hidden exits all over the city. Those who know where these exits are tend to guard them jealously, but may be willing to allow the Thieves' Guild access for coin or service. The Guild itself controls a fair few of these exits, and has been working on expanding the network.

It's also the playground for the criminal underworld of the Gate. The Undercellar's public image is that of a rather unprincipled festhall (a specific form of adult entertainment venue in the Realms that serves as a fusion of casino, bar, lounge, spa, brothel, playground, BDSM scene, LARPing club and so forth), which in a way, it is. Due to its dangerous reputation, it's incredibly popular, especially with those who are trying to look edgy and dangerous (particularly teenagers).

If one is openly carrying weapons, you can expect the armed guards stationed in the room to start following you closely; otherwise they'll leave you be. The guards are unlikely to care much about any disturbances, so long as they don't start disrupting everybody's business. Customers are not to venture further into the Undercellar without permission and an escort.

And behind that edgy, but mostly harmless veneer visitors play at and never see past is the real Undercellar, which is every bit as dark as its rumoured to be.

The Guild has its offices down here, and other rooms are used for varying purposes by other criminals. Want to put a hit on somebody, watch somebody get murdered in a Bhaalist red room, smuggle people or whatever crimes against humanity you feel like seeking out, this'd be the place to do it.

The Undercellar is policed by nobody except the criminals who do their work down there; whatever might take place down there, neither the Watch nor the Fists have any desire to know about them if you try and bring them to light. Want to avoid bad things? Don't get involved with the Undercellar.

The sprawling, pitch-black maze - if one knows how to navigate it - is a good way to get around the Upper City without detection. Somewhere down there is a passage that goes deeper, leading further into the earth and into the Undercity.

The Undercity is, clue in the name, the dead remains of a city buried beneath the living Baldur's Gate (specifically the original city that became the Upper City). At its heart is the Temple of Bhaal, and the city is inhabited by Bhaalists, alive and dead; the original, now undead, inhabitants of the undercity and any victims of the temple that have joined them.

-

The Outer City, Cliffgate and Blackgate are not technically parts of the city, being constructed outside of them.

The soil surrounding the city is little use for agriculture, but it is sufficient for grazing, so most farmers are the likes of shepherds and cattle farmers. As livestock and large animals are not permitted inside the city, cattle markets, stables and such businesses will be found there. Many of the less pleasant businesses, such as butchers and tanners, have relocated here to spare the rest of the city the smell and mess.

Much of the structures are semi-permanent in nature, and the areas are not subject to official oversight or in possession of any particular infrastructure. They aren't policed by the Fist or the watch, the area is near enough lawless, and crime is frequent. "Security" tends to be overseen by the Guild, and while the government doesn't tax outside the walls, residents still have to pay their dues to the local thieves and thugs.

The Outer City is as crowded as the Lower City, but less sanitary or orderly: these places are dirty, loud, smell a lot and tend to be quite dangerous. Many of the residents are farmers, criminals and foreigners and immigrants of varying generation who can't afford or find a place in the city proper.

The Blackgate is the historical slum area, and grew around the inland-facing Black Gate to the North West, growing around the Trade Way connecting The Gate to Waterdeep.

The Tumbledown district, located in Cliffgate outside the city gate of the same name, is the middle child of the expansions, leading down the cliffs. The land was owned by the Szarr family generations ago, before they were all (supposedly) slaughtered by a rival family in the night. Tumbledown is an extremely foggy area, full of graveyards and tombs, and rumours abound that the ghosts of the dead Szarrs haunt the streets there and steal people away. People do disappear there, but most people are sceptical that it's due to ghosts.

The Outer City is a newer, larger slum that grew around the Basilisk Gate and spread along the Coast Way - the road between the Gate and Athkatla - as the city population exploded at the end of the 14th century.

Immigrant communities have taken the opportunity to build their own settlements in the Outer City, styled in their own architectural styles, such as Little Calimshan; a tenement on Wyrm's Crossing is exclusively occupied by halflings; Whitkeep houses a gnomish community who does most of the city's tinsmithing; half-orcs lodge in Stoneyes; a shield dwarven community is located in Shieldgate.

These communities are considered outsiders by most Baldurians, and generally there's no love lost between those inside the walls and outside.

[moralesispunk]

Tomorrow (Javier Peña x F! Reader)

Summary: It's been a year since you last saw Javi, and one night he shows up at your door

Warnings: reader is a single mum, talk of a previous break up (second chance romance anyone?), tension, as always when I write Javi it is fictional Javi so let's keep it respectful

Word Count: 2.8k

It’s after midnight when the soft knock comes to your door.

It echoes towards where you’re standing in the kitchen, the sound so gentle that it would have been easy to convince yourself it wasn’t for you but rather a visitor at one of your neighbours doors down the hall.

In fact it was so quiet that you didn’t move at the first two knocks, the lid of tupperware that you were in the middle of snapping closed over tonight’s - or as you glance at the clock on the oven reading 12:04 AM correct yourself - last night’s dinner stilling in your hands as you listened again.

Two more knocks, even softer than before but definitely against your apartment door.

You click the lid into place and slide the tub into the fridge while closing the door with your other hand, your slippers scuffing against the laminate flooring as the dull orange light from the kitchen guides you down the hall.

Most, if not all, nights you wouldn’t be best pleased by a knock at the door this late at night, but especially when today had been long enough as it was and all you wanted to do was switch off the lights and climb into bed - probably still half-dressed - to pass out immediately.

It was a day that started with an alarm that didn’t go off followed by a flat tire on the way to work. To make things worse you had forgot your lunch, didn’t have time between meetings to go out and buy something so handed cash into your intern’s hands - the same intern who also lost a box of files that meant you were scrambling to close out a case - and they had returned with the one sandwich you had begged them not to get you, only managing two mouthfuls before it was thrown in the bin. You were practically running out of the office to pick up Sofia from school on time, burning dinner as you tried to make it while simultaneously getting her ready for dance class; a class that was actually a dress-rehearsal you had forgotten about until walking into the hall where one of the other mums took Sofia from you, gave you a pat on the arm so gentle you could have cried, and let you run home to pack all her dresses and make it back in time for her first dance.

By the time you got home and Sofia was bathed and in bed, it was an hour past her usual bedtime and you still had everything else to do around the apartment which left you packing away leftovers at midnight. You had been praying between spooning the meatballs into the tub and washing down the pot that Sofia would - for the first time in months - want to lie in on a Saturday rather than wake you up at her usual 6 AM for cartoons and cereal.

By the time you reach the door you’re already balancing on your toes, lifting yourself to look through the peephole. Your building security was tight, mostly agents from the bureau and their families who lived here, but it still didn’t stop you from being overly-cautious with your daughter sound asleep down the hall.

You really had no guesses for who would be knocking at this time, if you had been any more awake you probably would have had the mind to think of a neighbour or the night manager, but even if you had taken a million guesses you would never have said his name.

At the sight of the man on the other side of the door, his hand scrubbing down his face before tugging the tie around his neck loose as he looked like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or run, your heart stopped.

You hadn’t seen Javi in over a year, the last time almost in this exact spot, and it was like a wave of emotions crashing over you.

The memories of that first night when you met in the bar and how he had made you laugh harder than you had in the longest time, your head thrown back and his eyes crinkling at the side. The feeling of his hands as he pushed your skirt up to your waist the second your apartment door had closed, his body crowding against yours and his mouth kissing a path down your neck as his hand was lost between your legs. The feeling of his lips against your temple the next morning, how he smiled boyishly down at you as you hugged the sheets around your still-naked body and he left in the same clothes he had worn the night before. How your mouth fell-open when you walked into the boardroom on Monday morning to find him standing beside your boss. The weeks of avoiding him around the building with burning cheeks and fast clicking heels as you tried to make it to the elevator and back without being caught. The way he had caught you in the file room and asked you to go for a drink with him.

The way you had said yes, instantly.

The months of dates and nights where you lost yourself in the sheets. The day you introduced him to Sofia and he knelt before her with a smaller bouquet of flowers to match yours. The movie nights. The trips to the park. The safety you felt for the first time in… God, years really. The heartbreak as he stood at your door, while Sofia played quietly in the living room, and told you that they offered him a move back to Colombia, for a year - maybe two - and he had already said yes.

He had already said yes before talking to you and that was what broke everything.

But as you took in this man now, his tight shoulders and tired eyes, it somehow didn’t feel like a conversation for tonight.

With a hand sliding down the door you flicked the lock, taking off the latch in a swipe and opening the door wide enough for you to stand in the now open gap. His head had jerked up at the sound, his eyes widening as though he was surprised at you actually opening the door for him.

His lips parted and a quiet murmur of your name was the only sound he made, his hand shaking out by his side as he shifted his weight onto one leg and took you in.

In all honesty, for the first three months after he had left you had thought about this moment - about seeing him for the first time. You had imagined you would be dressed up with your hair and make-up done, throwing back your head in a laugh as he walked into whatever bar you were in - you would never imagined that it would be after midnight in your apartment building hallway, your face completely bare and an outfit that consisted of your work trousers and an oversized t-shirt turned sleep-shirt.

You would also never have guessed that you didn’t care what you looked like in this moment.

It was partially because, somehow, the man across from you looked even more tired than you felt and maybe it made you a bad person, slightly evil at the core, but it made you feel better that you weren’t the only mess.

“What are you doing here, Javi?” You asked, sighing and leaning your weight on the door as the exhaustion from the day caught up on you.

“I…” Javi’s hand rubbed across his jaw, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours before he sighed. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… It’s late and- and I don’t know why I came, I just went for a walk and-” He shook his head again, taking a step back and another. “I’m sorry, I’ll just-”

You had never seen Javi flustered before, so unconfident and unbelieving in himself, and it set off an unease in you that had you stepping forward and wrapping your hand around his arm.

“Javi,” you said, waiting until he looked up into your eyes before going on. “Why don’t you just… come in. It’s late and you’re already here.”

His shoulders rose as he took in a breath, dark brown eyes looking into yours, then into the open door behind you, before he nodded and you let your palm slide down his arm and into his hand as you led him back into the apartment.

It was awkward and disjointed, his body close behind yours as you stepped inside and closed the door as soon as he had followed. With the door locked and his shoes toes off by the shoe rack, an uncomfortable pressure settled into your chest at the feeling that all of this was too familiar.

It was like every other time you had come home together. Those nights after work when you were still chatting as you stepped over the threshold, your eyes never leaving one another’s as you slipped your shoes off, tossed the keys into the bowl and slipped your jackets onto the rack while deciding what's for dinner. Or when the three of you had been out together and Sofia had fallen asleep on the way home, her cheek squished against his shoulder and his hand running up and down her back as you straightened the three pairs of shoes while he carried her to bed. Or nights when she was with your friend and you and Javi were on a date night, his mouth already on yours before the door had closed and his hands gripping at your thighs until your legs had been wrapped around his waist.

To make it worse, it felt right as soon as his hand was in yours - his rough skin against your smooth palm, his hand completely enveloping your smaller one, his thumb that instinctively came to trace circles on your skin.

Awkward and tension filled but familiar and right, no sign that anything good was going to come from leading him down the hall towards your bedroom. You stopped only to switch off the kitchen light, his weight steady behind you as he stayed silent while you peeked into Sofia’s room.

The purple octopus light on her bedside table was bright enough for you to make out her sleeping face, the duvet kicked down by her feet and her arms raised up above her head as she snored far louder than any five-year old should, so you closed the door back over until it was only open and inch or two and began the short walk across the hall to your room.

There is no part of your mind that could rationalise this, that could find an explanation other than you are just over-tired and hallucinating the man who broke your heart, but you can feel him here and there is a soft voice reassuring you that it's true, and that if he wanted you to stop leading him deeper into your apartment he would have said so by now.

When you open the door to your bedroom he follows closely, his hand only leaving yours when you're both over the threshold and he takes a step further inside as you close the door over.

“She's not a great sleeper right now,” you explain as you leave your door open an inch or two, the same as Sofia’s, and Javi waves you off.

When you turn back around you find your arms crossing over your chest, fingers digging into the skin around your elbow as you take in the man before you in more detail now.

He looks like the man you had first met; the tiredness that gave his cheeks an almost sunken look and left him with dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders were tight as though the weight of the very world settled on them and his eyes darted around your face as his hands clenched and released from fists by his side as though he couldn’t stay still.

He wasn't like the man who had been here just before he left again, settled into domesticity who would lie in bed wrapped around you until his alarm went off - not slipping out as soon as he woke up - and who began to build something here.

“I-” He started to speak and you raised a hand, shaking your head as your throat began to sting with unshed tears.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” you said simply and he looked at you, searching your face for an answer he didn't seem to find before nodding.

If for nothing else, five minutes locked away might help you find some semblance of control. You avoided your reflection in the mirror the whole time, not wanting to see if your face was giving away more hope than pain or more pain than hope, and spent the whole time throwing your trousers in the laundry basket, washing your face and brushing your teeth wondering what Javi was doing in the room next door.

Your apartment had stayed largely the same this past year, a family home filled with toys and organised mess that accumulated from your busy lives, but you had not. Sometimes it felt like a museum, stumbling across a cuff link that was wedged between the cushions and remembering how on nights you were home alone he would take you on the sofa rather than take the two seconds to move you to the bedroom. Other times it felt like he had never been there at all, a wardrobe that had once held hangers of his shirts and trousers sitting emptier than before with only your clothes to fill it.

When you stepped back into your bedroom you found him perched on the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers rubbing between his brows, until he stood up to face you.

His eyes followed a path up from your ankles to the middle of your thighs where the hem of your t-shirt rested, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth and his eyes darting away as his jaw clenched.

There was going to be no conversation tonight, not one that would do either of you any good or answer any of your questions. Questions about why he came here? Why didn't he call, not once, this whole year even just to tell you he was alive? Why can't you decide whether you hate or love him? Does he love you? Is this going to end up in an even bigger mess than last time? But these were questions you had asked yourself for a year and another night without answers wasn't going to ruin you.

Taking a step forward, then another, you placed your hands on his chest and watched as he carefully took you in. Your hands slipped up to his tie, one you had never seen before with the deep navy paisley pattern, and you raised an eyebrow in question.

He nodded once, the fabric soon coming loose and dropping to the floor.

A tear spilled over your cheek as your fingers moved down the buttons, slipping each one free from the soft cotton before you could slide it from his shoulders. The tips of your fingers grazed against his skin from his shoulders to his wrists and as soon as his hands were free they raised to your face, palms cupping your cheeks and thumbs brushing away the tears that were spilling over.

You stepped out of his grasp, rounding to your side of the bed and switching off the lamp.

“I hope you're wearing boxers under there,” you said, sniffing back the tears and climbing under the sheets.

His quiet laugh was followed by the soft thud of his trousers hitting the carpet.

“Yes, boxers are on,” he whispered back.

The mattress dipped behind you, his warmth settling on the half of the bed that had been cold for a year. Your shoulders were almost at your ears from how tense you held yourself, rolling over to face Javi to find him already facing you, an arm folded under the pillow and the other resting on the mattress between you.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back, his face softening slightly.

As your eyes adjusted to the dark your hand reached up, tracing down the strong slope of his nose and across the plump roundness of his lips. His breath hitched then, a beautifully painful sound that had your eyes squeezing shut.

Your eyes stayed closed as you turned back around, your body much closer to Javi’s than it had been before, and it wasn't long before his hand wrapped slowly around your waist, giving you time to push him away.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, linking your fingers with his where they rested on the mattress in front of you and his chest pressed tighter against your back.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered back, his cheek resting against the top of your head and his hand squeezing yours.

[mari-lair]

Honestly? Since Tsukasa and Nene are currently my least favorites in the manga, I did not care for most of the chapter but I do have a handful of thoughts about the clock keepers!

Idk how to start, so I'll just ramble.

The owl's eyes are like the clock keeper's masks, the only ones that don't seem to have mechanical glassy eyes are the baby owls.

And Mirai, the kid of the keepers, is the one I have never seen wear a mask. I doubt there is any deep meaning but it does make me wonder if she even has a mask she can wear.

EDIT: Mirai does wear the mask!

The lack of tubes attached to the baby owls is cool to, it makes me headcanon that they feed on visitors' time to grow up and only after maturing does the time they steal go somewhere else.

Mirai stole the show though so let's talk about her! The clock on her neck ticks in the boundary, it tics very loudly, but it stays silent outside the boundary.

The only time she made clock sounds before this arc was when using her power to age things up. (and even then, the sound of her neck clock is implied to be faaar louder than her 'what i touch grows old' ticking)

So far I can only think of two reasons why:

1-) Her clock only tic inside the boundary.

2-) She is using a special power she doesn't normally use to judge Tsukasa, which is the option I am more inclined to believe. Since her behavior and speech changed.

If this power uses time in any way to be activated (be it her time, or something else), I do not know, but I adore her judge hammer. Is really cool. Destroy him girl.

There is also a hierarchy of power.

Akane is the weakest, Natsuhiko called him 'the grunt' for a reason, he is bascally an intern of the clock keepers. So now that Mirai is revealed to be in the middle, my suspicion that Kako is the big boss has been given a thumbs up.

I am excited to see more of her. Just look how cute she is, with her little bow and dramatic entrance!

And I do wonder what happens when someone is marked as 'guilty'

But what made me insane in this chapter is the way they connect the clock keepers with the idea of judgment. And how that made Akane being chosen as a clockkeeper finally click.

I always adored how opinionated and judgemental Akane is, and how strong his sense of justice is, but I didn't connect the dots that he is the perfect pick for the role until Elise mentioned it, reminding me that Akane is the one that gives others characters the most call outs in the manga, he is an amazing voice of reason. He has been passing his judgment on others since his introduction as a clock keeper.

Hell, the reason he hates the clock keepers so much in the first place is because he considers their actions (tricking him/almost killing Aoi) unforgivable.

I want Akane to have a hammer of judgment so bad, because it fits him so much. He needs to throw hammers at people, I think he deserves to throw hammers at people.

tldr: this chapter makes me want to give Akane a hammer so bad it makes me look stupid. If I didn't have an art block I would have drawn it myself.