#and that thought turned slightly into prose but who give a shit

[teruthecreator]

in my mind sho is a rlly good drummer

like he took an interest in playing during elementary school, when they brought the instruments around to entice people to do band, and his mom was more than happy to get him a snare and a practice pad so he could start learning. (his father…slightly less enthusiastic, mainly bc sho refused to play on the practice pad and would beat the snare all hours of the day). and it ended up being a perfect fit for him, as he quickly advanced well beyond his peers and was playing a full kit in the jazz band by the time he was 11.

then, when the claw stuff started getting more serious, the drumming dwindled out. sho was rarely home—moving from base to base, traveling the world with his father, training in open fields to hone his skills—and his poor little snare collected dust in the corner of his room. when he Was home, he certainly didn’t have the energy to play it. but that never quelled the rhythm within him, and he often found himself playing out little beats on his knees when he was bored. it was only when he started to push away from his father did he realize how much he missed it

after the world domination arc, sho returns home. positively exhausted and reeling from the emotional trauma he had went through, he collapses on his bed and tries his best to force himself to sleep. but the memories come to him in flashes—his father throwing him across the room, hitting him with blast after blast, ritsu’s older brother showing up to defend him, the fight in the air, the explosion. he finds himself staring at the ceiling wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he feels his fingers itch with a beat as tears well up in his throat.

he turns his head to the side and catches sight of his snare tucked away in the corner, white face reflecting the moonlight from his window.

he takes it to the basement and plays the entire night.

from there, he takes to it again like a fish to water. in a moment of impulsivity, he orders a full kit for himself. (he only finds out after the fact that his mom had the same thought of getting him one, and they laugh over it as they embrace). he spends every day after school playing on his kit. he learns new techniques from youtube and recreates anime osts on the drums and feels the kid in him thrive.

ritsu says he should join a band.

“you’re good,” he says between licks of his ice cream. “like. really good.” the summer sun beats down on both of their faces, but when ritsu turns to smile at sho he feels a different kind of warmth blossom onto his face. “i think it’d be good for you.”

“maybe,” sho smiles, knocking his hip into ritsu’s, eliciting a laugh from both of them. the muffled taps of his fingers against his leg reverberate in his ears, reminding him of the life he’s gotten so lucky to live. “we’ll see what happens…”

the rest of the walk to spirits and such is filled with laughter, conversation, and the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

[shorkbrian]

💖💘my heart’s dizzy and I my dose of serotonin whenever I read your prose🤟🏽😩 was wondering if you could do reader with an erratic future-vision!quirk so when they first meet yandere!Hawks they’re suddenly plagued by erotic, sensual, 365days-level of disturbing visions of them, so reader actively avoids them (it’s like those Tik Tok future-seeing videos playing to “Play Date”)

Prelude - Hawks isn’t a famous pro-hero in this, but he still has his quirk. It’s not really mentioned a bunch tho lol.  This is rlly long, but I decided not to put it into two parts because the smut is so slight lol. Hope this meets your expectations anon, thank you for reading!

Pairing -  Keigo Takami X Reader

Warnings - NSFW mentions, dubcon, noncon. No out-and-out explicit smut, just a really long story. Hawks is manipulative and gets what he wants

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5ukAQcKEIJuzIbP55xp07x?si=iz6I-RoDSdCNYhT2Du8etg

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

He was a friend of a friend, someone you had only met once or twice.

Your friend kept bringing him to hangouts, he kept showing up on her instagram feed,  getting mentioned in her twitterbio, and eventually it came out that they had started dating. It didn’t catch anyone by surprise.

What did catch you by surprise, was how infatuated with him your friend was.

“He’s just sooooo hot, isn’t he?” She squealed, shoving her phone in your face to show off a shirtless pic he had just sent her.

You nodded in agreement, quickly appraising the pic before turning your head. Yeah, her boyfriend was attractive, but you weren’t one to ruin relationships. Plus, you and Keigo had never really talked past the brief “Hey” and “Wassup?” said in greeting when introduced the first time.

“Can he come to the mall with us on Friday? I promise there will be no third wheeling.” Your friend begged, clasping her hands together. You thought about it for a second - this had been a fun shopping trip the two of you had planned a few weeks ago, meant as a girls date on a day the mall wouldn’t be crowded. But would it really hurt anything if her boyfriend came along? Probably not.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” You shrugged, watching your friends face erupt into a wide grin. “But don’t ditch me to go makeout in a bathroom or something, got it?”

“Sir yes sir!” Your friend faux saluted, before patting you on the shoulder. “Thanks girlie!”

You jerked back, head suddenly swarming with visions, your quirk activating. Your quirk was helpful in some ways, but you mainly tried not to use it - headaches resulted, and you hated getting glimpses of the future. Sometimes they’d be good, but they were often bad - you had gotten a screenshot glimpse of your brothers death, his face marred and bleeding out onto the pavement.

It still made you sick to think about it.

Touch wasn’t something you could always avoid, but you tried, seeing as how it activated your quirk, giving you visions of your future with whomever you touched, or whoever touched you.

You saw your friends face, eyes puffy with tears, shouting something. Then another scene flashed, your friend on TV, talking to a reporter.

Thankfully, the visions ended, this episode relatively quick due to how short of a time she touched you.

“Oh shit, I forgot, I’m so sorry.” She rushed to apologize, holding her hands up and backing away from you.

“It’s-it’s fine.” You wheezed, waving your hand in the air to signal that it wasn’t a big deal. The vision just probably meant the two of you would get into a fight soon, which wasn’t uncommon.  It was fine, you were fine.

——

The mall wasn’t too crowded, which made the day pleasant. Your friend was talking to her boyfriend, hand tangled with his as the three of you walked in.

“So (Y/N), what do you think about that new Victoria’s Secret launch?” Your friend bumped you with her hip, drawing your attention as she pulled you into the conversation between her and her boyfriend.

“Oh, um… what?” To be fair, you had zoned out when the couple started being gross and mushy, which was like, the second your friend met Keigo at the door.

The blonde man laughed. “Victoria’s Secret just launched a new line of lingerie, have any thoughts about it?”

Turning red, you smiled sheepishly. “Ah, well…. From what I’ve seen of their stuff it’s… nice? So I’m sure it’s good.”

Your friend mock-gasped, almost slapping you on the arm before quickly remembering your quirk, drawing her hand back. You gave a quick nod of thanks.

“(Y/N)! Don’t tell me you didn’t even know about it?! I practically live, eat, and sleep Victoria’s Secret, it’s impossible to miss their product drops when you’re one of my friends.”

Unsure how to respond, you floundered, opening and closing your mouth like a lost fish.

“Babe, leave her be, she’s probably just shy.” Keigo stepped in, giving his girlfriend a chuckle as he steered you both towards a shop.

“Fineeee.” Your friend whined, turning to focus on the task ahead. “They have a VS shop here though, you’re not getting out of here without going in with me!”

----

The VS store was huge, smelling sweetly of flowers, bright colors assaulting your vision, soft pop music filling your ears.

It was hard not to cringe at all the fancy lingerie, you were honestly a bit embarrassed to be strolling through the store with your friend, let alone her boyfriend by her side.

“Does-does Keigo mind?” You quietly asked your friend, out of earshot of her boyfriend, who was looking at perfumes, last time you checked.

“Not at all birdie, I’m used to clothes, any form, any shape.”

You whirled around, squeaking in surprise at Keigo, who had apparently finished with browsing the perfume. He was flashing you a 1000 watt grin, continuing with what he was saying. “I’m a model, practically every girl I’ve ever met I’ve seen in less than full underwear, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh…. Cool.” You offered, cheeks turning red again. You felt like such a blushing schoolgirl, turning red when faced with looking at bras and panties, flushing when a man got too close.

It was the nature of the store, you told yourself, that was making you so embarrassed.

“Oo! What do you think of this one?” Your friend was holding up a babydoll, pink, with light fabric and zero coverage.

Keigo wolf whistled. “Man, that’d be a good look for you. Lets buy it.” The couple moved on, pointing at different clothes, your friend occasionally picking one from the rack to hold up against her body, looking for Keigo’s opinion.

They were cute together, laughing over the cheesy names on the tags of the lingerie, holding hands as the browsed, your friend occasionally stopping to plant a kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek.

“I think that’s everything that I like…. (Y/N), your turn!” Pulled out of your casual observance, you back pedaled. “Me? No, I’m not really the type to wear this kind of stuff - I don’t even think most of it would fit, I have weird proportions.“

“Nonsense!” Keigo looked around for a moment, going to the nearest rack to quickly sift through bras, before pulling one out. “This one would make all the boys drool over you honey.”

He held it out towards you, shaking it slightly when you hesitated to take it. Was your friend okay with him talking to you like that, pushing underwear at you to buy? A quick glance sideways showed she was more than okay with it, clasping her hands excitedly as she watched you.

The bra was sheer, soft lavender fabric forming the cups, an intricate embroidered detail of flowers dotted haphazardly over the bra. It was pretty, but you weren’t exactly partial to it. When would you wear it? Who would you wear it for? You weren’t sure it was your style. Plus, it probably wasn’t even your size.

“My arm’s gettin’ real tired.” Keigo joked, before you finally took the garment from him. Checking the size, you paused for a second, blinking towards the man.

“How did you-?”

“You spend enough time in the fashion industry, you learn to tell a girl’s size just by looking at her.”  He seemed to puff up, as if he was proud of his bra-sizing skills.

“Let me help her pick out some things too!” Your friend cried, rushing past you to head over to the next rack, ushering you to follow with a wave of her hand.

You ended up with an armful of lingerie - bras, panties,  an odd bustier or two, and some other flowy items, like a sheer robe and a lacy chemise. The choices weren’t exactly made by you, more so made by a combination of your friend and Keigo together. They had alternated holding up items towards your body, comparing color and garment cuts, lost in their own mushy-gushy world, and it was almost like you didn’t exist for a few moments, nothing more than a barbie doll to dress up.

But now the three of you stood in line to checkout, and you felt included again, your friend cracking jokes that were making you snort, Keigo watching the two of you interact.

Until your friend accidentally brushed against your arm as she shifted forward in line.

Again, you saw her tearful face, heard her sobbing, before the other scene flashed, of her on TV, talking to the reporter. She still looked upset, eyes rimmed red, nose running, hair a mess.

With a gasp, your vision returned to the present, and you were wobbling on your feet, almost falling.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry (Y/N), I’m so so sorry. Here, let me take that, go sit down by the entrance.” She fussed over you, face concerned as she carefully took the stack of clothes from your arms, making sure to not make contact.

“Oh fuck, is she alright?” You heard Keigo ask, your friend stepping in front of you as he moved forward to check on you.

“Yeah, she’s just feeling a little dizzy. Can you make sure she doesn’t fall and crack her head open? Just wait by the entrance please.”

“Okay. Oh, here-“ You were a bit dazed, but you saw Keigo fish his wallet out of his pocket, thrusting the entire thing into his girlfriends hands before patting her on the shoulder “Whichever card is fine.”

And then you were stumbling towards the entrance, towards the bench right outside.

You hated seeing the future. Why was your friend crying? What had happened to elicit such a reaction? The unknowns killed you, kept you up at night as you tried to puzzle out the events that could lead up to the scenes from your visions.

Not looking where you were going, you tripped on air, unable to catch yourself as you plummeted towards the ground.

But then you were seeing Keigo.

He was above you, face flushed and sweaty, hair tousled, his chest bare. The room was dark, barely lit, and he was so close. The man leaned down to kiss you, then the scene changed.

You were bent over a table, only able to see the solid wood your face was smushed against. There was a heat in your belly, a tingling between your thighs, and pressure. Someone was talking - Keigo, muttering behind you angrily. You head was pulled up, a hand fisted in your hair, and then one of your knees was pushed up onto the table, and the pressure inside exploded into pure pleasure.

You felt yourself screaming, bucking your hips as you suffered through whatever the feeling was.

The scene changed again.

Hands tied above your head, you were pressed against a wall, sitting on some kind of…. Saddle? Your legs couldn’t touch the ground, and you squirmed, before gasping loudly.

There was a nub in the seat, ribbed and textured, slick with some kind of liquid… From you? Then you saw Keigo, standing in front of you, smirking at you with hardened eyes.

He had something in his hand, arms crossed over his chest while he fiddled with the object, muscles flexing. He was shirtless again, and-and his cock was hanging out of his sweatpants, pressed against his belly, smearing precum over his skin.

You tried to say something, anything - the visions never lasted this long, it was too intense, there was so much sensation. But your mouth wouldn’t move, choked up.

Keigo’s hand was on his length, rubbing slowly, saying something that didn’t reach your ears.

The scene changed.

Something was shoved down your throat, warm and twitching. You were sobbing, choking, clawing at whatever was in front of you. A dark laugh filled your ears, and you opened your eyes, met with the clenching abs of a strong stomach.

Keigo was brushing your tears, no, smudging them over your face. Were you wearing makeup? His cock was sitting in your throat, his hips moving in tiny jerks, stabbing your esophagus, making you gag.

Then you were back in the present.

A hand was holding your arm, keeping you from falling and making contact with the hard floor.

“-N)? (Y/N)? Are you okay? Talk to me birdie”

You made a panicked noise, pulling yourself out of Keigo’s grip so fast that you fell flat on the floor, scrambling backwards away from the man.

He almost looked scared, confused as he followed after you, holding out his hands. “(Y/N), you gotta calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

The man reached for your arm again and you pressed yourself against the floor, screeching out a loud “No!!” before he could touch you. Keigo paused, looking at his hand, then at you. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna touch you. It’s okay little birdie, you’re alright.” He cooed, sinking to his knees in front of you.

You were hyperventilating, wide eyes trained on Keigo. Your thoughts were swirling in your head, you couldn’t focus, the sensations of the future still echoing through your body.

Keigo crouched there while you steadied your breathing, talking to you the entire time, trying to help you relax and calm down. You weren’t sure what he was saying, something about the weather? Or a dog? But you could feel your breathing evening out, head clearing.

“Hey, she fall?” You friend was carrying two bags, crouching down beside Keigo, cocking her head at you.

Her boyfriend nodded, turning to her and taking one of the bags. “I caught her, but then she freaked out and fell for real.”

Your friend nodded. “I should’ve told you earlier, she has a touch-based quirk. Every time someone touches her, she sees snippets of her future with that person.”

Keigo cocked his own head, gazing at you curiously. “I guess her future with me isn’t too positive then?”

Your friend shrugged. “Eh, she just hates seeing parts of the future. She doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen, makes her worry or something like that. Don’t take it too personally, she’s like that with everyone.”

“It-it-“ you rasped out, causing both sets of eyes to swivel towards you. “-I hate it... because-‘cause I can’t ever cha-change it.” You shivered.

Keigo nodded in understanding, before rising to his feet. “Think you can walk to my car? I’ll drive you two home, I think you’d benefit from some rest.”

He dropped you off at your apartment, and you wearily waved at the couple as they drove off, before heading inside.

----

A week passed, then two.

The visions you had concerning Keigo were plaguing your mind, filling your body with anxiety. There had been a distinctive feel of fear during each one, and despite all the other various sensations felt, the most overwhelming had been distress.

Whatever was going to happen, you weren’t going to like it.

You were holing up in your apartment, ignoring your roommates when they knocked on your door, only leaving your room to eat or grab water. You couldn’t sleep, too scared you’d have dreams, or more accurately, nightmares of what you had seen.

Curse your quirk.

Trying to pass time, desperate to keep your mind off of the future, you threw yourself into any activity you could find.

First you tried coloring - it was supposed to be relaxing, but it gave you too much time to think.

Then you tried gaming, spending hours in front of your computer mashing the keys. That worked for a bit, but your eyes and head soon protested.

You listened to music at full volume, tried several workout videos, even resorted to cleaning your space with fervent energy.

None of it took your mind off the inevitable.

“(Y/N), someone’s at the door asking for you.” You jerked awake, slumped over uncomfortably on the floor, the half finished card tower in front of you promptly knocked over at your erratic movements.

“(Y/N)?” Your roommate called again.

“Yeah! Coming, sorry.” You mumbled, scrubbing sleep from your eyes. You guess your body would give out sometime and force you to fall asleep, but as you moved to stand, you sorely wished your body had chosen a more comfortable place to pass out.

Opening the front door, you immediately took a cautious step back, sleepy demeanor vanishing.

Keigo smiled at you, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

Flowers?

“Hey birdie, mind if I come in?”

You stared at him for a second, immediately on guard. Why did he have flowers? Why did he want to come in? Wasn’t he dating your friend? She didn’t live here, what was he doing here?

The man cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at you. You moved to the side, holding open the door for Keigo to come inside.

Your roommates were home. If anything happened, they would be within earshot.

Keigo shot you a smile and a thanks, before immediately moving into the small living room, taking a seat on the couch. When he saw you still hovering by the open door, he patted the cushion beside him.

“Come sit, I promise I don’t bite.” He thought for a moment, before grinning. “Well, not unless you want me to.”

Hesitantly, you shut the front door, going to sit in a ratty armchair further away from the winged man. If this bothered him, the man didn’t let it show other than a short pause before he spoke.

“So, I know it probably seems like, super weird for me to show up at your apartment, but hear me out.”

Flowers were shoved in your lap, Keigo taking great care to avoid touching you.  “I felt bad about the other day, and my girl and I decided that we should get you some flowers. She picked ‘em out, it even says so on the note.”  The man laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s so uptight about this kinda stuff. Anyways, just wanted to say that I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. If I had known, I would’ve let you fall flat on your ass. But I know now, so I’ll be better, cool with you?”

Finishing his little speech, Keigo held out his hands, wings stretching behind him to mimic the gesture.

Looking at the flowers in your lap, you felt your hands shaking. Picking up the little note attached to the bouquet, you found that your friend had indeed picked out the flowers, which made sense. They were your favorites, and in a nice color too.  Keigo had left a messy, scrawled “Sorry!” in one corner, before signing by his girlfriends name.

“Um, thank you Keigo, you didn’t have to apologize.” You murmured, rubbing one of the flower petals between your fingers. You were so glad your quirk extended solely to humans - if you were shown glimpses of the future of everything you touched, you would most likely go mad.

“Nah, I wanted to. Also wanted to swing by, check how you’re doing. You been taking care of yourself?” He relaxed on the couch, legs spread, arms resting behind his head. This wasn’t his home, yet you totally could believe that it was by the ease with which he owned the space with his presence.

“Oh, well… I’m still here, so…” You shrugged.

Keigo frowned. “That’s not a fun answer. How much sleep you been gettin’ each night? Eight hours?”

You shook your head, huffing out a breath in place of a laugh.

Keigo clicked his tongue. “No sleep? That’s bad for you y’know. Have you at least been drinking water? Eatin’?”

You nodded quickly, looking up to meet the man���s gaze. “I’m not a kid. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.”

At this point, you think the best thing for your health would be for the man to leave.

The blonde man stared at you for a moment, before sighing. “Alright, I get it. But I don’t want to hear that you’ve passed out or something, got it? Your friend would kill me.”

He rose to his feet, and so did you, walking him to the door. “Thanks Keigo, and thank you again for the flowers. That was very sweet of you both.”

Keigo beamed, giving a two fingered salute. “You deserve it birdie. Well, have a good rest of your day, yeah? Eat something.”

You smiled, at Keigo as he turned away, beginning to whistle as he strolled down the hall.

Once the door was shut, you found a vase for the flowers, filling it with water and setting it on the table. Your roommates would think it was pretty, and it was, a nice little centerpiece.

That really was nice of your friend and Keigo to offer you flowers.

——

“Welcome to Gold Nile Jewelers, how can I-“ You blinked at the man entering the shop. “-Keigo.”

“Birdie? You work here?” He looked just as confused as you felt, cocking his head to the side as he approached the counter.

You looked around the small display room, nodding your head. “Yep… You looking for anything specific today?”

“Ah, right!” He clasped his hands together, bending over to lean on the display counter as he looked up at you. “So professional (Y/N), it’s just me.” The man chuckled.

“Actually, I thought I’d get my girl a cute little bracelet or something like that, you think she’d like that?”

Knowing your friend, she’d be ecstactic. “Oh, absolutely. Any particular occasion, or just an “I love you gift”?” You asked, already running through the list of bracelets in stock.

“It’s our two month anniversary in another week, thought I’d get her a little sumn’ sumn’, y’know?”

Gold Nile Jewelers was an expensive store. You patted yourself on the back for not dropping your jaw when he said “two month anniversary”. People came here for wedding rings and special occasion jewelry, not monthly anniversaries like some high schoolers.

Well, unless they were rich.

You showed Keigo the selection of bracelets currently available, the man listening quietly to your product descriptions and recommendations, asking questions about the fit and feel, and if you think your friend would like a particular one.

“Honestly Keigo, I could choose one I think she’d like, but it’d be more special if you chose for her.” You finally told him.  He wasn’t annoying you, but you felt frustrated with his apparent lack of knowledge about his girlfriend. How did he not know what her favorite color was? “I’d suggest coming back in a few days. Go home, see what kind of jewelry she wears, pay attention to the colors she gravitates towards, if she’s allergic to any metals.”

Keigo tapped his chin. “Hmm, you have a good point. I guess I should pay more attention to those kinds of things.”

You nodded as you began to pack the expensive bracelets back into their display cases. “Gifts for a significant other can be hard. Honestly, it means a lot if they pick it out themselves and surprise you with it. Makes it special.”

“Oh, you have a partner?” Keigo asked, bright eyes watching your hands work.

A frown almost crossed your features, but you stopped it before it could show. “Ah, sorry, that’s not really a work-appropriate question.”

“Awh, c’mon! It’s just me, we’re friends, can’t you tell me?” Keigo pouted, batting his eyelashes at you in an exaggerated, dramatic fashion. The display made you laugh, so you indulged him. After all, he was a friend. No harm in telling him something he was bond to know sooner or later.

“I’m actually single right now. But as a jeweler sale associate, I know how much it means to a person when their partner picks out a gift for them, especially if it’s a surprise.”

Keigo nodded his head solemnly.  “That makes sense. I better follow your advice then eh? Find out what she likes-“ he mused “-I can do that.”

“Good luck Keigo!” You called after him as he strolled through the door, waving when he smiled at you, giving that same, goofy two fingered salute that he always did when saying goodbye.

The man unnerved you, the visions you had experienced concerning him making you worry. But as long as he was dating your friend, you felt that you’d be fine.

-----

Keigo showed up again two days later.

“Back so soon?”

“You know me-“ He shook out his umbrella, placing it in the drip-bin by the door, wiping his shoes on the mat. “I always try to be speedy with my work.”

It was grey outside, drizzling slightly. You loved these kinds of days, where you could sit near a window and watch it rain while sipping tea. It was so peaceful and calm, and always soothed your stress.

“Find out anything useful?” Whatever he could tell you would make it easier to refine the jewelry selection for his particular needs.

“So, she doesn’t have any bracelets, and I asked her about why and she said they annoy her. She likes necklaces.” He clarified,. You could tell by the way he puffed up that he felt proud of his detective skills. “I even made a note of the lengths - she likes ones that dip low, which-“ He wolf whistled, and your stomach turned. But it was fine, just awkward.

“Alright, I think we have quite a few like that. Let me collect them for you and lay them out.”

Keigo strolled around the display room while you bustled about, looking in each case at the shiny metals and stones  

You laid out the necklaces, calling Keigo over. The man smiled brightly at you as you showed him the selection, noticing he was gravitating towards the more simply, elegant choices.

“I’m sure she would be thrilled with any of these.” You offered, Keigo silent as he tried to decide between two necklaces.

Still, the man shook his head, quirking his lips. “I just…. I need to see them on, y’know?” Then he brightened, as if he had just thought of something. “Hey, can you try them on? Model one for me? Just to see what it’d look like.”

You laughed nervously. “Sorry Keigo, but I’m not allowed to do that, it’s against company policy. Only customers get to try on the jewelry, and that’s if they’re supervised.”

“Awh, c’mon! No one else is here, and I won’t tell.” The man leaned forward, shooting you a quick wink before he snatched up one of the necklaces, holding it out towards you. “Please? I just need to see it. I promise I’ll buy it.”

He was so insistent, and no matter how loud the alarm bells were wringing in your head, you felt cowed by his confidence.

“Um, still… I don’t think it’s allowed-“

“Fuck what’s allowed-“ He cut you off, snorting. “-I want to see what it looks like. It’s just me (Y/N), I’m not gonna snitch.”

A heavy sigh, and you finally agreed, taking the necklace from his nimble fingers.  You slung it around your neck, not fastening the back as you held it in place. Hopefully that would be enough to sate Keigo’s curiosity.

His eyes immediately followed the curve of the necklace, how it dipped low towards your cleavage (curse you for wearing a lower-cut shirt today). You tried to ignore the leering.

“Here, let me help you fasten it, doesn’t look right otherwise.”

Before you could protest, he was sliding behind you, deft hands reaching for the necklace your had in your grasp.

“Keigo no-!”

But it was too late.

You were pressed up against a wall, face-first, your hands gathered into the small of your back and held there with a vice-like grip. There was pressure between your legs, something hammering into you, in and out, in and out, in and out.

Keigo was talking to you, you could tell it was the man by his voice. What was he saying? You were too overwhelmed with the sensation between your legs to focus on the words falling from his lips.

Sweat dripped from your temples, Keigo’s chest pressed up against your back was slick with perspiration, his nipples hard and pressing into your skin. It was an uncomfortable situation-

And then it changed.

You were tied up now, tight enough that you couldn’t move no matter how you thrashed. Knees bound in such a way so your ass was up in the air, arms stretched out in front of you, anchored to the headboard of the bed.

Keigo was behind you again - nothing to indicate that the tongue running through your core was his, but somehow, you knew.

You were begging and pleading, withing in your restraints against his tongue, but he wouldn’t let up, he wouldn’t let you crest the mountain that had built up inside. He kept chuckling, the vibrations running through you and making you buck your hips. You felt disgusting.

Then the bed was gone, and Keigo was in front of you. He was sitting in an office chair, your legs straddling his lap. Hands on your hips were dragging you back and forth, grinding you on the hard member protruding from Keigo’s lap. He was flushed, letting out little moans as he kept eye contact with you, smiling and praising you.

Then you were back.

Gasping, you shot away from Keigo, the expensive necklace clattering to the ground as it fell from your hands.

The man froze, confusion etched across his features as he watched you bend over, trying to catch your breath, to calm down, to ignore the lingering sensations from the futuristic visions.

“(Y/N)…”

“I think-I think you should leave.” You heaved, tears building. That had been awful, everything had felt good but you hadn’t. You felt uncomfortable and disrespected and stupid. That couldn’t be your future with Keigo, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. He was your friend’s boyfriend, for goodness sake!

Keigo opened his mouth to say something, but you snapped at him “Leave.”, making the man click his jaw shut.

He walked out the door, shooting you concerned glances the entire way.

You felt better as soon as he was gone, the door clicking shut after him. Thankfully, you were the only employee out front at the moment, and no other customers were present, so no one but you and Keigo had experienced your outburst.

Bending down to pick up the necklace, you inspected it carefully, horrified that you had dropped such an expensive item. It was alright though, so you brought it back to the others, shakily beginning to gather them up to put away.

You didn’t want to see Keigo again.

——-

“I just don’t understand!”

Your friend sobbed, surrounded by tissues on your bed, eyes red and blotchy.  You wished you could rub her back, our give her a hug, but you knew what would happen. So you stayed on the floor, passing up tissues and offering wordless sympathy.

“Why would he break up with me? Why?”

You shrugged, looking for words. “I don’t know… I’m sorry that this happened, but if he can’t see how awesome you are, then he’s an idiot.”

She sniffed, blowing her nose. You could tell she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t say anything further, instead choosing to wipe her eyes.

She had called an hour or so ago, tearful, asking if she could come over. Refused to tell you what was wrong, but the second you let her in, she had burst into tears, explaining everything.

Keigo had broken up with her via text, that asshole.

“I just…. I thought we were good. Did I do something wrong? I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. You said he just texted you out of the blue?”

She nodded her head, going to blow her nose again. “We were supposed to go out for dinner tomorrow, it’s our two month anniversary.”

You cringed. Did your encounter with Keigo in the jewelry store have something to do with this? Had you driven your friend’s boyfriend away? Had you weirded him out? Oh god, what if this was all your fault?

Your friend broke down into a sob again, slumping onto your bed. You passed her another tissue. “It’ll be okay. I think he’s a stupid fucker that just wanted to play with your heart.  He isn’t worth shit. You deserve so much better than him.”

She nodded, blotchy eyes seeking out your own. In the back of your mind, you cringed, seeing the exact same scene from your vision. Well, at least the two of you hadn’t gotten in a fight.

——-

A few weeks later, Keigo was at your door.

“You need to leave. Now.”

“Aw, c’mon (Y/N), at least hear me out?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Maybe he had a dumb explanation for why he had dumped your friend. You were wary of him accidentally touching you again though. “Fine, but make it quick.”

“No promises.” He grinned, breezing past you and into your apartment. He beelined for the chair you had sat in last time he was here, leaving you to take a seat on the couch.

“Alright-“ He settled in, fixing you with a gleeful eye. “How do you feel about your quirk?”

Caught off guard, you blinked. Wasn’t he going to explain why he had broken your friend’s heart? “Um, what?”

“Your quirk, y’know, the one that makes you see the future?” He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together with a smile. He seemed far too pleased, and it made you nervous.

“I hate it. If I could get rid of it, I would.” You stated, ready to move onto a different topic. But just as you were about to ask him about your friend, he rose to his feet, fishing in his pockets.

He drew out a bracelet, black and red, thin. “Well then, lookie what I have.” The man walked over, sitting down quickly on the couch next to you, causing you to immediately scoot to the end. You didn’t want him touching you.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized upon noticing your unease. Instead of scooting closer, he simply tossed the bracelet onto your lap, leaning back as he watched you look at it curiously. “Put it on, see how it fits.”

“I don’t need jewelry Keigo, and I think we should be spending our time discussing why you bro-“

“Just put it on (Y/N), please? I promise you won’t regret it.”

Huffing, you did as he asked, clasping the bracelet around your wrist. It fit snug, almost too tight, but it hugged your wrist comfortingly. It was pretty, but you didn’t see what this had to do with your quirk, or with your friend, or anything that held any relevancy.

Bracelet now on, you fixed Keigo with a blank stare. “Happy?”

“I don’t know.” Keigo grinned. “Are you?” And then he was hugging you, arms wrapped around your shoulders, face buried in your neck.

You shrieked, already panicking as you tried to ready yourself for the onslaught of  visions that accompanied physical touch.

They never came.

Choking back a surprised gasp, you drew back from his hug to find Keigo’s eyes, the man smiling down at you as he watched your reaction.

“Kei-Keigo…” You stuttered, shocked, surprised, euphoric, confused - so many emotions, all at once. You couldn’t even think to brush off the hands still around your shoulders, thumbs brushing at the tops of your exposed collarbones by the neck of your shirt.

You weren’t able to think rationally, couldn’t focus on anything but the awe you felt at being touched without being slammed with visions of the future.

You forgot about the terrifying visions you had gotten when Keigo touched you.

You forgot about how he had hurt your friend, broke her heart with no explanation.

You forgot about his hands refusing to leave your body.

“Keigo, this is…. Amazing” You breathed, wide eyes snapping up, catching his smiling face, eyes crinkly and twinkly.

“I had my team modify some quirk-cancelling cuffs! You seemed so upset whenever someone touched you, I couldn’t leave you with such a burden.”

Nodding, you returned your gaze to the bracelet, turning your wrist this way and that to look at the bracelet from different angles.

“I mean, I know how much I like being touched, and touching. I think I’d totally die if I couldn’t.” Keigo chuckled, but you weren’t listening.

The rest of his time sitting next to you on the couch was spent explaining the colors he had spent so long picking (“They’re my personal favorite, aren’t they nice?”) and why he had decided on a bracelet (“It could’ve been a necklace, but I think it looks better in it’s original cuff design, looks cooler that way.”).

By the time he had to leave, you were completely sidetracked, so distracted with your shiny new jewelry that you didn’t even remember to ask what his deal was with being a jerk to your friend, his now ex-girlfriend.

-----

“-and then he gave me the bracelet. I wasn’t thinking much after that, I just… I can hug you, isn’t that incredible?”

You gave your friend another squeeze, feeling a smile dance across your face. But then you sobered, pulling back from her with your hands on her shoulders, quickly becoming serious.

“But he’s really starting to kind of weird me out. Why won’t he explain why he broke up with you? He’s being a little bitch. I tried asking him a couple times, but he kept cutting me off, and I feel like the bracelet was a distraction to stop me from busting his chops about his behavior towards you.”

Your friend looked sad for a second, before shrugging. “I dunno, he just said things weren’t working out, and that while he liked me, he’s not ready for a relationship right now ‘cause of where he’s at in his life.”

“Psh-“ You scoffed, going in for another comforting squeeze for your friend. “-that’s code for “I’m a fuckboy and want to sleep around”.”

“I know….. But it still hurts.” You friend sighed, wrapping her arms around your neck. “But at least he gave you that quirk thing. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

“I just wish he was a mildly decent person.” You grumbled, detaching from the hug to sit back, glaring at the ceiling. “He gives me the fucking creeps.”

“How so?” You friend locked her head to the side, throwing her arm over the back of the couch. You had called her over the second Keigo had left, finally gathering your wits about you.

“I dunno…” You shrugged, not quite ready to tell her about the disturbing visions containing him. Did that have something to do with their breakup? Was it your fault? What was going to happen with Keigo? It honestly scared you, the residual feelings and sensations you could remember from the visions.

Your friend nodded understandingly. “Some people just give off those vibes. Well, at least we don’t ever have to see him again. Good riddance I say.”

You agreed.

——-

Knocking on the door, you shuffled your feet as you took in the house.

It was one of those rich places - nice neighborhood, fancy street filled with lavish houses, expensive cars. You felt slightly out of place, shifting from foot to foot in your clearance-rack clothes.

The door swung open, revealing a sleepy Keigo, shirtless, clad in nothing but sweatpants.

“Oh, um-“ You quickly turned, averting your eyes, trying to give the man privacy in case he hadn’t realized he was shirtless. It looked like he had just woken up from a nap, eyes blinking owlishly, hair mussed.

“Hey (Y/N), come on in.”

Still keeping your eyes turned away, you stepped inside the opulent house, trying not to gape too much at the decor inside. You didn’t want to look like a complete peasant in front of Keigo, but he’d already been to your house, so you could imagine that he knew of your poor-ness.

“Something wrong? You can look at me y’know, I’m not gonna turn you to stone or something.” Keigo joked, voice entirely too close for comfort.

Head whipping around, you found that he was too close, practically almost touching you as he stood beside you, head cocked as he watched you.

“No… nothings wrong, you’re just…” You gestured to his torso, and Keigo looked down in confusion, before looking back at you, a grin on his face.

“Ah, just woke up.” He shrugged, before reaching out to touch your arm. “Bracelet still keeping that quirk at bay?”

You nodding, following the blonde as he turned and walked further into his house, towards the kitchen.

“Glad to hear! I just wanted to look at it a bit, make sure nothing’s worn or torn, y’know? Hate for you to have to deal with the no-touching thing again.” He said over his shoulder, gesturing for you to sit down at the island, on one of the barstools.

You did so, watching the man open his fridge, take out a carton of milk, uncap it. “Is it too tight?”

“Nope.”

He drank right out of the bottle, and you watched some dribble out of the corner of his mouth, down his chin. The man finished gulping down the milk, taking the bottle away from his lips to swipe at the white trail of liquid rolling down his chin.

Eyes dark, he made contact with your own eyes as he cleaned his chin with a finger, stuffing it in his mouth to suck it clean.

That was gross.

The next second, he was back to normal, cheerfully putting the milk back into the fridge. “Good, good. Now, mind if I take a look at it? You should keep it on though.”

You nodded, and Keigo straightened, walking around the island to sit next to you, shuffling his stool closer.

He grabbed your wrist, laying it out on the island, before beginning to poke at the bracelet, running his fingers over it, fiddling with it, squeezing the tendons in your hand, smoothing his hand up your arm.

It felt a bit intrusive.

“So the visions are all blocked?”

“Yep.”

“And you can touch and be touched?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s your appetite? Sometimes complete quirk suppression can make you lose your appetite.”

“It’s been normal, I guess I’m a little hungrier than normal, but I’ve been getting out more too, not as afraid of crowds.”

“Nice! And how about your libido?”

You spluttered, choking on your own spit, snatching your hand away from Keigo’s wandering touches.

“Excuse me? That’s a bit personal, thanks.”

Keigo shrugged, bright eyes hooded and lazy. “It’s just a question.”

“Are you done making sure it’s all good? No broken parts?” You changed the subject, narrowing your eyes. You can’t believe your friend had ever dated him, that you had ever thought he was anything but a playboy.

You wouldn’t even be here, in his house, but he had come into the jewelers a while back (both you and your friend had blocked his number), spouting something about your bracelet needing constant checks and maintenance in order to keep suppressing your quirk. (“Wouldn’t want it to stop working, right? Just stop by sometimes, here’s my address.”).

So here you were.

Keigo leaned back a little, raising an eyebrow at your irritated tone of voice. “Woah there, don’t get snippy. I’m doing you a favor, right? I’m not trying to hurt you or something.”

Technically, you guess he was right. But he had played your friend, had fucked with her feelings. He was a fuckboy, liked messing with each and every girl he could find, and you didn’t care to be one of them.

“And I appreciate that Keigo. But I like to keep my private life private.”

Keigo was silent, simply holding out a hand for you to place your arm in, so he could fiddle more with the bracelet.

Several moments of awkward silence passed before he spoke again. “You’re being awfully ungrateful. It makes me think you don’t even want this little gift. If I were you, I’d be doing everything I could to show the person kind enough to do such a thing for me how thankful I was.”

Lost for words, you stared at the man. Was he expecting some sort of award? Some sort of prize? It’s not like you had anything to give him.

“I don’t have anything to give you in thanks. Just my words, which I’ve said plenty of. I didn’t ask you to make this for me.” You pointed out.

“Sure, but you use it, don’t you? You wouldn’t like it if I took it away, right? Think about how miserable your life was before I gave you this.”

Your life had been miserable. Afraid to go out in crowds, afraid to leave the house, Nervous about grocery shopping, about paying and having the cashier touch your hand as they handed over the change.

Scared of public transportation, of coffeeshops and bookstores, of public parks, even your own home. What if one of your roommates forgot and touched you? Or accidentally bumped into you?

Plus, you could hug now, and shake hands, and slap your friends back when she told a horrible joke, or tap her when you wanted her attention.

You didn’t want to go back to before. “I’m sorry Keigo… I really do think it’s lovely, and I can never thank you enough for doing this for me.”

Keigo let go of your arm, and it swung back to your side. You could feel the man looking at you.

“You know what would let me know that you mean it?”

God, it better not be something sexual.

“You could buy me coffee. Or maybe a cookie from that bakery on 1st Avenue, you know the one? With the little bunny pastries?”

That surprised you.

“You go there? That’s my favorite place.” You mused, looking at Keigo in surprise. He didn’t seem the kind of guy who’d like a place like that. But appearances could be deceiving.

“Of course! I really like their stuff.”

“Alright,” You conceded, rising to your feet. “I’ll get you some stuff from there. Want it today?”

Keigo rose to his feet as well, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Yeah! Let me get dressed real quick, and then I’ll go with you. Don’t go anywhere birdie.” He shot you a wink, before sauntering past you, out of the kitchen.  You raised a brow, surprised. He meant to go with you?

“Make yourself at home while you wait, don’t be afraid to kick up your feet!”  

——-

The bakery smelled as lovely as usual.

A warm atmosphere, good food, friendly employees. It was your favorite place for a reason.

“Alright, what do you want?” You asked Keigo, the two of you staring up at the menu.

“Hmm, I don’t know. What are you going to get?”

“Probably a muffin, those are my favorite.”

“What!?! That’s my favorite too! How crazy.” Keigo smiled at you, dimples showing. You got the feeling that he was brown-nosing you, but you kept the thought to yourself, striding up to the counter to order.

Muffins purchased, you approached Keigo, who was lounging by one of the display cases, admiring the delicate, mouthwatering masterpieces held within.

“All good to go?” His smile was so charming, so friendly, you almost caught yourself wanting to see it more. Huffing in irritation at yourself, you pushed past him, shoving the bag with his muffin into his chest.

“Here’s your stuff. I’m going home now, see you around.”

“Wait!” Keigo turned, jogging a little to catch up as you exited the bakery. “We gotta eat these before they get cold - hey, birdie, are you listening to me?“

You weren’t, stoically keeping your head turned forward, walking with determination. There was only so much of Keigo that you could tolerate, and you had reached your limit. He was starting to really annoy you, didn’t he get that you wanted to go home? You’ll just eat your muffin on the subway, it’s not that hard.

“(Y/N)-“ His sudden growl was punctuated by an arm on your shoulder, spinning you around and pulling you towards the man.

“Hey-!” The sudden collision of your face with his chest knocked your breath away, almost causing you to drop your own muffin in the process.

When you managed to gather yourself, you shot a glare up at Keigo’s face, only to find the blonde smirking down at you, a fierce glint in his eyes.

“I expect you to listen when I’m talking, got it? I don’t like being ignored.”

That’s evident.

You tried to back away, but he still had a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you tight to him. “Keigo! Let me go, you stupid idiot-“

“Stop it, I’m not doing anything to you, ya big baby.” He cooed down at you, before taking his hand away, letting you stumble backwards.

He was just messing with you, teasing you. It was obvious, yet still you allowed him to be around you.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I know all the touching’s gotta be new still. Wanna go eat these in the park? I’ll buy you some ice cream if you want.”

“I don’t want ice cream, I want to go home.”

Keigo frowned, walking after you when you turned on your heel, heading for the subway. “Why do you dislike me so much? I’ve done so much to help you, and yet you spit in my face. Your parents ever teach you how to be grateful? Or even respectful?”

You gasped at his accusation, stopping in your tracks to whirl around, only to find the man far closer than what you had expected. Still, you tried to hide your surprise at his proximity, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“You are a playboy, you broke my friend’s heart, and you want to sleep with every single person you come across just to mess with their feelings. I don’t want to be around you. I won’t get dragged into that.”

The man watched you, face solemn and contemplative. “Is that really how you see me?”

“Why would I say any of that unless it was true?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking up and around, as if gathering his bearings, before back down at you.

“Have you ever considered that I’m the one getting my heart broken?”

“Yeah right-“ You scoffed, only for Keigo to cut you off.

“People want to sleep with me because they think it’ll get them something that they want. Fifteen second fame, a piece in a tabloid about my “new lover”…. Think it’ll help them further their career, or that I’ll give them money. I can’t find anyone real.

“And my friend wasn’t real enough for you?” You spat, not believing him for a second.

“Nope.  You think she liked me for who I am?”

“Uh, yeah? She gushed to me all the damn time about how good you were, how she felt about you. That girl held nothing but love and affection for you.”

The man snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, love for my wallet.”

“She’s not like that.” You argued, brows furrowing.

“Really? Cause she was sucking me dry, and not even in a sexy way.”

You crinkled your nose at what he was implying. Your friend wasn’t like that, she truly had felt for Keigo, had liked him as her boyfriend. She wasn’t just a leech.

“I’m done talking about my failed love life.” Keigo said lowly, nudging your shoulder. “I just thought two friends could hangout, but it seems like you think all I do is try and fuck people.”

“No, Kiego…. That’s not what I meant.” Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but right now…. You almost felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

Some of what he was saying made sense, how people would try and use him for various reasons. But that still didn’t explain his sudden and harsh breakup with your friend. And over text no less, a complete douche move!

But you felt bad about his words, about how he seemed to actually want to hangout, and yet you were accusing him of trying to sleep with you. But what about those visions you had had? Was that even how they went? Or were you remembering falsely based on your bias towards the man?

And what about his suggestive touches, his leering gaze? Was that maybe just how he always was, and it wasn’t exclusive to you? Were you inflating your place in his life, thinking that he wanted you?

It was confusing, and you didn’t want to think about it, try and untangle the lies from the truth. Right now, you just wanted to eat your muffin.

“If you really didn’t mean it, then can we go eat these in the park? I just want to chill with someone that isn’t trying to gain something from me. I want to spend time with someone that’s real.”

With a half-irritated sigh, you nodded, hoping you wouldn’t regret hanging out with the obnoxious man.

-----

He kept calling you, texting you. You’d had to unblock his number at some point, in order for him to text you about the bracelet and when he needed to look at it.

“Come overrrrr, I’m bored!”

“Birdie, are you hungry? The delivery place gave me extra Torikatsu and I don’t want it to go bad. Can I come drop it off?”

He’d swing by the jewelers, leaning over the counter to talk to you about a recent shoot he’d booked, or something he saw recently.

Keigo seemed to slowly insert himself into every facet of your live, against your will, ignoring every subtle, irritated attempt of yours to turn him away. Every single time you saw him, your mind would inevitably think of the visions, but you felt like you couldn’t trust yourself with those anymore.

The man assured you at every step, he had no romantic feelings for you, he just wanted a friend, someone to put him in his place, be honest with him.

You definitely were honest.

Snapping at him when he showed up at your apartment uninvited, coming up behind you on the street and grabbing your sides, laughing when you shrieked and tried to hit your attacker, only to realize it was Keigo.

Tearing into him when he tried to talk badly about your friend - she had been having less and less contact with you, and you couldn’t figure out why. Now your relationship with her was reduced to curt text messages. Maybe she was just going through a hard time, and wanted alone time? Still, you let her know you were there for her, whenever she needed.

You were honest when Keigo asked your opinion on food, TV shows, clothes, movies. It was almost satisfying saying something sucked, just to see Keigo’s face fall slightly, before he shook his head, whining.

“Then help me pick something out! I can’t do it without you-“

He totally could, he was just being a baby.

The more he inserted himself into your life, the more you realized that he was akin to a petulant child, just with muscles and a penchant for inappropriate touching.

Whenever he saw you, he’d try to draw you into a hug, letting his hands drop far down your back, way too low for you to feel comfortable. You’d slap them away, and Keigo would laugh, before ruffling your hair.

He’d have you come over so he could check your quirk suppressor, except he was in the middle of a show, and it was getting to the best part. (“Sit down, shhh, it’s just getting good!”) You’d have to sit through the entire thing, enduring Kiego’s hand lazily drawing shapes over your pants on your thigh, simply putting it back whenever you shoved it off.

He was insufferable, irritating to no end, but you could tell he was a lonely man, bitter about his love life and with his friendships.

So you tolerated his presence.

After all, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. That’s something he reiterated every single time you shied away from his touch. He made you feel like a fool for thinking the man was hitting on you, when he made it so clear that he wasn’t, only interested in friendship.

Until you fell asleep at his house.

Another one of those days were he needed to look at your quirk suppressor (which you were 99% sure was fine, it seemed like he just enjoyed seeing it on your wrist). He had been rummaging around in his room before he had to run and open the front door for you, talking as he walked back to return to his previous task.

Apparently he was trying to find a good shirt, seeing as how he had pants on, but his chest was bare. Keigo instructed you to sit on the bed for a second while he retreated into his massive closet, trying to find a good shirt  to go with the rest of his outfit.

His bedroom was pretty large, a full California King taking up the majority of the space, neatly made. The sheets and blankets felt soft beneath your fingers as you sat on it’s edge, prepared to wait for Keigo for a bit.

The man always took his fashion very seriously - one time he’d even spent two hours trying on clothes until he’d decided on an appropriate outfit to go to the park.

So you followed your tired eyes, exhausted from work and dealing with Keigo, worrying about your friend, daily life stressors and the like.  Keigo wouldn’t mind if you laid back, right? Your feet wouldn’t be on the bed, so it’d be fine.

And it was fine, pleasant, the room the perfect temperature.

You were roughly jerked out of sleep by pressure. Pressure on your hips, pressure on your lips.

Eyes jolting open, you tried to inhale, only to find yourself unsuccessful.

Keigo was on top of you.

Panicking, your hands came to push at him, a muffled sound of protest being squeaked out from where his lips pressed against yours.

Noticing you were awake, Keigo pulled back, smiling the whole while.

“I’m not willing to wait anymore, I just gotta have you.”

His eyes were glinting, hair tousled, still shirtless. You felt goosebumps arise as you remembered the vision you had so long ago, of this exact moment.

“Wai-mmph!” His lips were on yours again, passionate and warm, moving eagerly. A wet tongue pressed at the seam of your mouth, surprising you and making you blanch, which allowed the man access.

Kiego’s tongue explored the inside of your mouth, playfully tapping your own wet muscle, encouraging you to lift it and wrestle with him.

This was too weird, this wasn’t happening, you couldn’t do this-

Biting down hard, you snapped your teeth shut on his tongue, and Keigo yelped, drawing back immediately.

“Ouch, what the fuck!?! Chill out (Y/N), geez.” His hand was dabbing at his mouth, wincing when it came in contact with his bleeding tongue. You had bitten him deep, but you weren’t focused on that right now.

“What are-what are you doing?” Your voice was breathless, disoriented. The room felt…. Dark, and suffocating, as if it was closing in on the two of you, trapping you.

Keigo looked down at you, and it was only then that you realized you had been moved to lie on the bed fully, shoes off, legs splayed. The man rested on his stomach between them, his weight pressed against your body, keeping you still.

“I told you, I can’t wait anymore. I’ve been as nice as I can, but it’s time you started paying me back for everything I’ve done for you.”

What? Paying him back-was he talking about the quirk suppressor he had gifted you? Had he been lying about his true intentions this whole time?

“That’s not right, it was a gift, you-you don’t have to pay back a gift.” You spluttered, feeling as if your chest was collapsing.

Keigo shook his head, swooping down to leave a bloody kiss on your forehead, which you cringed at, before pulling back to speak.

“Nah, it wasn’t a gift. You know how expensive it was? You were always gonna have to compensate me. Now shush, I wanna feel you-“

One of his hands grabbed your jaw, keeping your face turned towards his, pressing down until tears formed in your eyes. His lips were bloody from the bite on his tongue, tasting unmistakably like iron.

You didn’t want this.

Trying to bite him again left you with a slap to your thigh, making you cry out. Keigo huffed out a laugh against your mouth.

He detached from your lips, just to start nibbling at your jawline, elating streaks of red where his lips touched.

“God, you are so sexy. I was trying to chill, but then I came out and you were sleepin’ all cute, and I couldn’t fucking stop myself from touching.”

“Stop doing this, I can pay you with something different. I don’t wanna do this Keigo.” You whispered, on the verge of crying.

“No, I get to decide what you’ll be doing for me, it’s my bracelet-“

“It’s not, you gave it to me, please stop-“

“Shut up.” He growled sinking his teeth into the side of your neck, nipping at the skin hard enough to have you screaming. “You’re so ungrateful, where’s my thanks? I’ve done so much for you.”

“Thank you, thank you Keigo, I appreciate it all-“ You hurried out, hoping it was what he wanted to hear “But I can’t do this, please don’t make me. I wanna go home.”

“There we go, I like the sound of you thanking me. You’re going to thank me for each and every time you cum tonight, got it?”

“No, no, we can’t do this, I can’t! Get off of me, please-“

“You’ll do it, or else I’ll whip you until your flesh hangs off of you in strings.” He hissed, squeezing your jaw cruelly.

The tears in your eyes overflowed as you fell silent.

“Aw, birdie, don’t cry. I’m not gonna hurt you, I never have, right?” He waited for a second, watching your face before he pressed harder, eyes hardening “Right?“

You nodded jerkily, and Keigo came to kiss your tears away, savoring their salty taste as they rolled down your cheeks.

“Keigo, this isn’t right though, please get off me. I don’t want this-“

“You want me to take this away?” A hand caught your shaking wrist, the one that had the quirk suppressor fastened snugly around it, wrenching it up so both of you could see it. “Huh? Put you back where you were in your miserable little life? Running away from everyone, holing up in your apartment, not willing to touch or be touched…”

The very thought made your insides churn, and a fresh round of tears rolled down your face as you shook your head no, lips wobbling as you whined. You felt so pathetic, so small and dumb underneath Keigo.

“That’s what I thought. You’re going to relax now, right? No more begging unless it’s for more.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, beginning to shuffle around until he could slide his hands under your shirt, pressing against your tummy as you flinched away.

“Don’t worry birdie, you’re gonna like every single thing we’re gonna do. You’ve had sex now, yeah? Since I gave you the bracelet?”

You shook your head “no”, it’s not like you were eager for sex before you got it, and all the touching-without-terrifying-visions thing was still new to you, the dating world was being eased into. Somehow though, every single date seemed to be crashed by the man on top of you.

Keigo lit up like a Christmas tree, licking his lips gleefully. “Okay, okay, I can-whew, that’s hot-I can be gentle.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you, his hands skirting up your ribs, shucking up your shirt as the traveled higher and higher.

“Keigo please-“

“Don’t you dare say stop, I’m not gonna. You’re the first person that doesn’t want anything from me, you’re real, and I’m not stopping.”

His admission made you cringe, recoiling from his touch. He followed you, palms finally smoothing over your breasts, over your bra.

“You’re going to do what I say, or else this-“ Your wrist was wrenched into view, red-and-black bracelet glittering. “-gets removed. And I’ll still do whatever the fuck I want, but you’ll be off in your mind having visions of who-knows-what while I have my way. Got it?”

Your blood chilled, body suddenly feeling ice cold. His tone was dead serious, spitting out the words with a sense of finality.

“So, just lay there and take it birdie, I’ll be good to you.”

[flesheatinglette]

----It's been a long while but I wrote a fanfic

Enjoy! ----

-Fuugen-Intoxicating Moments

The warm sticky air hung heavy in the night making the three traveling companions grateful they were able to pull together some cash to afford some decent lodgings. Fuu was very grateful to be able to sleep without being eaten alive by bugs. The few odd jobs helped them accumulate a small savings before setting off again in the morning.

Mugen arrived at the room with several pots of sake in his arms kicking his sandals off.

“Hey!” Fuu screeched “ we aren’t supposed to be spending money on that!”

“Calm down we have plenty left over.”He rolled his eyes, sitting in the center of The room.

Placing the booze in front of him, he removed his red oversized over shirt. “ it’s our last night here that’s enough of a reason to drink for me. Maybe you should have some too it might make you more tolerable to be around.” He teased popping open the quark of the first bottle.

She huffed watching Jin settle in across from Mugen retrieving a small saucer cup to enjoy some of the sake as well.

In a show of reluctant compliance, Fuu plopped down next to Mugen with a huff.

Grabbing her saucer cup and the neck of the bottle she tipped it over slightly letting the liquid trickle out into the cup.

————————————

The moon hung high as the sounds of crickets and frogs hummed outside.

After a few hours, empty discarded jugs were spewed across the floor. Poor Jin, now propped up against the wall, his head had been spinning and couldn’t keep conscious.

“Damn you two drank up a lot of my booze...Did Jin pass out? Good grief...” Mugen grumbled as he swished around the last jug to hear the half-empty sloshing noise it made before pouring himself another cup.

Fuu swigged back what was left in her cup and let out a dramatic sigh after the liquid slid down her throat. The once burning sensation has long become numbed out with a lot of her mind. All she could feel was how warm her face had gotten.

“ Don’t complain, I worked for that money too! I wanna celebrate~” she slurred reaching for the jug in front of Mugen sloppily pointing herself another drink.

“ Not what I would call a celebration. There’s not even any women here to get things going.” the crude man complained lowering his cup from his lips.

“Well then, what would you call me...” she blurted out glaring over at him.

“Pfft! A plank of wood that’s a pain in my ass.” He cracked without any hesitation.

Fuu’s eyebrow twitched as a thought crept into her mind. “I got it...You just can’t handle a woman like me.” She said in a snooty tone, lifting her drink once more to her lips, sipping half of it down before lazily placing the cup to the side.

“Teh, there’s nothing to handle.” He stated bluntly shooting a look over to her flushed face in time to see her grab at the neck of her kimono revealing the pale skin of her shoulder and collarbone.

“So you’re telling me you’re not a man. “ she challenged with a sly smirk on her face.

“Fuu that’s enough.” Mugen said in a low tone.

Slightly stumbling, the inebriated girl leaned over on her knees. Supporting her weight on her right arm. She reached out with her free hand gently grabbing onto a tuff of wild hair beside his face.

“Awe don’t be scared I don’t bite~” she giggled. Twirling his hair in between her fingers, a sense of pride bloomed as she assumed he was becoming flustered.

In a quick movement, Mugen grabbed her hand from his hair and lunged her back pinning her to the ground with a thud. He towered over her, engulfing her form in his shadow, as a wicked grin came over his lips.

Clutching tighter he looked over her small frame, tracing each detail with his eyes slowly up to her face.

“You know what kind of man I am you little bitch. You should be the one who’s scared.” He growled as his hand shifted from pinning down her arm to clenching around her throat. “Are you really that clueless about what kind of monster I am?”

The quick movement made her head spin. Her eyes looked over his face as her fingertips slid slowly over his scarred knuckles around her neck.

“After all this time, I know exactly who you are...” her voice hitched, sliding her hand to the top of his hand “ I’ve seen you fight, steal, and even kill recklessly..but..” Fuu’s soft fingertips left his hand and softly brushed against Mugen’s stubbled cheek. “But I know you won’t hurt me because we care about each other.” the stubborn girl said with no doubt behind her eyes.

His face couldn’t hide the small shock those words caused. Feeling this soft warm touch brought flashbacks to the blood-soaked riverside and the words from the blind assassin.

“Inside of you looms a simmering storm of hatred and rage. But perhaps what I’m actually sensing is sadness. It’s as if you’ve never once been loved by anyone. It’s as if you’re just like me.”

Memories of this headstrong girl, throwing herself between him and the assassin’s almost killing blow, had been tucked into the back of his mind. Along with the cold upsetting rage of watching Sara die at his hands.

Mugen’s hand loosened, adjusting to rest on Fuu’s collarbone. Feeling the thump of her heart under his palm, he slowly leaned over, gently placing his forehead on hers.

Her heartbeat raced as her finger danced up the side of his prickly face brushing into his hair.

“Mugen..” she whispered feeling his warm breath on her face.

“I can’t take this shit.” He murmured as his dark eyes closed. Hearing his name said so sweetly sent a chill through him. Removing his hand from her heaving chest Mugen got to his feet and swiftly made his way outside.

She laid there for a moment stunned by his reaction. Before she could fully think about what she was doing, she was fixing her kimono, running out the door after him.

“H-hey! What's your deal Mugen?!” she yelled out snatching onto the back end of his shirt.

“My deal?! What about yours? Are you messin’ with me? Your little brain is filled to the brim with sake, it's making it hard for you to think!” He shouted turning towards her.

With watering eyes, Fuu tugged harder at his shirt “Are you an idiot? Are my signals not strong enough to get through that thick skull of yours?!” her voice shuttered as she exhaled.

Mugen stood there silent for a moment studying her face, looking at the reflection of the moon’s light in her eyes. His mind was a buzz with her words but a tugging feeling in his gut held him back. “Look girlie, I’m not here to be your drunken mistake that you end up regretting. You wouldn't look at me with those doe eyes for a second if you were sober..so I’m out of here till you can get your mind back to normal. “ the stubborn man snapped.

With furl brows Fuu pushed Mugen into the support beam of the awning over the walkway. “Listen here mister morals!”She stumbled against him keeping eye contact. “Even when my mind is ‘normal’ I still finding myself looking for you or thinking about you.” her eyes stayed serious as she grasped the neck of his white sleeveless shirt. “I use to think it was because of how much you annoy me. But the more I watched you run off after women with lust in your eyes, I felt this endless clench in my throat that would spread to my chest. I can’t make these feelings stop. I can’t help it...”

Before he could proses what she was saying the girl pushed up on her toes yanking his collar towards herself. Soft lips pressed against his. The warmth of her mouth begging for him to consume her made his head blank out for a moment. His hands raised to his sides before he gave in. Grasping at her shoulders, adjusting himself, he pulled her light body into his chest. Pushing off the post, almost lifting her feet from the ground, he stepped forward shifting the control to him.

The sake taste of his lips was intoxicating on their own. Releasing the shirt her arms slid up around his neck. Feeling his big hands wander over her back as his body pushes against hers made her whole being as warm as her face. As his tongue slipped through her lips her eyes became alert. Fuu had never kissed like this before. Only small peck to childhood crushes. Feeling his experience made her heart thump with excitement as his hands reached and grasped her hips. The blush on her cheeks intensified making her head burn as her eyes narrowed offering her tongue to his.

The wild-haired man’s desire began to boil as he felt her give in to him. A grunt slipped feeling her slick tongue encouraged him. He slowly pulled away looking from her kiss swollen lips to her longing eyes. Mugen’s calloused hands went from her hips to cup her pale face as he pulled his mind together.

“Mugen..p-please...I wanna kiss you more.” Fuu said in a soft whimper. Her mind began to go white as she clung to him trying to keep her focus between his eyes and lips. Her legs were like jelly mostly holding herself up by his neck.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning... I know am... We need to go back to the room.” Mugen groaned placing his hands on her arms putting her back on her feet. Watching her stumble in place he let out a frustrated sigh. In one motion he lifted her into his arms. Without another word, Mugen walked into their room where Jin was still passed out. Squatting down he placed the girl's small frame onto a premade futon. “You need to get some sleep.” He said looking at threw half-lidded eyes.

The moments between being tasting Mugen’s fiery kisses and laying down on the futon were blank in her mind. Seeing him over her with that look sent pain through her heart. As he shifted to stand she reached out grabbing onto his arm. “P-please don’t go... Stay with me.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she tugged at him weakly towards the futon. Fuu's grip slightly clenched looking over his face.

Truthfully he didn’t want to restrain himself. Seeing her in front of him made it harder not to lose all control and devour her leaving his mark and scent throughout every fiber of her being. A small nagging fear kept him in its grasp making his mind reconsider his basic instinct. “Damn it... Fine...” he growled flopping down on his side next to her propping his head on his hand supported by his elbow. “But we are going to sleep...”

Fuu looked him over sliding into him lacing her arms through the triangle opening of his supporting arm and over the other side of his neck. Planting small kisses up his collarbone to his neck, she could feel his blood rushing under her lips warming them with each pump.

Mugen reached over with his free arm pulling out her hair sticks one by one letting the strands fall free under his nose. Her sweet smell mixed with the small impact of each kiss threatened to fog his mind. He looked down at her tossing the hair sticks to the side as their eyes connected.

Fuu lifted her jaw to his, planting a delicate unsure peck on his bottom lip.

Mugen’s free hand found itself running through her hair, as he leaned in closer, holding her lips to his for a moment longer. They slowly broke the kiss pulling back without words.

Her head nestled down in the space between his arm and his chest. The mix of the alcohol and his scent relaxed her mind enough to fall asleep. Her arms went limp retreating to the space between them, feebly grasping at his shirt to make sure he didn’t leave.

Watching her chest softly rise and fall as she slept lulled his tired mind to sleep soon after her.

—————————————

Day brake began to creep in as the outside creatures began to wake. Jin’s head throbbed as he made it to his feet completely out of it. The hungover samurai left the room to make his way to the public bathhouse to freshen up before they would have to continue their journey.

Mugen hadn’t moved all night keeping his back to the door as he listened to Jin leave. Hearing the door close he leaned a bit to peak over his shoulder.

A small lazy hand lifted touching his face turning his attention back to the half-sleeping girl next to him. “M-Mugen..” a faint breath escaped her lips as her eyes stayed closed.

He let out a huff before adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close to his chest feeling her give in to him. Feeling the warmth of her body snuggle on him, their breath sank together as they fell back asleep.

[5lazarus]

Love and Red Ink

Varric tries his hand at a more literary Bildungsroman about his youth as a Kirkwall bohemian. Bianca tears it apart, editing for his own good. Sometimes love is in the margins, your almost ex-girlfriend telling you--I wasn't that pretty, when I was that young. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Varric slips out of bed, sheets rustling, and puts his pants back on. He sneaks a quick glance at Bianca, who’s still sleeping. Her mouth is slightly agape, her hair dark with sweat. She looks old in the gray morning light, but they are old now. He’s turning forty in two months; she’ll be forty-two.

The inn she picked in Val Royeaux is adjacent to the alienage, and so accustomed to strange couplings. The clerks and the maids do not speak, and to those elves, every dwarf is interchangeable anyway. Her husband only gets angry when it’s too blatant, after all. The occasional assignation does no harm. It’s when they wander into the garden at Kirkwall parties, or spend whole Merchant Guild meetings giggling to each other, that he gets upset. Varric can’t blame him. He’d be upset too, if his wife were so obviously in love with another man.

Raggedly he drags his hand through his lank hair. He can’t think like this, let alone write. He finds a spare ribbon, borrowed from Daisy, in his coat pocket. Easier now he pulls back his hair, thinking he might have to order a bath, and perhaps Bianca can be coaxed to join him, she’s not due to meet the Comtesse ’til noon—and the words come marching orderly in their lines.

She snores gently, like a pampered house cat that still has its claws. The years have kept her svelte, her mouth as seductive as the first time he ever sank his teeth in, and Captain Donnen wipes the vestiges of plum lip-paint from his face. He leaves the mark on his collarbone; his shirt hides it, but he can feel it burning in his skin.

Varric grabs the leather-bound journal Hawke gave him for his birthday last year and throws himself onto his chair. He gropes about the desk, looking for a quill, but none the inn left have been sharpened. He’s got a new project going on, and he likes it, it’s easier to write than his detective stories, though he doesn’t think they’ll sell as well. He’s writing about love, real love for once, and he’s writing about youth. He’s writing about getting old. He’s writing about lovers who shouldn’t have been star-crossed, because the wedding was set, and he’s writing maybe about what could have happened if she showed up. He takes the quill and finds his penknife in his trouser pocket, almost ready to tack it down.

Then the words are gone, and he sees them for what they are: tawdry, tired, dull. Sighing, he gets up and opens the shutters. The morning flutters in, cracking the wheels of the wagons, the high voices of the sellers, the promise of spring. Varric turns around to look at Bianca, to see how the sunlight has transformed her, but she’s already up, half-dressed, her breasts swinging slightly as she laces herself into her boots first. He smiles. He’s never understood what she does that: put her trousers and shoes on first.

Bianca inquires, “Like the view?”

He gets behind her, rubbing himself against her as an answer, and traces his hands up her sides and onto her breasts. She laughs, leaning into him, and presses his hands onto her breasts.

“You don’t need to leave, not yet,” he says. She grinds into him as encouragement. This is why she puts her boots on first, he thinks. So they can do this.

“Babe,” Bianca says, “yes I do.” Now she pulls his arms away, gently. Varric sighs. She puts on her shirt but leaves it unbuttoned for now. She sits in the chair by the bed, but not on the bed, and grins up at him. “Besides, I don’t want to disturb you while you’re writing. You looked like you had a good idea.”

Varric waves a hand. “It’s crap. Most of the time, it’s always crap.”

Bianca shrugs. “Your readers say different.”

“Yeah, well, my readers aren’t that smart.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Bianca crosses her legs and begins doing up her shirt. “But at least you’re making people happy.”

Varric says, “You want to read what I’m working on now?”

“No.” It’s annoying how sexy she looks, saying that, staring up at him flatly.

Varric says, “Oh, come on, you never read my books. Why not just this once? I think you’d like this once.”

Bianca says, “I’m not your editor or your wife, Varric.” Varric flinches, and Bianca looks away. Grudgingly, she relents. “What’s it about?”

Varric offers her the notebook. He’s easy with letting people see first drafts, half the fun of writing is seeing how his friends like it. Hawke encourages his worst metaphor. Isabela, out of all people, makes him cut them back. Bianca’s never liked reading much, it’s something he’s learned to accept about her, but if it’s about them, perhaps it will be better this time.

He says, simply, “Us.”

Bianca’s eyebrows raise. She stares at the journal in his hand. “I don’t want to read that.”

Varric says, “We weren’t that dumb, when we were young. I changed the name. It’s not that autobiographical. No one would recognize it, besides you. Or Bartrand. And it’s not like he’s capable of reading anything right now.”

“Who wants to read about two rich kids deciding to listen to their parents?” Bianca says. “Who wants to read about getting old? You’re a good storyteller, Varric. Stick to your stories. You don’t need to tell truth.”

Varric grins. “Who said I didn’t exaggerate?”

“I’m certain you described my breasts as much bigger than they actually are,” Bianca says flatly. He waves the book around her, and her expression tightens. “Stop that.”

“Nah,” Varric says. “Make me.”

Her eyes narrow. She likes a challenge. She leaps from the chair, snatching it from his hand so fast he flinches. He forgets, sometimes, how much stronger she is than him. She keeps in better shape than him, she has to, being that involved in the Merchant’s Guild. The stakes are so high, when you’re trying to bribe your way back into Orzammar.

She flips the notebook open, turning to a random page, and reads aloud, “She was the flame in that dark garden, and we were all drawn to her, turned to little insects in her radiant light. It was cold that night in Kirkwall, and I remember stamping my feet to keep off the chill as I smoked, listening to the revelry in the ballroom. Then she stumbled past, brilliant in red velvet, and said, ‘Quick, hide me—I just poisoned Eldric’s lover. Oh, is that elfroot? I’ll take that too.’ Her chest heaved as she panted to catch her breath—Varric, what the fuck is this?” She’s laughing now. “You’re making me sound a lot more—edgy than I ever was.”

“You were edgy,” Varric says helplessly. “You were the first dwarven woman I met who didn’t give a damn for the rules.”

“My mom told me to poison Amara,” Bianca giggles. “And I was the one who had the elfroot.”

Stonyfaced he watches her attempt and fail to suppress her laughter. She turns to another page, throwing herself back into the chair. Varric watches impassively. He’s remembering why he stopped pressing her to read his writing. She’s always such a bitch about it.

Bianca says, “Oh, Varric. I was never that pretty, not even when I was young.”

“You’re beautiful,” Varric almost croaks.

Bianca says, “You’re sweet, but I’m not. And I’ve never tried to be. If you were going to write about me, that should’ve been it. About a girl who says she’s not going to be a noble-hunter and wins an apprenticeship to a mechanic instead. About the first surfacer paragon. Or the first surfacer who they said should be a paragon, and how I built my clan back up.”

“Which you’ve done,” Varric says, “beautifully.”

She rolls her eyes. “And what’s this? Really, Varric, your prose is purple but this is a bit much. How many times are you going to compare me to a flame? I thought you hated the heat. Is that the point? Is it a metaphor, for how I burned you?”

Varric takes the notebook from her, scowling. “Alright, alright. That’s enough, you don’t need to go on about it. I just…I just wanted to try something different, that’s all. Sorry I didn’t write when we first me the way you liked it. I always thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d laid eyes on. Brilliant. That’s what I was trying to say.”

Bianca softens, and she pushes herself up and into him. Stiffly, he lets her maneuver around him. She pats the side of his face twice, like a slap without heat—or the way you dismiss a child. “Then just say it. You don’t need to write it. You always get me wrong, that’s why we never worked.”

“We still work,” Varric says. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

Bianca says, “Stick to your crime novels, babe. That’s the sort of shit people want to leave.” Gently Varric disentangles him from her. He grabs his shirt and finishes dressing. He can hear her behind him, getting ready. He needs a bath, he needs a shave, he needs to wash his hair.

Bianca opens the door. “Don’t take it too personally. I hate romance. Sorry I was so harsh. Anyway, I have to get to work.”

Varric says, “Yeah.” He leans against the desk, away from the window. Despite the sun the room feels inexorably dim, or maybe it’s his heart. He wants a drink. He’ll get a bath instead.

“I’ll see you when I see you?” Bianca flashes a smile and lets the door shut. He closes his eyes and listens for her heavy footsteps down the hall, then onto the staircase, each step creaking as she launches herself out of the inn and into the next step of her career.

He thinks, I shouldn’t write about something that never fucking ends.

[batfam-rewrites]

Batfam During Quarantine: Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Bruce: So I have Dick giving Damian the talk in the next room.

Harper: Is that the best choice. Having the person who has had the most sexual partners explain that to a 14 year old.

Bruce: I thought of that, but then I thought Jason would be very explicit, the rest of you aren’t mature enough...

Tim: What the fuck! I am much more mature than Dick!

Bruce: Hold on! My last point is that he has a giant sweet spot for Damian, so he is going to sugar coat every detail.

Dick: *plays Prince’s I Wanna Be Your Lover*

Bruce: NOOOOO!!!! *runs into the room and drags Dick out by the ear*

Dick: OUCH, OUCH, OUCHIEEE! BRUCE!

Bruce: I thought you could handle this!

Dick: I can, I’m teaching him about the birds and bees while introducing him to one of the greatest artists of all time.

Bruce: NO PRINCE!!!

Dick: FINE!!! *walks back in and plays Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing*

Bruce: DICK!!!!!!

Jason: I’m on it. *pulls out his guns and opens the door* TURN THE MUSIC OFF NOW DICKWAD!!!

____

Jason: *jumps onto his bed*

Dick: *opens Jason’s door* Hey Jason! Want to play Rock Hero with us?

Jason: No Dickwad!

Dick: Kk. See ya! *shuts the door*

Jason: Good riddance.

Harper: *opens the door and walks in* Hey Jason!

Jason: Jesus! Does anyone knock in this house! I could have been fucking naked!

Harper: You know what, never mind! I’ll leave you to whatever you were going to do! *slowly walks away*

Jason: No! No! Not like that!

Harper: Suuuurreee!

Jason: Get your head out of the gutter!

Harper: Hey, I won’t say anything, just lock your door next time! *shuts Jason’s door*

Jason: EVEN IF THAT WAS WHAT WAS HAPPENING IT’S A NATURAL THING!!! EVERYBODY DOES IT!!! *walks over to the door and locks it, then turns on his tv*

Tim: *knocks on the door* Jason, where’s my cape??

Jason: *opens the door slightly* I wouldn’t fucking know! Go away! *slams the door and starts dressing into his Red Hood costume*

Damian: *knocks on the door*

Jason: *opens the door with a box of Reese’s Puffs* What demon seed?

Damian: Give me back my Reese’s Puffs, Todd!!!

Jason: I don’t know what you’re talking about! This is my box! *finished eating the box of cereal and walks through the house towards the study*

Damian: I NEED MY CHOCOLATEY PEANUT BUTTERY CEREAL!!!! GET ME A NEW BOX!!!!!

Jason: You know how to drive, get it yourself! *moves the hands of the grandfather clock and enters the batcave*

Damian: Father won’t let me.

Jason: Boo hoo. What would you ever do. It’s not like you have a brother who will literally do anything if you give him a hug or another one who you could annoy into getting you some. 

Damian: THEY DIDN’T EAT MY REESE’S PUFFS!!!! YOU DID!!!

Jason: You have no proof that I did. *throws the box away* Now piss off! I’m going on patrol! *hops onto his motorcycle and drives to his safe house*

Jason: *opens the door*

Damian: Liar!

Jason: AHHH!!! SON OF A BITCH GET THE FUCK OUT!!!!

Damian: GET ME MY REESE’S PUFFS!!!!!

Jason: FINE!

____

Dick: You know, I wish I had a friend named Jen!

Stephanie: Why?

Dick: So I could make them a Jen and tonic.

Tim: Why’d you ask?

Stephanie: I was expecting a serious answer.

Tim: Dick? Serious? When is he ever serious?

Dick: It’s like a switch, I can turn it on and off!

Tim: Then be serious!

Dick: I don’t wanna!

____

Red Robin: Okay so Dami. There’s this duck.

Robin: WHERE!!! *gasp* Is he supposed to be a secret?

Red Robin: Uhhhh..... sure. I’ll tell you where he’s at later. Anyway, this duck will eventually reach the point where it will learn to fly and see other animals. It’ll see some monkeys, wolfs, bears, snakes, and and so on. Now at some point the duck will want to meet one, or multiple animals, and get....*clears throat* physical with the other animals. In some cases it could be another bird, or the duck might want to get physical with a bird and another animal.

Robin: Oh! I see where you’re going with this!

Red Robin: You do?!

Robin: Yeah! Now let’s go stop some super sick people pinning a free for all match with those animals.

____

Tim: SOMEONE TOOK ACE!!!!!

Stephanie: WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!!!!

Damian: I’ll tell you what we are going to do. We’re going to hunt this sucker down and break every single one of his fingers and toes. Then we’re going to CASTRATE HIM, TIE HIS BODY TO A STRETCHING RACK AND STRETCH HIS BODY UNTIL HIS BONES BREAK!!!!!!!!!

Stephanie: Okay, I’m pretty sure what you said was threatening, but with how high pitched your voice gets when you’re angry and how chubby your cheeks are you look like a chipmunk!

Damian: I WILL KILL ANYONE WHO STANDS IN MY WAY!!!

Tim: *on the floor rolling* OMG.... STOP...... IT’S TOO FUNNY!

Later that day

Robin: *kicks the guy who stole Ace in the chest* I WILL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!!!!!!

Thug: *coughs* Who brought a *cough* giant chipmunk to a gun *cough* fight?

____

Blue Bird and Spoiler: *crashes through the top window of the building and takes out a few of Riddler’s henchman*

Riddler: With potent, flowery words speak I, of something common, vulgar, dry; I weave webs of pedantic prose, in effort to befuddle those, who think I while time away, in lofty things, above all day practical I may not be, but life, it seems, is full of me! Who am I?

Spoiler: Assface Dickwad!

Riddler: You all suck!

Blue Bird: And you have the right to remain silent!

Riddler: You’d have to catch me first! *starts running*

____

Dick: Okay, so I just found this new app called 3-D gym men, and is so cool!!! LOOK AT THIS RINGS ROUTINE I JUST MADE!!!!

Duke: Oh no! SOME ONE STOP HIM BEFORE HE TURNS INTO SUPER GYMNAST NERD!

Jason: *tackles Dick*

Dick: OUCH!

Tim: *walks in the room* Hey guys, I just got this gymnastics app and it is so DAMN AMAZING!!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE SUGGESTION DICK!!!!

Stephanie: Oh my god it's contagious!!!!! EVERYBODY LOCK THEM IN A ROOM!!!!!

____

Duke: Where the hell are my eskrima sticks?

Dick: I can’t find mine either.

Cassandra: Anyone seen like 30 batarangs that I had in my room.

Duke: Nope.

Dick: Nada.

Tim: I’ve been missing my cape for a few days now!

Jason: *walks by*

Dick: JASON!!!!

Cassandra: GIVE US BACK OUR STUFF!!!!!

Jason: YOU CAN’T PROVE SHIT!!!!

____

Jason: IT’S TIME FOR THE FIRST EVER BATMAN-OFF!!! PERSON WHO DOES THE BEST BATMAN IMPERSONATION WINS. WITH OUR JUDGES, BRUCE, SELINA, ALFRED, JULIA, AND CULLEN!!!

Stephanie: I’m Batman!

Jason: The judges are writing their scores, and Steph gets a 22. Nice try.

Tim: Criminals, by nature, are a cowardly and superstitious lot.

Jason: And the judges give Tim a 31. Currently in first!!!

Duke: I’m not wearing hockey pads!!

Jason: The judges give a drum roll please! A 29!

Dick: Nope, but be careful Robin. They’re wearing sunglasses at night. Which means they are very, very cool.

Jason: I think I speak for all of us when I say that gets a 0.

Dick: Hey you never said which Batman. I think I should get a 50. That is spot on Batman.

Bruce: Disqualified.

Damian: I thought you’d be younger.

Jason: And Dami gets a 31. Tied.

Cassandra: *drops down from the second floor and lands on the floor* Grrrrrrr.

Selina: And we have a winner!

Bruce: I don’t sound like that!

Alfred: Yes you do!

____

Blue Bird: Hey, my dad is calling. Orphan, you answer the phone.

Orphan: Okay. *answers the phone* Hello, Harper isn’t here right now, would you like me to find her?

Harper’s Dad: Yes, please!

Orphan: Okay, let me put you on hold *sings the Mii channel theme*

Orphan: *taking a breath* Blue Bird, your dad wants to talk to you. *goes back to singing*

Blue Bird: Obviously I can’t. We’re on a stakeout.

Orphan: Okay, *stops singing* I’m sorry for having you on hold for so long. I can not find Harper so I would assume she is currently online with her class! I am sure though she will either call you or text you at your earliest convenience. I mean her earliest convenience.

Harper’s Dad: Okay.

____

Bruce: Okay, so Alfred, you did such a great job with me...

Alfred: Master Bruce, it’s time we had a talk.

Bruce: Yes! I agree, you should give the talk to Damian.

Alfred: No! When you were entering puberty, I was very nervous what to say. I knew that it might have been the last thing on your mind but I knew it was going to come up at some point. So I sat you down and had the talk with you. Now it has come the time for you to do the same to Master Damian.

Bruce: Damn you and your parenthood logic. Should hire a tutor for this crap. *knocks on Damian’s door* Hey, Damian, it’s time we’ve had the talk.

[steveharrington]

ms steveharrington do u have any book recommendations

YES starting with my most recent fav

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: this book is always just pitched as dark academia and while the label definitely applies, i would mostly describe this book as a slow burn thriller with a fantastic cast of characters. the story centers around the narrator, richard papen, who enrolls in a prestigious college and becomes involved with a mysterious and closely knit group of greek students who drag him into a very high stakes mystery. donna tartt’s prose is so vivid and beautiful and she creates both protagonists and antagonists that give meaning to characters you love to hate. i can’t express enough how much i absolutely love this book and i highly recommend trying it out

Summer of Night by Dan Simmons: if you’ve ever wanted a book that captures the same vibes as It or Stranger Things but a little more brutal and willing to lean into the horror genre, i Highly recommend summer of night. it’s about young boys in a small town where weird shit (that adults either can’t see or may be involved in) starts happening at the start of their summer break. i’m not kidding when i say this book actually shocked me halfway through and totally upended what i thought was going to happen. also made me cry!

Pet Sematary by Stephen King: i’m sorry i have to <3 this book essentially confirmed for me that books can be terrifying! it handles the topic of death and grief so well through the lens of a family living in their new home right by a pet cemetery, where buried things come back to life slightly…off! of all king’s books i’ve read (a lot 😔) this one has stuck with me the most and i firmly believe it remains his best idea

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: this remains my favorite book i’ve ever read for any class ever!! the narrator of this book is one of my favorite female characters in literature because she feels so real throughout the entirety of her insane twisting story that focuses on her new life as the bride of the wealthy maxim de winter, stepping into the shoes of his deceased former wife rebecca. there’s an amazing alfred hitchcock movie adaptation but i really suggest reading this beforehand so the twists hopefully surprise you as much as they surprised me!

Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple: okay i feel like all my recommendations thus far have been really dark and kinda heavy so here’s a book that’s just really fun and entertaining. it’s so clever in the way it satirizes wealthy suburban communities through bernadette, a wife and mother with a successful past who suddenly disappears from her average lifestyle. another book with really good twists and turns that’s genuinely funny without trying too hard. there’s a movie as well but i never watched it bc i don’t like cate blanchett <3

[damatris]

There's Harshness In Your Voice And Softness In Your Hands

May I offer you a very soft and hopefully funny concussed!Jaskier geraskier fic in these trying times? Also tagging @jaskierswolf since you’re an awesome writer and I super appreciated your kind words and encouragement! <3 This was the third fic I wrote after a 8 year break in writing prose. :’D

Pre-Geraskier, concussed!Jaskier, protective!Geralt, Fluff, And Humor wc:  2,638 Also on AO3 with The Mud Wolf song!

....

"Are we there yet?" Jaskier asked with a grin, knowing perfectly well the town was only ten minute walk away. Exasperated sigh was his only response, just as he predicted.

"I do hope I have enough time to turn your newest valiant fight into an epic tale. Spinning a song out of a mud covered Witcher and his battle with an overgrown worm might be impossible for a lesser bard but I'm sure I can manage." he continued, taking maybe slightly too much joy out of having stayed spotless while Geralt looked like he had rolled on wet ground for a good while. Which wasn't too far from the truth.

For once the hunt had been more of an annoyance than life threatening. Geralt had been hired to take care of an unidentified monster wreaking havoc on the soft soil of nearby fields, threatening the crops.

Turned out the monster was a sizable worm like creature with thick ridged skin and countless teeth similar to sharp picks in a gaping maw. Which could have been deadly if its anatomy didn't require one to stick an arm inside the mouth to be bitten. But it had been strong, squirmy and eager to burrow away forcing Geralt to drag it out of the ground with both hands more than once. It ended up more of a wrestling match than a fight before he had been able to skewer the monster with his sword.

Jaskier had been happy to offer gleeful advice and encouragement from a safe distance where flying muck couldn't reach his silk doublet.

"Really, it would make for a good ditty, something to hum while working the fields" the bard continued, demonstrating a bright tune.

"Don't." Geralt said blankly, dragging the monster's corpse. Mud was starting to flake off his face and armor leaving dusty residue. He would have to give it a throughout cleaning later. Having caked mud in armor joints could only lead to discomfort and possibility of something jamming.

"We'll see." Jaskier said and kept humming until they reached their destination.

Calling it a town might be slightly generous but it was a lively place. During the day there had been a sizable crowd of customers and sellers in the town square, children playing and general bustle of people hurrying on their errands. Even now in the twilight hours there were people walking around giving them looks ranging from disgust to fear to bafflement. Which Jaskier thought was fair enough considering a bloody carcass was being dragged by an extremely filthy Witcher down their streets.

He too would have stopped to stare at such a spectacle once upon a time. Nowadays he just witnessed the hunting of the dangerous creatures instead.

Few minutes later they separated. Geralt was off to present the proof of the completed mission to the magistrate and collect his fee while Jaskier continued to the inn they were staying at. He had a promise to keep to the owner. Not that it was any sort of a hardship. He would have performed anyway but getting free meals for both of them was a very welcome bonus.

The inn's tavern with its warmth and amiable atmosphere was a welcome change from the cooling evening. Conversations and laughter, clinking of drinks being drank and dinners being eaten filled the space with familiar sounds. It had been far too long since the last time they had stayed somewhere nice Jaskier decided. Adjusting his lute he headed toward the bar to talk with the owner.

"Hello again!" Jaskier greeted placing a coin on the counter. "Could you draw a bath in about thirty minutes or so? Not for me, don't worry. I'm ready to sing until everyone here is full of good cheer and good ale!" he ended with a wink.

"That might take quite the while knowing these folks." Oscar, a tall broad man chuckled. Noticing the lack of a looming presence he asked "Bath's for the Witcher then?"

"Absolutely! You should and will see the state he landed himself. So easy to mistake for something that crawled out of a swamp and rolled in dirt for good measure. If you hadn't already seen him, you'd swear his hair is black and skin grey. Thankfully the same fate didn't befall me." Jaskier gestured to his clothes. "Now that would have been a tragedy."

"Plenty of water needed then." Oscar nodded to himself, moving toward a patron looking for a drink. "I'll have it ready for him."

Jaskier gave a small playful bow and twirled around to spot a good place to stash his lute case.

This evening had blessed him with an appreciative audience, Jaskier mused happily. He had begun with true crowd pleasers, jaunty songs that each and everyone knew, to draw the attention and set a jovial mood before moving to his original pieces bridging the change with Toss A Coin. It truly was a great trademark and transition song with addition of people usually complying with the lyrics and handing out money. Sure, there always were some grumblers who would prefer anything over having to hear about the White Wolf in a positive light but you never could please everyone. No matter how much he would like to.

Jaskier had started on the third song detailing a hunt he had witnessed when the Witcher of the tale entered the tavern drawing all eyes and causing murmur.

"Your bard really wasn't exaggerating much." Oscar noted behind the bar with a wry smile. "There's a warm bath waiting for you upstairs. I'd make haste if I were you."

Geralt nodded his acknowledgment while taking a sweeping look at the tavern. Spotting Jaskier near the stairs leading up to the second floor he locked eyes with him for a moment before starting in that direction. While Jaskier's performance hadn't faltered even for a second it was clear he was laughing internally at Geralt's appearance. His blue eyes were sparkling with mirth as he took stock of the stiff hair and dust falling with every step.

Walking past him to the stairs Geralt grunted something that was both a thank you and a warning. Jaskier felt quite proud of how well he had learned the meanings of the various hmms and wordless grunts Geralt seemed so overly fond of.

"Filthy fucking mutant!"

Jaskier was used to being pelted with various objects by dissatisfied audiences so he didn't think anything about stepping between something flying and the Witcher's retreating back.

Until blinding pain hit him.

On a reflex Jaskier threw his arms in front of himself trying to ensure the safety of his lute as he was knocked down on his back. Trying to draw air back into his deflated lungs and focus on anything outside of the ringing in his ears, he vaguely registered a dark shape jumping over him with a curse.

It might have been a year or it might have been a second before a large hand shook his shoulder.

"Damn it Jaskier, breath!"

Ah, yes. He knew that voice. He should probably answer.

"...G'r'lt..." not the most eloquent but passable. It was kind of hard to force words out when you had to think about breathing. Maybe he should go back to practicing basics if saying one word clearly took that much air. How had he ever sang possessing such a horrendous breathing technique?

"Look at me."

But he already was? Oh, wait. That darkness wasn't Geralt's black armor. He just had his eyes closed. But who was he to deny the chance of looking at Geralt's eyes? They were so beautiful after all. With herculean task he blinked and, behold, those molten yellow eyes were intensely staring at his. Such perfection surrounded by dancing stars.

"Can you sit up?"

Should be simple enough but he would need his hands. And they were...

"M' lute...?"

"Of fucking course you would worry about your lute. You're clutching it."

Ah. Good. Everything was fine in that case. Case. Where was his lute case? No, he had put it down before performing. Should be safe. Even if he couldn't recall where it was. Maybe he could ask Geralt. He could just-

"Sniff 'nd find" it with his strange strange Witcher senses. Seemed like a good plan. Geralt would know the scent.

"What the everlasting fuck Jaskier? How hard did that tankard hit your head?"

But tankards weren't for hitting? Why would he have…? Ah. Yes. He must have stepped in front of it now that he thought about it. Still, who would throw one? If you wanted to throw something at a person then-

"Coins ar' good, bre'd okay."

"That's it. I'm taking him to our room."

Jaskier had never realized he could levitate but suddenly he wasn't on the floor anymore. It felt much more safe and warm than he would have thought. And weirdly dusty. Also, Geralt's face was very close. Very, very close. So very close. It was distracting him from the experience. It was unfair how-

"Handsome." Geralt was. Robbing him the chance of experiencing flight. The bastard.

"If you mumble nonsense then you can just shut up."

Rude.

Shit, Jaskier thought. He wasn't levitating anymore. He had missed his chance of enjoying it. Suddenly also the warmth and Geralt's face were gone. No, there was Geralt again. But why wasn't his hair white? It was even in the name. The White Wolf. Not-

"The Mud Wolf."

"Really Jaskier? Not even coherent and you make insults?"

Geralt was an insult. With his pretty eyes and pretty lips and strong arms. Arms…? Maybe Jaskier didn't know how to levitate after all. Maybe Geralt-

"Carried me?" Huh. That would have been even better to register than levitating. If he asked would Geralt do it again while hiding his stupid good looking face? No, probably not.

"Yes."

He would? Wait, no. It was an affirmation for being carried, Jaskier realized with disappointment. He was prevented from brooding by something wet and stinging touching his forehead. He wanted it to-

"Stop. Hurts."

"Stay still. I need to clean this."

Geralt was the one who had wrestled a worm, not him. Heh, that's why he was The Mud Wolf! Didn't explain why his forehead needed cleaning though. Jaskier took a deep breath and tried to focus. Worm, tavern, performing, Geralt coming in. Then it got fuzzy. But hadn't there been a mention of a-

"Tankard. I got hit by a tankard?"

"Finally. Yes Jaskier, you were an absolute idiot and stepped in its path." a relieved sigh passed Geralt's lips.

"You were already in its path." Jaskier accused him wincing against a new stab of pain. Geralt should be thankful. Who knew that an overglorified cup could hurt this much?

"I was the target. It would have hit my back. While wearing an armor. If I hadn't caught it first."

"..." Jaskier blamed his lack of a comeback on concussion. Having one would explain everything. "Please don't say a child threw it and managed to knock me out."

There was an amused huff. "No, it was an adult. One that has a far worse headache."

"They managed this while concus-? You gave them one!" Jaskier crowed pleased with his returning mental skills. "Ooh, I wish I could have seen it. I hope they lost a lot of teeth! And have a broken nose."

"Probably, didn't check. I had more important things to do." Geralt answered prodding Jaskier's head. It didn't look too bad now that the blood was gone. An ugly bruise was quickly forming on a sizeable bump but the cut wasn't long or deep. Shouldn't even leave a scar. Head wounds just bled like a bitch as Geralt knew from personal experience.

"I'm important?" Jaskier breathed with wide eyes and hanging mouth.

Of course. That would be his take away, Geralt thought. Not that he was wrong but…

"Hmmm."

"Dear Melitele, am I hallucinating?" Jaskier whispered lifting his arm to cup Geralt's cheek. And would have promptly poked him in the eye if Geralt hadn't snatched his hand.

"Geralt of Rivia admitting to care about someone? This must be a first!" a familiar sparkle was returning to Jaskier's pinched eyes. He moved their interlocked hands to take a better look. It wasn't particularly romantic with Geralt holding his wrist but Jaskier would take it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind Geralt let go and his arm flopped bonelessly back on the bed. He didn't remember his hands weighting that much. Weird. Combined with his lute he must have far more strength than he had guessed to be able to play for whole nights with no problem.

"Geralt, where's my lute?" Jaskier suddenly panicked trying to get up to look for it. He was screwed if someone had stolen or, god forbid, broken it. All he got for his attempt was splitting pain.

"Your priorities are fucked up." Geralt stated picking a potion and bandage out of his bag. "It's in the corner. Oscar brought it with the case."

"Excuse me! It's my tool of trade, my life line and…" Jaskier trailed off frowning.

"I'll finish that after I've slept." he sniffed radiating offense.

"You do that. Now, stay still." Geralt drawled. Swiping the cut one last time he covered it with gauze.

It might not be strictly necessary but he was quite sure Jaskier would tear it open at least few times with his animated expressions. And, it made him feel slightly better if he was honest. Realizing the bard had purposefully stepped in front of him and crumpled down like a sack of potatoes had been shocking. Just thinking about it made him want to tear the culprit apart piece by piece.

What in the world had driven Jaskier to do it was a mystery. He should be perfectly aware a flying mug was no danger for a Witcher.

"Drink." Geralt ordered shoving the potion toward Jaskier.

Jaskier did make a valiant effort to take the potion but kept missing the mark until Geralt placed it in his hand with an exasperated sigh. Shakily he drank the concoction without hesitation until the bottle was empty, Geralt helping him lift his head enough not to choke.

"Wait. What was that? You always go on and on how your strange Witcher potions are not for us weak fragile humans. You wouldn't poison me after all this time, right? Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly worried.

"If I wanted you dead I'd have killed you long ago. And not with poison." Geralt answered blankly.

"It's just painkiller. You can sleep now. I'll keep waking you up to make sure last of your brain cells didn't rattle loose." he continued lifting the blanket for Jaskier to wrap it around himself.

"That's offensive. I'll let you know I have plenty of commonsense…" Jaskier protested weakly eyelids fluttering.

"Sure. As much as a toddler." Geralt granted. Softer, he prompted Jaskier to close his eyes. "Sleep. You'll feel better after."

"... Uh-huh…" came the eloquent answer. Just before he succumbed to his exhaustion, Jaskier could have sworn he felt gentle hand carding through his hair.

Also on AO3 with The Mud Wolf song!

[sageblogsthings]

to celebrate The Crimson Moon reaching 30k as of this morning, i thought that i would share the progression of the opening lines of the book, and talk a bit about how the book has grown and changed in the last year! on july 27th it will be exactly a year since i first started writing this and wow i’m not getting emotional you are aha whaaaat

*cough* anywayyysss!!

draft one: please oh god don't judge me

ok i'm not going to talk negatively about my past writing because it got me to where i am today but. [marge i am looking away meme] if you can't tell, i wrote this when i was going through the existential crisis phase of uni and just wanted to live in the woods, i say like i would not currently move to the woods in a heartbeat asdklfja

at the time that i wrote this i was really happy with it because the writing was fun and, as a result, easy! at this point i was just writing in my down time from uni, and i didn't know what the plot was or what my plans were for the book as a whole. because this was just something i did in my down time, i think my writing took on more of a conversational, stream-of-consciousness tone, and that's part of what made this draft (or start of a draft, i only got like 12k in i think) so easy to write. but eventually, as the plot started to come together and i started to gain more inspiration from sff writers as a whole, i realized that this book wasn't heading in the direction i wanted it to. it wasn't just something to do in my free time at that point, it had taken on a life of it's own. and thus, draft two began.

draft two: electric boogaloo

ngl these lines still slap and i love them. there are definitely things i would change, but these lines will be in the current draft of the book, albeit not in the first chapter and altered slightly. when i started this draft, i didn't have an outline but i had a very clear, cinematic image of how i wanted this chapter to go. i think having that before i started writing helped a looooot, both in terms of prose and just being able to convey aspects of the setting/character in the first paragraph. as i continued writing this draft though, i realized that some of the character arcs didn't make sense or were getting a bit messy, and that, based on the story i wanted to tell, it didn't make sense to start with Xalia. while there are six main pov characters in this book, Vanna really is the main character and i wanted that to be clear.

draft three: this time it's personal actually good

these are the current first lines of the book, and honestly my favorite so far! starting off with Vanna rather than Xalia definitely gives the book a different feel, and it's one that's more true to the vision i have for it. in my opinion, this opening does a much better job of setting up some of the book's themes, which admittedly i'm still figuring out lol. grief and loss are major components of all the character arcs, and are integral to the plot itself. switching to present tense has also been a LIFE CHANGER for me. it's funny because, on the second stab at this book, i kept slipping into present tense, but forcing myself back to past tense because i thought present tense sounded weird. turns out it only sounded weird because it was surrounded by past tense, and now that i've written 3 chapters in present tense i can solidly say that this is the way the book was meant to be written. it just feels like my book now, and i'm so happy with where it's headed!

i also made an outline for this draft of the book, and while i've already deviated from it somewhat to work out plot holes or increase ~foreshadowing~ in certain scenes, getting all of the events out of my head and onto paper has really allowed me to just write because i know that i have a document to refer back to if i get stuck on where the story is headed. making the outline also really pushed me to think about character backstories, most of which i had previously established, but now they've changed a lot to fit together more cohesively and integrate with the plot more clearly. i've also changed a lot of the character designs, and as a result of changing the appearances and backstories of a lot of the characters, i feel a lot closer to them and the story itself. the characters have well and truly taken on a life of their own, and now i'm kind of just along for the ride, telling their stories and loving every second of it!

ALSO!! the last big change with this draft, which i just implemented literally this morning and am so so sooooo excited about, is having first person referral, present tense mini-chapters/interludes! it gives the book a really unique sound and ties into the plot really nicely i think! i feel like the structure and form of the story are finally tying into the story itself and it's driving me insane a little bit askdfjka

as of right now i'm not ready to reveal who the pov and referral characters are in these chapters, because i'm debating between a couple ways of doing things and if i go one way that would end up being a pretty big spoiler! that being said, i got really hyped up about it earlier today and rambled in the spoilers section of my server so if you do want that sweet sweet spoilers content....join my server! ;)

also. i hope u all know that i almost deleted that first snippet about ten different times but transparency in writing and all that, i really do want to show how much this book has grown and changed! even if it's going to cause me immense psychic damage to type up the image description for this but i digress

i think that's all for now, and thank you so so much if you read all of that! the love and support this project has received and continues to receive absolutely blow me away, and i can't thank you enough for being part of the journey! <3

the crimson moon taglist (ask to be +/-)

@dallonswords | @isherwoodj | @florraisons | @aetherwrites | @childhoodlovers | @bijouxs | @ziyin | @moonhungers | @piyawrites | @avi-why | @svpphicwrites | @alicewestwater | @ladywithalamp | @spencers-tomes | @discreet-writer | @sunwornpages | @abalonetea | @the-bard-writes | @x-writes | @morganwriteblr​ ​| @aphaimaniis | @stephwriteswords | @ninazeniks ​| @araliensmagica | @fuyugomori | @ryns-ramblings | @greyjaywrites | @marimos

image descriptions below the cut

[header image description]

the background is a dark castle with a checkerboard-patterned marble floor. the hallway fades into black, with the hint of a figure standing in the doorway. white text across the image reads "The Crimson Moon" in a large, all-caps font, and below that reads "wip update post" in thin, lowercase text.

[image description for excerpt one]

I lay on my back, gazing up at the sky. The weather was absolutely perfect. I could hear the crickets singing, the birds chirping, the brook babbling, all that good poetic shit.

I came out here often, just to get away and pretend like I wasn't a part of the fuck-all society I lived in. How could humans be so ignorant? We live in a world with this, I gestured expansively in my mind at the field around me, how can we not see how beautiful it is? How perfect it is? How imperfect we are by comparison?

[image description for excerpt two]

Xalia strode down the marble halls, the soft leather of her shoes meeting each tile with a cacophony of echoes. This was not the first, second, hundredth time that she had walked these passageways, and yet the chill she felt when contained within their depths never seemed to subside. The looming corridors and billowing curtains always seemed to hide sinister whispers that breathed down her neck and pricked at the tips of her ears. Perhaps it was the High Council, with their unnerving masks and owlish eyes, seeming to know and perceive all — or perhaps it was the knowledge that every time she stalked back towards the exit, she would carry the weight of another’s life on her shoulders, a life that she had to take.

[image description for excerpt three]

Vanna’s mother always tells them that grief is a sharp, biting thing; something that latches its teeth around your stomach until you double over with the weight of it. But for Vanna, that’s not quite right. There isn’t something hidden and tucked away behind the confines of their gut because there isn’t anything there at all. As they walk towards the town well — a spell book in one hand and emptiness in the other — they think that their mother got it wrong trying to describe grief in terms of presence. Grief, to them, can only be absence. The absence of light, the absence of a smile, and the absence of a palm which had curled so perfectly into theirs.

[bluejayblueskies]

ludus

n. playful or uncommitted love; love that is focused on flirtation, infatuation, and laughter 

Words: 2.0k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Gerry Keay, Jonathan Sims & Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Gerry Keay, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Additional Tags: AU - University, AU - Everyone Lives/No One Dies, Fluff and Humor, Drinking, Alcohol, Queerplatonic Partnership, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character

Summary:

Gerry generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise. The pub is a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it’s the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends are regulars.

Gerry’s never met Jon’s friends. But he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Read on Ao3

Or, read below (more content warnings below the cut):

cw: - implied drug use - teasing - assumption that an aro character is allo (corrected and apologized for)

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Gerry’s never really been one for drinking. For one, he thinks beer is gross (and that a much better use for wheat and yeast is bread, which he very much enjoys and happens to be quite skilled at making), and for two, he’s never quite been able to shake that ingrained notion that drinking is always a precursor to something else.

 Sometimes, that something else is simply being drunk. Sometimes, it’s to loosen up, to make time with friends that much lighter and freer. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes, it’s buying a stranger a drink and punching your number into their phone with fingers made unsteady by liquor. Sometimes, it’s wine on a date, with lips stained a deep red and cheeks flushed only in part due to the alcohol.

 Sometimes, it’s more. And Gerry doesn’t like taking risks that he doesn’t have to. So he generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise.

 Gross.

 “You don’t have to come,” Jon had said for what had to have been the fifteenth time, even as they’d caught sight of the pub that sat just a few blocks from campus. It was a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it was the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends were regulars.

 Right. Jon’s friends. It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault that Gerry had yet to meet everyone else who’d left a mark on Jon’s life (though if asked, Gerry would insist that it was his, probably; he wasn’t known for being overly social). It was just different walks of life, different cobblestone paths that happened to intersect in a five-foot-four skinny Pakistani man with wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual line between his eyes that fell just as easily into a smile as it did a scowl. But now that he had the chance, he found that he wanted to meet them. Maybe it was because Jon had seemed so excited, in his own way, to introduce them to Gerry. Or maybe it was just because Gerry wanted to get to know every part of Jon, to peel back every layer of the man who had wriggled underneath his skin and refused to budge no matter how hard Gerry tried.

 Jon’s friends were one such layer, painted in lovely sunset hues that cast fondness and exasperation across Jon’s face in equal measure whenever he spoke of them. So Gerry wanted to meet them.

 Hell, maybe he’d like them. Jon liked them. And that was one hell of a stamp of approval.

 “I know,” Gerry said. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

 And the look Jon gave him at that—something profoundly grateful and even more profoundly enamored—shot through Gerry like liquid cocaine. Though if Gertrude ever asks, Gerry certainly has no such metric to know what that would feel like.

 Jon’s presence next to him in the booth is a grounding one, even as Gerry feels himself getting lost in the conversation ebbing and swelling around him like white-crested waves on a sandy shore, like he’s a seashell that’s only kept from washing away by a deft hand that snatches it from the sand and holds it close. Most of the ebb and swell seems to be coming from Tim and Sasha, who bicker like they’ve been married for years but who, according to Jon, have already passed through their will-they-won’t-they stage and have settled quite firmly on won’t-they.

 “Sasha’s aro too,” Jon had said, almost too-casually, as he put away a plate he’d been drying. “And Tim’s ace. A- a bit different than me, though, with regards to…”

 Jon made a vague motion with his hand that Gerry recognized as his sex hand wave, and the giggle that slipped from him unbidden earned him a sharp glare.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Gerry said, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. Then, because he couldn’t quite help himself: “Are you just- just collecting aspec friends? Or is it some sort of magnetic pull? Because I’d like to know if I’m a trophy friend or a hapless victim of your non-sexual magnetism.”

 The wet sponge Jon threw at him was certainly warranted. It did nothing to wipe the smile from Gerry’s face.

 So there’s Tim and Sasha, carrying ninety-five percent of the conversational weight. Martin sits tucked away in a corner, his hands closed around a glass of cola and his mouth curled into a small smile as he watches Tim and Sasha bicker.

 (“I don’t drink,” Martin had explained quickly when Gerry’s eyes had found his glass the first time, throwing the words between them like some sort of barricade. Like it was any of Gerry’s business what Martin did or didn’t drink.

 It certainly made Gerry’s virgin piña colada a lot less humiliating, though it did nothing to diminish the curling embarrassment he’d felt upon ordering it. So Gerry tipped his head toward his own drink and said, “Me either. Virgin in more ways than one.”

 Which was probably not the right thing to say. Oh well.

 Martin’s face had gone cherry red, and the laugh that escaped his lips seemed to take him entirely by surprise. “Oh,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. “I- congratulations?”

 It certainly wasn’t the most awkward exchange Gerry had ever had. But it was up there.

 Gerry took a small sip of his drink and decided that he quite liked Martin Blackwood.)

 Gerry sets his drink back down with a grimace and says, quiet enough that only Jon will hear him, “When is the trivia bit meant to start? I’m dying to put my near-encyclopedic knowledge of 20th-century prose to use.”

 “Need I remind you,” Jon says without taking his eyes away from Tim and Sasha, “that we are both English majors?”

 Gerry knocks his knee against Jon’s under the table. “Guess we’ll just have to see who remembers Dr. Nimeiri’s class better then.”

 Jon groans. “I thought we agreed to never speak about that again.”

 Gerry gives Jon his best shit-eating grin. “And forget the place where we met and our lives were forever changed? Oh, I would never.”

 “One,” Jon says, holding up a finger and finally turning to face Gerry. “One B, Gerry. And it was that fucking class.”

 “Jon, nobody got an A in that class. Nobody. I barely passed.”

 “Yes, well—”

 Gerry raises an eyebrow. Jon’s mouth snaps shut and dips into what Gerry could only describe as a pout. After a moment, where Jon clearly recalls every other version of this conversation they’ve had and the myriad of insensitive things that Jon has said in quick succession, Jon finally sighs and says, “Fine. Trivia’s in thirty minutes, I believe.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Oh, there’s no need to look so smug.”

 It’s about halfway between then and trivia when the conversation finally, inevitably, and quite unfortunately lands squarely on Gerry’s leather-clad shoulders.  

 “So,” Tim says, leaning his elbows on the liquor-sticky table and flashing Gerry a conspiratorial grin. “I think it’s high past time we hear all the sordid details of how Jon managed to convince you to give him the time of day.”

 “Hey,” Jon snaps, giving Tim an impressive glare that bounces harmlessly off Tim’s million-dollar smile.

 “Not much to tell,” Gerry says with a shrug. “Switched majors, took a shitty class, and got a very critical peer review on my first draft paper. Had quite an illuminating conversation with said peer reviewer after class that day, actually. Can’t imagine how that evolved into getting coffee.”

 “You asked me,” Jon says in a sullen voice, looking very much like he’d like to melt into the woodgrains of the seatback behind him.

 “That I did,” Gerry concedes. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for angry red pen and put-upon posh accents.”

 “For the last time, it is not put upon!”

 Tim’s laughter makes Jon’s lips fold into a pout, and Gerry presses his knee firmly against Jon’s underneath the table. He feels Jon melt against him, just a bit, like a bristling cat brought back to itself by a gentle hand between its ears.

 “So, then,” Sasha asks, pushing into Tim’s space as she leans closer to them with an inquisitive glint to her eyes. “Are you two dating?”

 “Sasha!” Martin squeaks, his eyes wide as saucers as he looks at her like she’d just suggested they all strip down to their socks or something. If Gerry weren’t so used to the question—albeit not directed at him and Jon before—he might have had a similar expression on his face.

 “What?” Sasha says defensively, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a question! And a perfectly innocent one at that!”

 “Nothing with you is ever perfectly innocent,” Tim mutters under his breath, which earns him an elbow in the ribs.

 Gerry sighs in something close to resignation. He’d been expecting the question, really; Gerry hated the idea of his identity being spread behind his back like some sort of rumor, so he’d asked Jon to keep it private until he got the chance to disclose it himself. It had gotten a bit more complicated when they’d become queerplatonic partners but only because apparently Jon had a chronic inability to do anything halfway, and that included his relationships. Needless to say, Jon had admitted several hours before they’d arrived at the pub that his friends were all convinced that they were dating and that Jon couldn’t figure out how to correct them without explaining their situation in full.

 So, then. Gerry’s never been the biggest fan of speaking openly about his romantic preferences—or lack thereof, he supposes—but then Jon’s hand is brushing against his arm, the touch feather-light yet grounding all the same, and Gerry finds that the weight on his chest is all but gone.

 “No,” Gerry says. The word doesn’t burn on the way out like he feared it would. “Er. Not romantically, at least.”

 It’s less awkward than he thought it might be—putting the threads that run from Jon’s hands to his into words, skirting around textbook definitions for a bit before finally just biting the bullet and rattling them off rapid-fire, even though he hates how impersonal it all sounds and would much rather focus on how he feels when he sees Jon across the quad or how Jon’s fingers feel against his scalp when he brushes his hair or how Jon snores ever so slightly when he sleeps.

 In the end, Tim just makes some joke about friendship premium subscription, Sasha sheepishly apologizes for having made assumptions, and the conversation is blissfully cut short by the announcement that trivia will be starting in two minutes.

 Gerry’s hand finds Jon’s under the table and squeezes it tightly, just once. A silent thank you. The best I love you that Gerry can think to give right now. Jon’s shoulder knocks against Gerry’s in response, and Gerry thinks, just for a moment, about how fucking lucky he is.

 They end up losing trivia night—1967 is the correct date, Jon kept insisting, even when Tim finally pulled the book up on his phone and informed Jon that he was, in fact, off by a year and was therefore wrong—to Jon’s utter dismay and distress. But the sentiment still stands.

 And when Tim grins at Gerry and says, See you soon!, and Sasha follows up with, Next Thursday for trivia?, and Martin pitches in with a quiet, It was very nice to meet you, Gerry, Gerry doesn’t hate the warm, fuzzy feeling that spreads through him at the knowledge that Jon’s friends like him.

 Two cobblestone paths merge into one, the rocks threading together as easily as Jon’s fingers with Gerry’s, and the road ahead looks like nothing but wide-open sky and glittering stars.

[radbutsafe]

ALL FUCKIN 35 OF THEM SKLNWESDJFPXO

I SHOULDVE EXPECTED THIS FROM YOU

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

A three! I think I’m mid range cause I ain’t terrible but there is still shit I gotta improve and grow in my writing

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

to manifest what canon won’t give me and to write more! (though yes it is mainly about the smooching and the— I’ll stop there LOL)

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Hm! My weird research details? I’m that “fun fact, did you know...” in my fics sometimes LOL! I plan on giving a penthouse for erina in a fic and I went through penthouse listings in Japan for floor layouts and locations💀 my research gives me inspo and depth to stuff I think I lack in comparison to others sometimes.

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

In terms of fellow fic writers, one of them I can’t name here but she’s an inspiration with her exceptional gift for prose period and her lovely skill at comedy! I want to be as funny as her when I write, I love her ironic situational humor. Other fic writers are @takoyakitenchou, @royaldragonsevgisi15 who I always love sharing ideas with and motivate me to create more! For non-fic writers it would be V.E. Schwab, Leigh Bardugo, Oda, and Horikoshi! The last two may be mangaka, however they are writers as well to create their stories! The depth these creators have given their worlds and interesting characters theyve given life to are all what I aspire to be like!

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

so far uh?? hm everything I’m currently writing are wips lol!! im proud of my wip that has been nicknamed ‘soma panics’ that is a multi-chapter fic that spans like probs 20 plus chapters maybe

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

dialogue! it’s so much fun! and character thoughts. I’ve said to people I may be better suited for script writing

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

I think it’s description, of like setting and showing action. also an expansion of my vocabulary LOL

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

erina! I think it’s because canon has shown us many of her different faces and range of emotion.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

SOMA!! chill ass mofo whos more carefree compared to the common shonen protagonist! for other shokugeki characters I’m not sure just yet because I haven’t flexed my fingers enough for the rest of them.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

I guess I should say romance cause that’s what I mostly write LOL!

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

sorina and I try to get them to smooch eventually KEK and yeah it’s..usually romantic fluff lmao

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

HONESTLY ALL OF THEM but “soma panics” is my brain child

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

pretty sure it’s digimon....

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

currently shokugeki no soma!!!!

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

uhhhh I guess SNS? LMAO fandoms...all have their quirks to them.

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

characters cuddling!!!! or getting the urge to smooch!!!!

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

unrequited love GOOD FUCKIN BYEEEEEE

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

I have plot ideas thst can be wild potentially but so far nothing fits this criteria so far that I actually have written.

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

depends on the fandom, but if written well, all of it!

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

shippy 100% like I said I like smoochin

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

romantic is...*drumroll* SORINA! platonic, soutaku and erina and alice!

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Sometimes! There are times songs will be on loop and times I just shuffle a playlist. and if I’m writing in random bursts it’ll be with no music but it really does depend lmao I think music is when I’m forcing myself to write?

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

completely independent ideas, I’ve realized in the past prompts shoot me in the foot often unless I luckily figure something out. but I’m often driven by my own sporadic self interest with shitty ping ponging attention

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

multi-chap I guess cause I can post without being finished LOLLL but tbh can I really answer? I haven’t finished anything.....

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

I can’t answer this question imo because I haven’t finished a fic yet so technically stuff could all fit in the one fic?

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

MYSTERY AND CRIME! I love the genre and I have plot ideas once a blue moon but I can’t dive in because I want to make details that work and reduce plot holes where suspension of disbelief isn’t as needed. I need to study it more (I need to study all the details for any of my fics imo to be confident sometimes LOL)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I don’t think I can say one comment was the nicest because I’ve gotten comments that have given me quite the smiles to my face many times! I know this is a cop out but it’s true!

IS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY UNTIL REINA SENT ME THE FOLLOWING ON DISCORD LIKE TWENTY MINS AGO:

and also rad. i am never this vocal about my emotions like EVER but this needs to be said your fics are obviously far from perfect, as are mine and everyone else's. but the thing about your works is that they're so well-sanded that it's impossible to find any rough edges or faults in them in terms of cohesion to a plot. your cast is never OOC and the amount of effort you devote to developing your takes on the characters as accurately as possible is unimaginably awe-inspiring.

BITCH I WANNA CRY 😭

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

I’d like to believe I take it often well to try and improve because that’s always my goal. if someone is rude lol that’s not constructive snd is unhelpful. If I disagree with criticism I’ll explain why !

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Not yet, but I have some plot ideas I think will let me test this.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

F L U F F.

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

elliott fuji, a japanese-american award winning photographer who is erina’s boyfriend in ‘soma panics’ which..causes soma’s panic LOL he’s 30 with slightly wavy black hair. I still haven’t pinpointed his personality just yet...he kind of humble brags for sure an artsy fucker and flirts maybe I’ll make him a lil shy though. he teaches sometimes, and becomes an adjunct photography professor in Tokyo so he can be with erina.

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

a cook is unfashionably late in realizing his feelings.

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I am a slow. so slow. motivation who is she? I also write out of order, unfortunately a bit too often.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

this should be for the fic ‘soma panics’ it’s either megumi or satoshi talkin to him rn, I’m leaning towards satoshi

“You thought she would always wait for you, didn’t you Soma-kun? To always welcome you home.”

Soma drags his palms down his face and groans. He doesn’t like this at all. He doesn’t shy from confrontation but this is a whole different ballgame. Soma doesn’t play any ball.

“I guess..?” Is his reply, because he thinks he isn’t sure how to answer that.

“You guess?”

Just being questioned again is enough to crack Soma’s pathetic facade as if it was dropped chinaware and he lets out the longest sigh.

“No.”

Coming home means coming home to Nakiri Erina too.

Nakiri Erina is his forever.

this is @takoyakitenchou’s excerpt she’s most proud of that I’ve written, which is also from you guessed it, the long fic soma panics

SOMA: I am, I mean I will be, I swear I will always come home to you, not spend as much time abroad, once I’m done with work I’ll come right back. I’ll make sure to message you. Nakiri, I’m in love you with you. Maybe for a really long time. You know how I say I dedicate my food to you? My dad—my dad said that the key to become a good chef is to find someone to dedicate your cooking to. A special someone. For my dad it was my mom, you know? For me it’s...

(this is a good piece of dialogue tbh so I am also proud of this)

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I’ve mentioned it throughout this but the WIP I’ve nicknamed ‘soma panics’ is something I’m super excited to write, but it’s going on slowly...and almost completely out of order. out of all of my writing it showed off that particular habit of mine, along with “what is this, a shoujo manga?!” though the latter is currently being written chronologically now that I’ve posted chapter one and is pretty solid in direction. it was originally supposed to be a one shot but I got impatient and wanted to post at least something for the sorina / soueri fandom.

however, because ‘soma panics’ (I won’t call it that LOL) is my baby I want to keep true to my rule of refusing to post it until I have a draft of the entire fic finished and I’m satisfied with the main points pretty much. due to my writing out of order, I’m worried I’ll change my mind about scenes or want to reflect things in earlier chapters for later ones etc etc

I joined the SnS fandom extremely late, as season five was airing. I was a fan of the manga five years ago and dropped it because I forgot to check for updates when I caught up 😔 I really want to bang out the different fics and aus for sorina that I have before the fandom fizzles out entirely but tbh I’m writing for myself, I’m manifesting what I want to see and I’ll just share it with all my friends to read if no one else will. cause I’m slow broski I dunno what writing fast even is like LMAO I do really want to write faster though, so I can contribute more and let the words free from the discord dms....

[twodaysintojune]

A Disease, by any other Name

Mo Dao Su Zhi/The Untamed 

ZhuiLing, warnings-None

Find me at AO3

When Lan SiZhui entered the library, he saw Jin Ling frowning, arms akimbo and glaring at an open notebook that had apparently somehow insulted him to no avail according to the expression he was bearing at the moment. Curious, SiZhui entered his frame of view and looked at him from an angle.

"Jin Ling? What's wrong?"

Jin Ling looked at him and to SiZhui's surprise, his expression became more angry.

"You know, this is your fault too!"

SiZhui jumped a little and looked at him confused. Jin Ling only nodded to the empty seat in front of him and waited for the other to follow suit. SiZhui tried his best to not say anything about the fact that he was resembling his uncle a lot at the moment.

When he was finally down, Jin Ling smashed the notebook into his hands.

"Read."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

He said imperatively. SiZhui grabbed the book, opened it and did as told. The notebook was telling a story about Jin Ling, and JingYi, and himself. It felt kind of a normal retelling of their usual day to day until he arrived at a particular passage.

...Jin Ling stood under the magnolia tree with forlorn eyes planted on the kind boy who was currently ignoring him in favour of the other Lan disciple. He felt sadness fill his heart, wondering if he would ever be the recipient of such kind eyes for at least a moment's grace and then he fell into a coughing fit. It had been just a couple of coughs but there it was, undeniable, a single white fragrant chrysanthemum petal. He looked at it and, glancing a last sight at the happy pair, he turned around and crushed it in his hand...

SiZhui kept on reading, frowning more and more with each page that went by. 

"What… What on earth is this? What sort of disease is this? I've never seen you coughing flowers before. And you're very definitely not dead on the ground due to… unrequited love?"

"That." Jin Ling took some breath. "Is because this is obviously a made up story written by the female disciples. The Lan female disciples."

“The female disciples? How did you even meet them?”

Jin Ling went on telling SiZhui how he had been practicing his forms at the swords courtyard when he heard lots of giggles from behind one of the partition walls and saw the girls running away when he glanced at them. 

“I wouldn’t have minded much but I saw the notebook fall from the hold of one of the girls and so I went to pick it up. I thought they would need it for their class and checked it to see who it belonged to but I read THIS instead.”

SiZhui sighed. “We should give it back.”

“What? No!”

“Why not?”

“Why? WHY? Because it’s annoying! I’m not sick, I’m not in love with you and I’m definitely not on the brink of death! Do you realize what would happen if this kind of text spread out? Even if I’m here studying I’m still a Sect Leader SiZhui! I cannot have rumours of me being at death’s door!”

“I get your point but I don’t think these girls wanted for this text to spread either. It looks like a very personal thing.”

Jin Ling huffed. “Whatever, I don’t want to have anything to do with it. If you want to give it back then do it yourself.”

SiZhui gave his friend a pained smile. 

“Also why the hell did they choose a white chrysanthemum!? Wasn’t that like asking for my death from the very beginning!? What do these girls have against me that they want me to wilt and die!?”

Ah, that’s what got him this angry. Thought SiZhui, unable to stop a soft smirk at his friend’s frustrations.

“What would you have preferred?”

“I don’t know, something more auspicious? Like a lily or a lotus flower. I want my love to be happy, not a tragedy.”

SiZhui hummed in agreement.

“If it was you the one with the disease it would definitely be a lotus.”

“A lotus?”

“Yes, because you’re very elegant, you should only cough a flower as noble and elegant as yourself.”

SiZhui felt his cheeks burn slightly with the praise and then a thought came to his mind. 

“What if we change the story?”

“What?”

“Let’s change the story. You don’t want to die in it and I don’t want you dead either. Let’s change the story.”

Jin Ling gave him an odd look but he was definitely considering the proposition.

“We would be meddling with that girl’s writing. That would be impolite.”

“But you still don’t want to die, do you?”

“Ugh, alright! Let’s do it!”

SiZhui beamed and moved by Jin Ling’s side in order to grab the brush. 

“Alright, how do we follow this scene?”

---

Two days later, Lan Lu was called by her professor and given back the notebook she had been frantically looking around for yet unable to find.

“Be more careful next time. You should be grateful sect leader Jin found it and sent it back.”

Lan Lu thanked her jiaoshi and felt her cheeks burn. She excused herself and looked for a secluded place to open it, hoping that he had not destroyed her work in a fit of rage. She barely knew him from the few glances they had of him while walking from class to class but she and all her classmates agreed that he had quite a temper. 

When she opened the notebook she saw not one but two letters neatly kept within the pages, she took them and read the first one.

“Estimated disciple: 

I would normally not be bold enough to tamper with another person’s prose but I believe I have a certain right considering this story is done with me in my regards. And please keep in mind that I am not fond of being dead by any means. Not even the literary ones. 

Regards, Sect Leader Jin RuLan.”

Lan Lu felt her cheeks burn bright and thanked the heavens there was no one else around to see her. She took the second letter out.

“Estimated Lan Shimei:  

Please be more careful with your belongings next time. I hope you don’t mind us taking the liberty to change the end of your story, Jin Ling is a dear friend of mine and I would feel extremely sad should I ever receive news of his death.

Regards, Lan SiZhui”

Lan Lu felt almost about to faint. Knowing that Jin Rulan had read her story was already embarrassing enough but knowing that the kindest Lan, SiZhui, had done so as well was mortifying. She passed the pages until she found the place where the calligraphy changed and began reading.

Jin Ling opened his eyes surprised that he was still alive, no matter how faintly. He had assumed that the last flower he had coughed would have taken with him his last breath but something had managed to keep him alive. No, not something, someone. And that someone was still frantically sharing spiritual energy with him. When he looked around he felt surprised.

“SiZhui”

SiZhui tore his gaze from his task, sharing energy through his central meridian, upwards. He looked tired and desperate.

“Jin Ling! Thank heavens! Hold on! JingYi ran to fetch a healer! You’ll be better soon.”

Jin Ling coughed and looked away, “It doesn’t matter. Stop doing this. This disease cannot be cured just like that.”

“No, Jin Ling, no, you have to fight! I… I’ll help you! Just tell me who it is that is denying you and I’ll find a way to make them love you!”

Jin Ling gave out a sad laugh and felt his eyes begin to fill with tears. He covered his sight with an arm to avoid looking at SiZhui.

“Why are you always this kind? It’s no wonder that I ended up falling for you.”

Jin Ling felt the soft trail of energy tremble for a moment and then stop, making a deep sadness fill his lungs once more but this time, before he was able to stop breathing, he felt a pair of hands holding his face softly and then soft lips on him. Jin Ling’s breath stopped now for a completely different reason and he pushed the other boy away startled. 

“What are you doing!?”

“I’m showing you that I love you.” 

SiZhui kissed Jin Ling again but the other resisted.

“You…! You can’t say you love me just like that! What about JingYi!?”

“What about him?”

“What? I… I thought...”

“Jin Ling” SiZhui’s eyes went serious. “JingYi has been my lifelong friend, and yes, I love him. But the kind of love I feel for him is different than the one I feel for you. You’re brave and caring and I love that about you. I would be blessed to have you by my side. But you have to stay alive for that.”

“SiZhui...” Jin Ling felt the pain in his chest receding and another completely different feeling blooming inside. “Do you really mean it?”

“Yes, I want to be with you forever.”

Jin Ling now felt all the happiness inside him wipe away the constricted feeling inside his body in waves and held SiZhui’s hand.

“Then let’s do that.”

Lan Lu brought the notebook back to her lap and took a breath. After gathering herself, she stood up from her hideout and ran to her shared bedroom in the girl’s dormitories searching frantically for a clean notebook to write on.

---

Some days later, Jin Ling came into SiZhui’s bedroom with a scowl. When he spotted JingYi laughing out loud on his bed and SiZhui looking downwards apparently embarrassed, he couldn’t help but frown more.

“What are you laughing at?”

JingYi laughed even harder. “You! I’m laughing at you!”

“What? SiZhui, what does this idiot—” Jin Ling halted his thoughts when his friend pointedly tried to avoid his gaze “You told him about the story!?”

JingYi’s laughter increased while SiZhui lifted his hands in a calming motion.

“I never thought it was meant to be a secret!”

Jin Ling waved his hands frustrated. 

“Urgh SIZHUI!” Before he went any further though, he calmed down, counted to ten and gave JingYi a smirk. “Well then I guess it’s time for ME to laugh at YOU then.”

JingYi gave him a suspicious glance. “Why? What are you planning to do?”

“Me? I’m planning nothing, after all, I’ve already got my happily ever after.” Jin Ling said with a growing shit eating smirk, waving a notebook that he had apparently been holding in his hand all the time.

SiZhui frowned. “What is that notebook about?”

Jin Ling opened the notebook on the first pages and coughed up to clear his throat.

“JingYi coughed up the first petal of a magnolia flower outside the jingshi, while everyone was inside celebrating Jin Rulan and Lan Sizhui’s engagement...”

SiZhui’s eyes widened. JingYi frowned. 

“What the hell?”

“...He had been shocked the moment he heard the news and what was shocking him the most was that he had never thought that SiZhui would ever leave him and now that it was happening he felt as if a thorn had crawled onto his chest...”

“What the hell, that’s... That’s not true!” 

“...It was not up until now that he had realized just how much he loved his best friend...”

“That…! Give me that! Dammit Jin Ling!” 

“...And now, he realized, his heart was aching, longing for him~” 

Jin Ling began to sing-song while he jumped across the threshold, swiftly avoiding JingYi’s attempts at fetching him or the notebook while SiZhui hid his face between his hands with a groan.

“Oh, please no.”

“Why, Yes! It seems that Yes, there is a continuation!”

Jin Ling kept running away from the other Lan laughing. At least this time it was not him, the one at the verge of death and he couldn’t be more merrily thankful for that silver lining.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight prologue (part 1)

I’m back, with as much verbosity and discussion of identity as ever, this time featuring Lan and Perrin.

Loial gets the epigraph this time. Good for you, Loial. Live your dreams.

Prologue: Distinctions

Wait a second. Hold on. Is this… are we… am I being greeted, upon my return to this series after several months, by a Lan POV? Is this possible?

Mandarb’s hooves beat a familiar rhythm on broken ground as Lan Mandragoran rode toward his death.

Because of course. Of course we get Lan’s POV, for the first time in the series, when he is riding at last to his private war with the Blight, to avenge the country that died decades ago and whose death he has always seen as his own, only delayed. Of course we get his POV now, when he is riding to what he believes is, at last, his death.

This has always been his purpose. He is a sword, a weapon, an oath, a fallen nation. A weapon doesn’t get to have a voice. A dead nation doesn’t get to speak. A sword can’t tell its own story. Especially because, all that time, he was held back from this, which he has always seen as his purpose. His only purpose. He let himself be bonded all those years ago but he never really gave up that sense of… I was about to say identity, but it’s both identity and total lack thereof. Identity, but not as a person, not as someone with agency and a story to tell. Just a weapon, forged for a single purpose.

And so, riding to his death, this is the closest he comes in the main series to feeling alive. Now that he is fulfilling that purpose, now that he is following the one path he has always considered his own. This, here, this ride to his death, is his entire identity.

So yes. In that sense it is beautifully fitting that we open with his POV for the first time in the main series, now as it draws towards its end. Now that he is freed, such as it is, to at last meet what he believes is his end, and his beginning, and the task that defined his entire… well. ‘Life’ sounds rather ironic there, but it’s the best I can do.

Anyway, we’re one line in and I’ve already written several hundred words, so I guess even after a hiatus nothing’s changed.

Turns out the earth is apparently quite literally salted here. So that’s a good start.

He’d turned away from it twenty years ago, agreeing to follow Moiraine, but he’d always known he would return. This was what it meant to bear the name of his fathers, the sword on his hip, and the hadori on his head.

All three representative of something dead, something lost, something gone. Something he accepts as lost. He doesn’t ride to revive Malkier, he rides to bury it (though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind praising it along the way). His entire life and self have been defined by this, by death and the past. The wheel of time turns, and stories fade and must ultimately be left in order to find a future, but Lan, for all his wisdom in some areas, has never really understood that. Or, perhaps more accurately, never felt it could apply to him.

I think in some way he did understand it, in that he bound himself to Moiraine even when it meant leaving his burned past and his private war in order to fight for the future of the world, but even then, it was only… temporary. Ultimately, he accepts the past as having a hold on him, accepts the idea the has never had and never will have a future.

It is, in a way, a parallel to or slight variant on Rand, on a different scale. Rand struggled (at least I think it’s past tense at this point) for so long to figure out how to accept Lews Therin as a part of himself without the terror of being bound to his past life’s fate. And on top of that there’s his whole he belongs to the Pattern, and to history. Moiraine saw that as future history – something that is not yet but will be history, but is future from where we stand. But Rand – and Lan – end up with a slightly different view of that. Rand fights against the memory of a doomed past and relinquishes all sense of freedom or choice or agency (until he gets better), and Lan lets the past own him and define him and guide him and kill him, all without ever dreaming to have a life of his own.

Riding to his death didn’t pain him

And why should it? Defined by death as he is. If you never think of yourself as someone who gets to be a person and have a life, what fear would death hold? He was only ever a… placeholder? A delayed strike, a remnant, a part of something dead that just hasn’t got around to lying down and stopping yet.

But knowing she feared for him… that did hurt. Very badly.

There’s a slightly bitter part of me that can’t quite get over the disappointment that the first Lan POV we get in the main series isn’t written by Jordan. Because Jordan’s writing of Lan in New Spring was beautiful. Spare but surprisingly lovely, and yet all threaded through with the idea and mention and thought of death, not in a morbid or even grim way but just as a part of the lens through which the story is told… it was so perfectly suited to Lan, and this feels… less so. It’s not bad; it’s just. I feel like I have a sense of what it could be and it’s not quite that.

Then again we’re still only like two paragraphs in, Great Lord of the Dark Lia would you get on with it already.

He hadn’t seen another person in days.

Too soon for a self-isolation joke?

Oh look, the first of his army has arrived!

Because the Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don. Man, that scene.

This kid’s like ‘hi! I’m here! I brought things, and supplies, and I’m just so excited, and and and’ and Lan is like ‘okay but who the fuck are you’.

Come on, Wheel of Time, let Lan Mandragoran say ‘fuck’.

Bulen? That sounds familiar, and he looks familiar to Lan…he’s definitely from New Spring. He was the errand boy, wasn’t he? Well, three cheers for conservation of characters.

“But when word spread in the palace that the Golden Crane was raised, I knew what I had to do.”

Really, Bulen? Do you not remember what happened last time someone tried to raise the Golden Crane in Lan’s name? I mean I’m all for it and Nynaeve is certainly a long way from Edeyn and that scene of the Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don still gives me at least two-thirds of an emotion when I think about it, but you’d think the kid would have grown a sense of self-preservation after what went down twenty years ago. Then again, no one in this series has a sense of self-preservation, so why change that now?

El’Nynaeve! She gets her title! She once had to fight so hard for people to respect her as Wisdom, and then as Aes Sedai, and now people who have barely met her give her a royal title! Because she’s out there raising an army and a nation from its grave!

(Yeah, yeah, you could point out that she has to fight for all the titles she earns, while this is one given to her by virtue of her marriage to a man, but honestly I’m just going to enjoy hearing this random kid call her El’Nynaeve because he already thinks of her as his queen because she’s just that cool. And you can’t stop me.)

Well, if she could play games with the truth, then so could he. Lan had said he’d take anyone who wished to ride with him. This man was not mounted. Therefore, Lan could refuse him. A petty distinction, but twenty years with Aes Sedai had taught him a few things about how to watch one’s words.

I’m dying. Sure, the prose is Sanderson, but the sentiment it expresses? Is absolutely Lan. It’s a slightly more grown up and jaded version of New Spring Lan, and it’s pretty much exactly what I imagine Lan’s internal monologue throughout the entirety of The Eye of the World looking like. He and Moiraine are well-matched in that for all their extreme competence, and wisdom, and ability to set everything aside for the sake of the world… they are also capable of great pettiness coated in a fine veneer of dry humour and presented as Done With Your Shit.

Lan’s just like ‘nope, no cranes to see here, golden or paper or otherwise, just denial as far as the eye can see.’

Lan would not call anyone ‘son’. He has an epithet for everyone but that is not one of them.

“My father was Malkieri,” Bulen said from behind.

Lan continued on.

“He died when I was five,” Bulen called.

Yes, well, that’s something you have in common, give or take a few years.

Lan’s not here for anyone’s tragic backstory but his own.

Except Bulen, for all that he never learned self-preservation, apparently learned how to tug on the heartstrings.

“I would wear the hadori of my father,” Bulen called, voice growing louder. “But I have nobody to ask if I may.”

Damn it, this kid. Was that me or Lan speaking just now? We may never know.

Lan’s still trying to send him away, because Lan Mandragoran does not need to adopt any more wayward children who are only trying to find their way, and Bulen’s just trying every angle of attack he can possibly find and this kid sure has an arsenal.

“I hardly knew who you were, though I know you lost someone dear to you among us.”

Because if appealing to your tragic past doesn’t work, maybe appealing to his will. I have to admire Bulen’s determination to make a slightly nostalgic nuisance of himself until the Uncrowned King of Malkier finally gives him a sticker.

“I spent years cursing myself for not serving you better. I swore that I would stand with you someday.” He walked up beside Lan. “I ask you because I have no father. May I wear the hadori and fight at your side, al’Lan Mandragoran? My King?”

I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine and I do not feel emotions.

And Lan’s cursing Nynaeve for the oath she made him swear but what a conflict this must be for him: to be confronted with the life of his nation, when all he wants is to avenge its death. To have someone look to him not as a sword or a reminder of what is gone but as a father, a king, a leader, a symbol of something returning, something renewed.

It is, in a way, not entirely unlike his conflict in New Spring. Only he’s already learned to crush that hope before it even makes itself known, because it can only end in pain. And yet, it doesn’t stop finding him.

Nynaeve, when I next see you… But he would not see her again. He tried not to dwell upon that.

Don’t say that where Nynaeve can hear you. But really, I think I’ve said this before, but Lan is one of the characters whose survival I am most confident in, largely because of this. Because to let him die… sure, it wouldn’t really be surprising, and in a way it would fulfil the ending he wants, but it wouldn’t… move his story anywhere. Whereas to take a character so certain of and accepting of his death, someone who never believed he should even have a life at all, whose every waking moment has been in waiting of his end, the truly satisfying ending would be for him to get to live. Not just in the sense of surviving, but actually living.

Because again, it’s not unlike a part of Rand’s story, recently: the rediscovery of life. Of the purpose of it all. On Dragonmount he saw it two ways: once as meaningless, pointless, because victory just brings another battle and every lifetime is pain and he has no freedom and why not just end it. But then as another chance, the possibility of life and love and something better. And I think there’s an element of that threaded through the series as a whole. This idea that yes, things fade and die and are lost, and yes there is pain and duty and a Pattern woven, but in amidst all of that the point is to live. Not to just survive until you can die for the cause, but to actually live along the way. It’s that question of what are you fighting for, what is the purpose of all of this? Rand has, at last, found that. Lan… still needs to.

“We ride anonymously,” Lan said.

Sure. As anonymously as Rand riding into Tear, pretending gloves could hide his identity. Whatever you say, Lan.

“You tell nobody who I am.”

There’s a whole Thing here about erasing his own identity, which is almost ironic in that the fact that he has a POV at all is a way of showing him embracing that identity, except that the identity he is embracing is the denial of self to all intents and purposes in favour of a duty and a dead nation that defined him before he could ever define himself.

I mean. It’s just a throwaway line. But I’m me, and so it’s not.

***

Oh hello Perrin, what are you doing in a prologue? Shouldn’t you be off in a real chapter with all your friends? Run along now.

He seems to be at a forge, though, so that’s a good look.

Some people found the clang of metal against metal grating. Not Perrin. That sound was soothing.

I like this, because especially without the surrounding context it plays so well into one of the central dualities of Perrin’s character: that of the gentle, careful one who wants to build things and work a forge and know peace versus the side of him that is terrifying in battle and feels alive when fighting and runs with wolves. Metal on metal, in a forge or a battlefield.

Oh it’s a dream. That works too. Rand dreams of his sworn and fated enemy and sits with him by the fire as they both take a moment away from the tasks neither of them truly want but cannot relinquish, and Perrin dreams of a forge.

He was making something important.

A nation? A decision? A bed to replace the one he ‘lost’ in the bushes? Tell us, Perrin.

Understand the pieces, Perrin.

Ah, and there it is. Such a crucial task for the ta’veren whose power manifests largely in the forging of nations, in bringing people to him and together, in binding. But to do that, you have to know what you’re binding. Which requires not denying it, but I think perhaps Perrin has finally moved beyond that.

Hi Hopper. Want a belly rub?

What am I making? Perrin picked up the length of glowing iron with his tongs. The air warped around it.

Well that is the question, Perrin, is it not? Time to let yourself answer it. Time to move past instinct, or exceptional ability in emergencies that lapses into denial once they’re over. He’s so good in those situations, but he struggles with the times in between, the times when his thoughts catch up to him. And now… he needs to push past that, and be able to truly accept it all, to not just swing the hammer but to know what he’s making, to plan it, to be deliberate and purposeful – which is so much a part of him in some ways, but there are areas he avoids.

Hopper’s like okay okay but can we get our symbolism by chasing things or something fun? You humans and your hammers, I swear.

Master Luhhan would be ashamed to see such shoddy work. Perrin needed to discover what he was making soon

I mean, there’s really nothing for me to even add to that.

More hammering, but he’s angry now.

It should all be better now! But it isn’t. It seems worse somehow.

He continued pounding. He hated those rumours that the men in camp whispered about him.

There’s a pun here to be made about hammers and pounding and Berelain but I am an adult and therefore I shall refrain.

More to the point, though… he’s directing his anger at the rumours but I think it’s rather more about that first part. That things should be ‘better’ now, but they aren’t, and he still doesn’t know what he’s making. He was driven, focused (too driven, too focused) and he had a task and so he could pursue it with single-minded determination, but as soon as he completed it… he was back with his thoughts and a nation following him and a role he has partway accepted but still hasn’t quite come to terms with. He still doesn’t fully accept what he is, who he is, what he can do, what he will have to do.

And so he’s doing what he can, and trying to forge those bonds and face what’s coming but there’s a part of him still holding back, still uncertain of what that means, or still reluctant to face it.

It’s an interesting scene because the framing is so similar to Perrin at the forge in The Dragon Reborn, and yet the tone is so utterly different. That was meditative, deliberate, beautiful; Perrin in his element, creating something perhaps not beautiful but well-made, functional, perfectly suited to its purpose. That was Perrin as he saw himself then, when he knew who he was – or at least, who he wanted to be. This… the work is sloppy and Perrin doesn’t even know what he’s making (whereas then, he decided almost immediately but without urgency; it was just an ease and comfort in knowing what the metal would be) but he’s pressing ahead; this is his identity but he’s still forcing it, and so it all feels wrong.

Hopper’s like okay well why don’t you just, you know, not, and ah, we’re back to the wolf thing. Just because Rand has perhaps finally figured out how to balance the different aspects of himself doesn’t mean all the characters have.

Perrin wasn’t nearly as in control as he’d assumed. The wolf within him could still reign.

But, like with the forging, trying to force it isn’t really the answer. Accept, Perrin. Look at the pieces you actually have. Understand them. Understand the different parts of yourself, and take them as they are, and then you can forge them and fit them together. But you can’t do it by ignoring what they are and just trying to force them into what you think they should be. Especially if you don’t even have a clear idea of what that is.

Problems are not amusing, Young Bull, Hopper agreed. But you are climbing back and forth over the same wall.

At least it’s not that damn garden wall in Caemlyn.

But I like how directly this is acknowledged, first with Tam last book and now with Hopper, here. That Perrin keeps wavering over this same conflict, keeps taking two steps forward and one step back, keeps doubting himself and questioning himself and fearing this aspect of himself that he taps into at need but then runs from again.

I like it, as a way to play out a character arc in a way that isn’t just linear growth. Sure, it’s frustrating as all hell sometimes, but it feels real. Because sometimes we don’t Learn The Important Lesson and then move on with our lives never having to face that problem again. Sometimes you overcome your doubts or fear of something once, or find your way past an obstacle, only to find that when it comes up again, hey, turns out it’s still pretty difficult. Not everything is conquered the first time, or the second, or…

PERRIN DO NOT ASK HOW TO REVERSE YOUR WOLFPOWERS. EMBRACE THE WOLFPOWERS. YOU’VE ONLY GOT TWO BOOKS LEFT.

Ah, Perrin, so much self-doubt. But then, his timeline is a bit behind Rand’s, I believe, so he is rather due for a last moment of crisis before the storm breaks.

The quenching barrel is boiling and Perrin doesn’t know what he’s forging and all his movements are almost…clumsy. Rushed and uncareful and the exact opposite of the spare economy of motion from that first forging scene. Because he’s no longer moving with the comfort of surety in who he is and what he’s doing; he’s doubting himself and his task and his capacity and his purpose, unsure and afraid and trying to force some things and ignore others and it doesn’t work that way.

Oh, I like this.

The glow faded. The chunk was actually a small steel figurine in the shape of a tall, thin man with a sword tied to his back. Each line of the figure was detailed, the ruffles of the shirt, the leather bands on the hilt of the tiny sword. But the face was distorted, the mouth open in a twisted scream.

Aram, Perrin thought. His name was Aram.

That is excellent. And it reminds me so strongly, with the twisted scream and the naming, of that scene that absolutely ruins me in the Rhuidean sequence, where Lewin veils his face and the wind rises and he screams ‘I am Aiel’, as those who call themselves Aiel turn from him and name him lost.

And that Aram is forged from steel, from Perrin’s forge, because Perrin as he sees it made him what he became (took him from a life of peace to one of violence), and it’s a perfectly formed piece; it’s not like a misshapen lump of metal, but it’s still wrong. Not what it should be. Not what it should have been.

Why had he created such a thing?

Oh, Perrin.

What a question. Because of course he holds himself responsible. But… while he may have been a catalyst of sorts, this was Aram’s choice. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. A child of peace, who lost everything and came to Perrin for permission to learn the sword, to fight and kill, and who eventually lost even that and died for it. A follower of the Way of the Leaf, brought to a life and death of violence at Perrin’s side. Perrin, who for all he argued with the Tuatha’an about their pacifism still wished for a world in which it could be true, and, I think, wished a little bit that he could have known something like that for himself.

Aw, we left Malden, do we have to go back in the dreamscape?

Did Perrin really look that imposing?

Yes. Next question?

A squat fortress of a man

I am dying. What a phrase. Who needs a brick shithouse when you can have a squat fortress.

And he’s holding the axe again in his dream. He made that choice, but like so many other things, it still occasionally wavers. He is still not sure of who he is. That, he still hasn’t truly decided and accepted and understood, for all that he’s grasped pieces of it around the edges.

A horn or a hoof, Young Bull, does it matter which one you use to hunt? Hopper was sitting in the sunlit street beside him.

“Yes. It matters. It does to me.”

And yet you use them the same way.

I like this exchange because Hopper is right… but so is Perrin. Because perception is absolutely a part of it. Perception, and choices, and a… claiming, of sorts, of his identity. Yes, he uses the hammer to destroy, just as he uses the axe. But to him, the fact that the hammer can be used for another purpose matters. It makes a difference because he chooses to see it that way. Which is, in its way, just as important as Rand choosing to see his fate not as inevitability and despair but as another chance. The smallest shift in perception, looking at the same thing from a slightly different angle, and yet it makes all the difference in the world.

I just like things like that, where these ideas can be simultaneously so close together and so far apart. These infinitesimal distinctions that alter an entire worldview. One small shift and everything falls into place, even if from the outside you’d never understand that there was a difference.

When Perrin fought, he came close to becoming someone else. And that was dangerous.

But is it someone else? Or is this like Rand and Lews Therin, where he fought so hard to hold to the distinction, because he was too afraid of what it might mean to let Lews Therin be a part of him. Perrin is so afraid of what accepting the wolf aspect of his nature might mean, that he sees it as a different person. As someone else. As something he could lose himself to, rather than as something he needs to find within himself and embrace as part of who he is.

Ah, identity.

“Why are you making me dream this?”

Yeah, sorry Perrin, but no.

Though for some reason this reminds me of that dream Rand and Moridin shared and Moridin finally being like ‘okay so what are you doing here’ and Rand thinking Moridin had brought him into the dream and really, boys, do I need to get Egwene in here to teach the lot of you how to dream responsibly?

Except wait, no, Egwene dreams about Gawyn so she’s not responsible in that regard either. Damn.

Anyway.

So Perrin’s re-living Aram’s death in his dreams.

Perrin stepped back. He refused to fight the boy again.

The shadowy version of himself split off, leaving the real Perrin in his blacksmith’s clothing. The shadow exchanged blows with Aram.

Because Perrin is fighting himself: the blacksmith who wants peace, and the warrior who runs with wolves. But he doesn’t see how they can reconcile, how he could possibly be both.

Also everything about Aram’s story is still rather beautifully sad. A lonely branching of the Aiel’s ongoing story, an offshoot of the main Rhuidean sequence, truncated before it could go anywhere, lost with who knows how many others.

Right before Aram would have killed Perrin.

The horn, the hoof, or the tooth […] Does it matter? The dead are dead.

[…]

“I should have taken that fool sword from him the moment he picked it up. I should have sent him back to his family.”

Does not a cub deserve his fangs? Hopper asked, genuinely confused. Why would you pull them?

“It is a thing of men,” Perrin said.

Things of two-legs, of men. Always, it is a thing of men to you. What of things of wolves?

“I am not a wolf.”

This whole argument with Hopper is excellent because again, Hopper is right. But so is Perrin. And it’s so perfectly… it’s Perrin’s dream, and whether Hopper is actually there or not is almost irrelevant, because it’s essentially Perrin arguing with himself. At war between the two sides of his nature, and he goes around and around because until he accepts that he can be both, that he does not have to be defined as the man or the wolf, he won’t be able to find answers that make sense. Because it’s an argument where both sides are right, but he’s trying to pick only one. And so he can never win, never progress.

Perrin in his dream is literally forging figures of the people from the Two Rivers. Just like in reality he is forging them, binding them together, making them into what they must be to face the Last Battle with him. It’s not subtle, but it is rather lovely.

Though lines like this:

The figurine continued to glow, faintly reddish

Still give me flashbacks to last book, and Rand, and a certain ter’angreal of mass destruction.

But figurines like this wouldn’t be forged; they’d be cast. “What does it mean?”

Hey, at least you know enough of dreams to understand that Here There Be Symbolism, even if you don’t quite understand what of. We’ll call that a solid B+.

Hopper doesn’t think much of symbolism unless he can eat it. That’s fair.

Laughter in the distance? Moridin, are you fucking with people’s dreams again? Though he doesn’t seem like much of one for laughter these days.

Either way, dreamtime’s over. Good night, Perrin.

Next (ToM prologue pt. 2) Previous (TGS final thoughts)

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   9

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Sans and Papyrus argue, sparking some of the memories Sans would rather not remember. Sweetheart is pissed.

A/N: Be glad this one isn't as long as it could have been had I just let loose... because- WARNING this chapter has a couple of Sans' memories of Gaster and his abuse. They are between the ~~~ lines. I'll put a quick safe read in the end notes.    Sweetheart is pissed now, and isn't having anymore of Sans' shit... cunning little thing..

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Bad memories.

She had been kidnapped. 

Adultnapped.

Whatever… 

The pain of the betrayal twisted her stomach and made tears gather at the edges of her eyes. 

These two couldn't be trusted. 

Actually, Papyrus could probably be trusted a little; he hadn't lied to her. Despite, or maybe because of, his lack of polite social cues, he was almost a brutal amount of direct, not hiding things behind flowery prose.  

Sans, on the other hand, turned out to be sly. Saying all the right things to get her to trust him, having the right demeanor to get her to relax… planning who knows what in the meantime. 

(Y/n) glared at the bookcase across the room, her mind stewing in anger and hurt for a bit as Sans and his brother spoke somewhere outside the room, though close enough she could hear most of the conversation, definitely the parts from Papyrus, at least. 

"SHE'S GOING TO GET HERSELF, AND YOU, HURT. I WON'T STAND FOR IT!" Papyrus' voice was softer than usual, though still forceful. 

"not doin' it," Sans grumbled back. 

"IT'S FOR HER OWN GOOD," Papyrus insisted.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Sans walked down the hall, bare feet bones scuffing against the floor, shoulders hunched as though from the weight of the thick collar around his cervical vertebrae, medical gown floating about him slightly. 

"Hurry up, you worthless brat," the voice above him demanded, holed hand closing and swinging forward. 

Sans' small body jerked forward, flying through the air until he crashed against the side of a gurney and fell in a heap, unable to catch himself with his unmoving body, almost harsh enough to cause soul damage. 

"Or I'll use the more compliant of you two." 

"n-no!" Sans cried. "i-i'm jus' a bit tired 's all! d-don't-! i'll do what ya want, jus'- jus' leave pap outta this!" He scurried onto the gurney and laid down in his normal position. 

The pokes. 

The prods. 

The pricks of needles… 

The tests after endless tests. 

Not needing to be strapped down physically… 

"o-oooow! i-it hurts! p-please stop! gaster! aaaahhh!" Sans' young voice was surprisingly desperate in the air, but it did him no good. 

He fought, instinctually trying to get away from the pain. 

"Hold still, you little shit," Gaster growled, his hand stretching and pressing down flat in the air at his side. "You'll mess up the results."

Sans felt himself lose control of his body- unable to even blink while his jaw was set in a pained grimace, unable to move. 

Tears gathered at the corners of his sockets, but he still couldn't move, not even to cry out. 

. 

"S'all your fault."

Sans raced through the hall as the sound of an empty bottle falling to the floor echoed from the room behind him. 

stupid asshole, he thought, feeling the fear, anger, and hatred burning inside him. 

He skidded into his and Papyrus' room, reaching out and grabbing the smaller skeleton's humerus and pulling him to his feet from his curled position on the carpet and dragging him along as he continued on down the hall, shoving him into the small hall closet, taking a hidden rope, putting a loop at one end around the door handle, tossing the other end around the pole the coats were hanging on, and pulling it tight to wrap it around the handle and tying it before pressing him down into the farthest corner, crouching between him and the door and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. 

"it'll be ok, paps," he breathed. "idiot'll probably trip comin' up th' stairs an' knock 'imself out again." 

Uneven steps made their way up the stairs, slowly, which Sans knew made it less likely that he'd fall. 

"jus' gotta wait it out," he breathed as he tried to calm his small, crying brother, ignoring the tears trying to push at his own eyes. 

He refused to cry. 

He had to be strong for Paps. 

The uneven steps were in the hallway, making their way down towards their hiding space. 

Sans hugged Papyrus close, keeping them both as silent as possible. 

"'M gunna find you, and you're gunna get the punishment you have coming!" 

Sans hugged his brother's shivering form closer, breathing as quietly as possible. 

Sans felt the collar around his neck vertebrae get lighter and let go of Papyrus, pushing him further into the corner frantically before he couldn't move, lifted into the air and jerked so hard the rope holding the door closed snapped the rod, sending the coats and other hanging clothing raining down onto the floor, burying Papyrus under them as he crashed through the door and into the hall. 

Gaster was standing at the end of the hall, a fresh crack running from the top of his eye socket to somewhere on the top of his skull. 

Dust was still trickling slowly from the crack, and he was obviously a little tipsy, probably chugged the bottle of liquor on the floor downstairs after he'd gotten Asgore's anger. 

"See what you did, you worthless little shit?!" He demanded, turning Sans to see his new crack better. "Asgore's not happy with the results." 

's not my fault y're a failure, Sans thought at him, not my fault whatever y're tryin' ta do is impossible.  

Sans was pulled, still unable to move his own body, until he was within an arm's reach of Gaster. 

The first hit fell across his nasal ridge, the next his eye socket. They grew harder and harder, hits landing on his ribs as well as Gaster held him frozen and helpless as he hit him, taking out his rage. 

Sans could feel the cracks as they were made in his bones. It was going to hurt for a long time. 

you can take it, he told himself. you can take it. as long as he doesn't hurt paps. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Sans shuddered as the memories flashed in front of his mind's eye. 

"that shit ain't good fer anyone," he muttered. 

"SHE NEEDS IT, SANS. TO KEEP HER OUT OF DANGER! SHE NEEDS A COL-" 

"i ain't doin' it, paps!" He cut him off, his voice rising. "i'm not gonna put a collar on 'er! not on my sweetheart! i ain't puttin' 'er through that shit!" 

"SANS," Papyrus tried, but he was cut off again. 

"no, paps! it ain't happenin', end a story!" Sans turned, his sneakers squeaking as he stormed back to his room. 

The door slammed behind him, and he let out a growl, his sharp teeth grinding together as he stomped his way to where (Y/n) had been glaring out the window. 

She was frozen, her wide eyes on Sans as he got closer, trying to tell her body to get ready to move in case she had to dodge something. 

When he got to her, though, he just grabbed her and pulled her against his ribs, burying his face in her hair, then nuzzling his way into the crook of her neck. 

"i ain't doin' it… i won't do it…" he assured in a soft whisper. "don't worry, sweetheart," he told her, trying to ignore all of the flinching she was doing, though he felt each one as a prick to his soul. “i’ll keep ya safe…”

(Y/n) didn't care what Sans said, he was keeping her here against her will. 

She hadn't even seen any monsters, or any signs of a town between here and the small tops of the city buildings in the distance. 

She was going to leave. 

Fuck this situation, she was leaving it. 

She was glad that she hadn't given Sans her number. The last thing she wanted was to  ever  hear from him again when she got out. 

.

Sans tried to get her to go down to dinner with them, but she refused. 

Not only did she not want to see either of them, let alone be around them, because she was so angry, but with the way they'd argued, she didn't want to be in the area if something started again. 

Sans brought her up some food, and the only reason she ate it was to have enough energy to escape. 

When it came time to go to sleep, Sans climbed in the bed, getting comfortable for sleep, wondering why his sweetheart was acting so strange, keeping an eye on her. 

When she was ready to sleep, she stood from the desk chair she'd pulled up to the window and took a pillow from the bed before laying on the floor next to the bed. 

Sans' skull contorted in confusion. "wh-what're ya doin', sweetheart?" 

She didn't answer, at all. Not even lifting a hand to give him the finger. 

Sweat started beading on his skull as Sans rubbed at his sternum to try to ease the pain that had shot through his soul. 

"s-sweetheart, what're ya doin' on th’ floor?" 

She still didn't move. 

Sans growled in irritation, his hand fisting in his shirt. what th’ fuck? He wondered. "what're ya pissed at me fer?" He demanded. She flinched at his harsh tone and he let out another growl, this time of frustration at himself for making her flinch. 

Sans ground his teeth as he held back his anger. 

"fine then. sleep on th' fuckin' floor," he grumbled as he aggressively turned over and got comfortable.

He tossed and turned for a while, stubborn as ever, but eventually, when he still couldn't sleep, he threw the blanket off. "ya ain't sleepin' alone on th' fuckin' floor," he grumbled to himself, walking around the bed and picking her up to place her on the bed. 

(Y/n) moved to get off the bed as soon as he moved out of the way, but he stopped her, holding her against him as he got onto the bed and tried to get comfortable. 

"stop it," he hissed at her as she tried to squirm away. "go ta sleep." 

(Y/n) couldn't move, stuck where she was, trapped in his arms. 

She grumbled, but knew that sleep was important to get for escaping. And, since Sans wasn't trying anything more than keeping her in bed, and she couldn't get away anyway, she decided to get as much as she could. 

The city had looked pretty far away earlier.

A/N: Also! I'm doing a 2,000 followers special where I'm doing requests (answering questions and stuff) if you want to participate or whatever! 😁

~~~ Gaster does experiments on Sans using a leather collar around his throat to control him completely (physical control of his body, he can't even blink), and threats against Papyrus to keep him in line. . Gaster is pissed because Asgore gave him a permanent crack in his skull due to no progress in his research, gets tipsy and beats Sans- Sans makes his priority to get Papyrus as safe as possible, hidden in a closet, using a rope to secure the door, trying to keep him calm, making sure that he's not holding onto him so he doesn't accidentally drag him out when he feels Gaster taking control of him through the collar. Keeps himself motivated through the beating by telling himself that he can take it as long as it's not Paps getting hit. ~~~ I made it a bit vague on their relationship, because I didn't want it to necessarily be direct parental abuse, like, maybe their parents died and they were put with their uncle Gaster, or maybe Gaster is just the royal scientist and they were put in his care, either as a "wards of the state" kinda thing, or they were taken from their family/ given up and given to him to experiment on. Sans... promises to protect don't make you not a creep... they just kinda make you yandere... Til next week!

[some-mad-lunge]

What Might Have Been - Malex Fic

Alex leaves Roswell the day after his and Michael’s almost kiss. He comes back for his high school reunion and realizes some things never change, like the way a certain curly haired boy makes him feel. (Malex AU)

This is for @fraudulentzodiacs​ to make her smile. You are loved darling.

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

You can’t go home again, isn’t that what they say? What they should say is don’t go home again. Alex Manes had made that vital mistake, gone home and he regretted it. Why? Because he was sitting in a rented luxury SUV, AC running as he tried to pump himself up enough to get out of the damn car.

He’d had his reasons for wanting to show up his 10 year high school reunion but he couldn’t remember them right now.

Well two reasons actually, only two and he did remember them.

First, to throw a John Hughes style middle finger to the four years of hell he’d had within those walls and the people who’d made it that way.

The second? To lay eyes one more time on the boy that was the only reason those same years were even slightly bearable.

Alex wasn’t usually nostalgic, which was ironic given that he was a songwriter. He was paid large amounts of money to make melodies and prose into art, to make people feel something. It didn’t mean he always saw the beauty in the sunset or in the healing of a broken heart. It didn’t mean he looked backwards at all. He normally avoided it at all costs.

It just happened that his invitation to the reunion had arrived less than 48 hours after his interview with Rolling Stone. He’d been picked, along with nine other songwriters, to be a part of their “Voices Of A Generation” issue. It was a tremendous honour and a validation he’d never known he’d needed until he had it.

It didn’t matter that he had two Grammy’s, countless other awards and chart topping hits. It didn’t matter that he had Beyoncé’s and Taylor Swift’s personal numbers saved in his cell phone. It didn’t matter that he had a house in Malibu and an apartment in Manhattan. It didn’t matter what anyone in Roswell thought about him then or what they thought now, especially not Alex’s father.

No, what mattered was that he'd been chosen by Rolling Stone to represent the voice of the very people who had shunned him back in the day. They had tried to make him hate who he was and had failed miserably in their attempts.

Now they listened to his message, they sang along to his lyrics and that was a fuck you very much he wasn’t going to turn down delivering.

But none of it, not one single bit of it, would have been possible without Michael Guerin.

Alex could still remember it like it was yesterday, Michael’s lips, Michael’s eyes. Warm breath on Alex’s face and the moment of finally before it was gone and the soul crushing love of his life had pulled away before it could even begin. Instead it ended and so did any reason to hang on.

If that hadn’t happened Alex wouldn’t have packed his bags that night. He wouldn't have taken out all his savings, bought a bus ticket and gotten out of New Mexico before anyone knew he was gone. He wouldn’t have sat staring out the window as the dessert went by, not bothering to hide his tears as he wrote “Cosmic Love” in his spiral notebook.

It was a song about a love that you can run from but never leave behind. The kind of love that is everywhere and in everything, that sustains you just as much as it makes you bleed. A love that only two people could understand. The love Alex had always felt for Michael.

The lyrics had flowed out of him in one go, the notes he played the first time at a rest stop under a flickering light at 2:00am.

A song that less than a year later made the gay teenage outcast of Roswell a force to be reckoned with.

If Michael hadn’t taken away Alex’s only reason to stay, he never would have left. Alex felt like he owed Michael somehow for crushing his heart.

It hadn’t been that easy of course, but for once luck had been on Alex’s side. Los Angeles had been the escape he’d always dreamed of. He met people like himself, the outcasts, the freaks and the artists. He’d met boys, and men, unashamed to look him up and down, desire him. He’d been allowed to kiss in coffee shops and hold someone’s hand at the beach. He’d sat in the sand and played his guitar in between shifts at the souvenir kiosk where he’d gotten a job.

He’d been in LA six months when he’d met Jason. Alex strummed his guitar, black polish chipping off his nails, hard cement of the boardwalk under him. Jason, who had a voice like honey, sat beside him out of the blue one day and started singing along. Jason, who instantly became his best friend, and then shortly after became Jason Rast.

Cosmic Love had been Jason’s first single off his debut album, and it changed both of their lives.

Alex Manes might write the voice of a generation but Jason Rast sang it, gave it life. He was the epitome of a rock star with a heart of gold. Fame hadn’t changed him, or their friendship. Or how much he liked to text.

Jason - Have you seen him yet? Did he get fat? I bet he got fat.

Alex - I’m hiding in the parking lot.

Jason - You know you have two Grammy’s right? Fuck those people.

Alex - Why did I want to do this again?

Jason- Do you want me to send a jet to come get you? We could go to Vegas. Adam Levine is there, he always throws a good bender.

Alex - You hate Levine.

Jason - Everyone hates him. It’s like a rule.

Alex - No. I’m going to do this. I can do this.

Jason - MY MAN!

Jason - Let me know if he got fat.

Alex pulled himself out of the car, smoothed the front of his button down shirt. He could have gone full celebrity and worn something designer. That was probably what everyone was expecting of him but it didn’t mean that’s who Alex was. Sure his jeans were probably too expensive by most people’s standards but they made his ass look amazing. He did have to face the unrequited love of his life after all.

He walked through the parking lot filled with cars but void of people. He could hear the music coming from the open gym doors, the muffled voices of his past. The sun was starting to set, casting everything in moody pinks and reds.

For some reason he headed towards the football field. Not that Alex had ever played the sport or even gone to a game unless dragged there. No, he’d spent his time under the bleachers playing his guitar or smoking a cigarette when he should have been in class pretending anyone at home gave a shit about him.

Alex had perfected being moody and pissed about the unfairness of life as a teenager. It had been warranted but it was still a damn cliche.

He finally stopped with his hands in his pockets, took in the spot he’d sat with Maria or Liz, sometimes even Michael, but mostly alone. Just him and his guitar. This place seemed bigger back then, the whole world had.

“Looks exactly the same doesn’t it?” The voice from behind Alex didn’t make him jump, it never had. Instead it slide over him like a caress, heat and smoke, easy to fall into if he wanted. He took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder.

Time had been good to Michael Guerin. Correction, time had been sucking Michael Guerin’s dick and thanking him for the pleasure. He looked like sex personified, low slung jeans and curls that Alex still wished he had felt against his fingers just one time.

Michael was a little older, a little rougher around the edges but he still made a shiver go up Alex’s spine. It was like being 18 all over again.

“Of all the things I expect to change in this world Roswell isn’t one of them.” Alex smiled through the words. It was Michael and even when breaking Alex’s heart he was still the best thing about this God awful town.

He got a grin back, Michael walking forward so Alex can meet him in the handshake/half hug that seems to be the straight man staple. He felt breath on his cheek for a second so it was worth it.

“I can’t believe you came.” Michael seemed genuinely happy to see Alex, which he had to admit surprised him.

“Me neither.” He’s a liar but no one needs to know that.

“FYI, Isobel has your Rolling Stones cover up on the “Alumni Wall Of Fame.” It’s right next to Marcus Boyle’s USDGC gold medal.”

“USDGC?”

“United States Disc Golf Championship.”

Alex can’t stop the punch of laughter that escapes. Michael always did that to him, made him feel without fear. Alex could laugh or he could cry but it was easy, and it was safe.

“Is the medal in the shape of a frisbee?” Alex can’t help but meet Michael’s eyes, fascinated that they are exactly the same as he remembers them. Exactly like he still dreamed about most nights.

“No, but now that I think about it that is clearly a gross oversight.”

They stand side by side, their snorts of laughter fading into comfortable silence. Their kind of comfortable, with a pop of electricity that snapped between them. Alex would never forget how devastated he’d been when he realized he was the only one that had ever felt it.

He kind of wants to go back in time and give 18 year old Alex a hug. At 28 he’s unsure how to handle this feeling, 10 years ago must have been terrifying. He doesn’t remember it that way. Michael had never scared him, Michael had fascinated him.

“Should we head in?” Alex turned to the gym, as ready as he’d ever be to face the masses, but a hand on his arm stopped him. The fingers are so hot Alex wasn’t sure how he didn’t catch on fire. He had to fight the part of him that just wanted to press those hands to his bare skin and burn alive.

“Or we could hide under the bleachers with the cooler of beer I put there just in case.” Michael’s smile is small, and if Alex has read it right, a little bit unsure. A peace offering? Which was ridiculous, it wasn’t Michael’s fault that he hadn’t felt the way Alex always did.

No, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that Alex had spent most of his life continuously falling for Michael Guerin.

Alex had been so heartbroken he hadn’t realized when he’d run away he wasn’t the only one who had lost something. Michael had been Alex’s ideal, but Alex had been Michael’s friend. One of the choice few. For a moment he was ashamed of himself. But Alex had done what he needed to do for his own survival back then. He shouldn’t regret it now, but seeing Michael’s face, a part of him did. Alex owed him, even if it would probably smash his heart all over again.

“Lead the way cowboy.”

They ducked under metal bars and squeezed through small openings to get to Alex’s favourite hideaway. It was perfectly hidden, right where two sets of bleachers met in a corner. There were two blankets and cooler with a black cowboy hat perched on top. As Michael sat Alex pulled out his phone, took a picture of the initials he’d scrawled in black sharpie back in the day.

AM WAS HERE/QUEER.

There’s other initials now, some with the same message as his. It makes him feel connected to the kids who came after. The ones who hid here just like he had. He wonders if he’d helped anyone feel less alone.

Alex suddenly feels suffocated by Michael’s gaze, like it’s running the length of him in a slow trail. He’s imagining it, he knows he is, but he lets himself.

Finally he sits across from Michael, his legs tucked as comfortably as he can on the blanket left for him. He gladly takes the beer bottle handed his way, sighs after a long sip.

“So Guerin, do anything interesting in the last 10 years?”

And yeah, Michael’s laugh still sends Alex’s stomach into somersaults. Some things just never changed.

*********

They’re three beers in, the initial awkwardness gone. Their legs are spread out in front of them, Alex is mesmerized by the warmth of Michael’s thigh against his calf. It makes him want what he can’t have, but it’s a feeling he’s used to.

Alex is surprised that Michael never left Roswell, never went to university like he planned. He’s cagey on the details so Alex doesn’t push. Guerin doesn’t seem unhappy but he’s also not content. There’s something missing in his life. Alex can tell. They were always the same, the two of them.

They keep it light and easy. Alex shares stories of LA and the lack of glamor. How he enjoys fame without actually being famous enough to be recognized on the street. He’ll be the first to admit his life isn’t as exciting as people think.

Michael catches him up on Roswell and how much everything is basically exactly the same.

“I was sad to find out the museum closed, I thought I would check and see if they had any new displays.” Alex meant it as a joke but he watches something akin to pain flash in Michael’s eyes. Maybe it’s the shadows from the flood lights, or maybe…

“Michael?!” Alex would know that voice anywhere, Isobel Evans on the warpath. The beer had made him loose, or maybe it’s the insanity of the situation but he can’t help himself. He starts to giggle.

Michael shushes him but it’s no use, Alex can hear the click of Isobel’s heels as they come closer. He can’t stop, he just keeps imaging the blonde princess’s face if she discovers them. That is until Michael reaches forward, one hand to the back of Alex neck and the other to cover his giggling mouth.

He freezes, because suddenly he’s overcome with the warmth surrounding him. The fizz in his stomach now a full blown tornado and the sensation of fingers softly digging into his skin. Michael’s eyes are locked with his, and the world just melts away. He doesn’t know if Isobel has left. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming but he can’t help himself. That was always his problem. His heart has a mind of its own and it’s always said one thing over and over again.

Michael.

He does the most insane and yet natural thing before he can think better of it, and presses his lips to Michael’s palm in a soft kiss. He does it selfishly, for himself. So Alex can say once, just once, that he got to.

Michael’s eyes soften, his hand gone from Alex’s mouth. Instead it palms Alex’s cheek, a calloused thumb ghosting against his mouth. The moan it brings out of him, Alex would be ashamed of it wasn’t the most honest sound he’s ever made.

It’s there, that flash of heat in Michael’s eyes. The one Alex always thought he’d imagined. It’s real this time and it’s everything he remembers.

They meet in the middle, wet and open from the start. Michael’s tongue a direct shock to his dick, already hard and wanting. Alex wants to weep when he finally gets to slide his fingers into that hair, feel the curls catch and release. He tastes like beer and every good memory Alex ever had.

Michael’s hands are greedy and they’re everywhere. Alex feels the imprint of them long after they slide from his shoulders to his waist, a hard tug as they fist into his shirt. Somehow he’s dragged into Michael’s lap, the earth hard on his knees as he grinds down. It makes Alex whimper, he has to lose those lips to gasp for breath and hold on.

Michael’s arms are holding him so tight, a hand sliding up under his shirt, teeth scraping against his neck. It makes his hips move faster, chasing something he can’t even name. They’re rhythm and Michael’s quick movements are going to end him.

Warm lips drag a path to his ear, breath heavy and wanton. “Always knew it would be like this.”

It sends shockwaves through Alex, digs in deep, the reality that he hadn’t been the only one all those years ago. That he isn’t the only one currently drowning now.

“Michael…”

He’s grasped tighter, held fast and whatever he was about to say disappears. They’re lined up perfectly and Alex has never hated denim more in his life. He wants to slow this down, take his time. He wants to imprint everything to memory, horde it for the lonely nights that are sure to follow. Michael won’t let him, maybe he can’t. It doesn’t matter, not anymore.

Alex needs to kiss him again, so he does. They’re too out of breath, too keyed up. They’re just panting into each other’s mouths and lighting the world on fire. It’s all happening so fast, years of feeling focused into right here and right now.

He’s so close, he’s so fucking close to dying and he can’t get their soon enough. Michael bites Alex’s bottom lip, pain and pleasure and everything in between. He forces his gaze to stay on Michael’s face, that fierce look of possession mixed with awe. Every dream Alex ever had paled in comparison to the real thing.

“Come on baby. I’ve waited a decade for this, don’t deny me now.”

That’s all it takes, the demand in Michael’s words and what they really mean. It’s pulled out of Alex, like a gut punch of galaxies, the burn of the sun. He’s not alone, he feels all of it. Michael’s pleasure, his own eternity and bliss, quakes with it in every nerve ending.

Finally he floats back down, weightless and perfect. His arms still wrapped around Michael, his face pressed into soft flannel. He never wants to let go. Hands are still clutched into his skin. Unheard words are whispered into his shoulder. Alex just tries to relearn how to breathe.

It’s fingers on his face that finally has him moving again, their foreheads pressed together.

“What the fuck was that?” Alex kisses it into Michael’s mouth, in awe of how much he still wants him. How much he always has, how much he always will.

Michael pulls back, runs his thumbs over Alex’s cheeks. His eyes are bright and brilliant, his voice clearer than it has any right to be.

“Cosmic Love.”

Alex stills for a second, has to close his own eyes from what it makes him feel. He never thought Michael would know the song was about him. He should of, of course he should have, who else could it have ever been?

“I went looking for you the next day. Searched everywhere. If I could go back...” Michael’s looking at him like he used to, another thing Alex hadn’t imagined after all. “I knew you’d leave Alex, but you were always supposed to take me with you.”

Alex sees it all in Michael's eyes, all the loneliness and pain of the past reflected back at him. So much regret it breaks his heart all over again. Only this time, this time Alex gets to do it right.

“How quickly can you pack?” He means it, God does Alex mean it. Presses his lips all over Michael’s face, soft and sweet. Years of love he finally gets to show, to give to the boy who helped Alex survive. Now the man he still feels every bit of it for.

Michael stops his caresses, something shutters in his eyes and it hurts. Alex feels the world start to cave in. He tries to pull away, because he can’t lose this again. Not after what they just shared, he won’t survive it.

“No, don’t.” Michael holds fast, searches Alex’s face. “I just need to tell you something first. It might...it could change things.”

“It won’t.” Alex knows it couldn’t.

“Alex…”

He runs his fingers through curls, revels in finally being allowed to.

“I promise you, it won’t.”

They’re still pressed together under the bleachers when Alex learns the truth. It should shock him, it should scare him. It doesn’t, not even a little. He just listens and he believes and none of it matters.

It’s Michael and him, it’s them and what they’ve always been. It’s cosmic, and now Alex knows why.

[thecorteztwins]

These are all scenes from my longass ALT-MARAUDERS FIC PITCH and you don’t need to read the whole pitch because it’s huge and a fic in itself, but basically what’s going on is Xavier ordered Miss Sinister, Madelyne Pryor, Pyro, Haven, and the Shaws to work together as a crack team accomplishing bringing “home” mutants like the Marauders but probably also other stuff too. I don’t really care what their mission is though because it’s about their relationships. Also it looks like ALICE is now the adopted team baby, at least for Madelyne and Haven (maybe Pyro too, I like to think he looks out for her) sorry I don’t make the rules OH WAIT I DO AND I SAY SHE’S TEAM BABY honestly she really fits the theme/the team, given her history? So I’m down for it. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes since you showed interest in it and since it’s got YA BOY PYRO and @hexiva since you asked about it too, though no obligation to read it, or to read all of ‘em! I feel like you might like “Scientists” though, Hex. CONTENTS A Box Full of Darkness - Sebastian/Haven Canvas - Madelyne/Alice Scientists - Claudine/Haven Like An Old Married Couple -  Group Parties, Pleas, and Promises - Pyro/Shinobi Sea & Sky - Madelyne/Haven Awkward - Pyro/Sebastian Stories - Madelyne/Pyro Out of the Frying Pan - Sebastian/Shinobi Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream - Pyro

*** A BOX FULL OF DARKNESS "Do you care at all for poetry, Mr. Shaw?” The ship had a small sitting room that also served as a library, shelves lining three of its walls. The wood, the carpet, the small chair, the atmosphere, all made one forget that one was at sea, and not in fact in the nook of some old college’s study. One had to wonder who had chosen the books. ”No, Ms. Dastoor, I can’t say it has ever appealed to me. Most of the arts do not, particularly the ones that are not visual in nature. I do not see the point of endless stanzas and pentameters to say in metaphor and allegory what could be said much more clearly and succinct in a single sentence of plain simple prose.” ”Then I hope you shall forgive me for sharing a bit---it reminded me of you, you see.” There was one in her hand. ”Ah, what was it? Something from the Decadent movement? Or perhaps some pretencious Bohemian lampooning the upper class from which he came himself? Dare I hope for Ozymandias, perhaps, and will it be Smith’s or Shelley’s?” He was smirking slightly. Perhaps he thought he was being funny. Or it might just be his face. ”You seem to know much about the subject despite a disinterest in it. I rather admire that you took the time to learn,” and she did sound genuinely approving, encouraging, “But, no---Mary Oliver, someone much more recent, and much more recently deceased. I am paraphrasing her here so that my meaning, my reason for seeing you in this, is not confused: Someone once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” He smiled wryly, “Is that how you see me, Ms. Dastoor, a box full of darkness?” “No,” she said, her gaze rising back up from the open pages to meet his, her large dark eyes unreadable as they drank him in, boxes of darkness in themselves, “And I do not agree that evil and suffering---if we must use ‘darkness’ to mean those things, which I also do not agree with, but is what I believe Ms. Oliver may have meant--is ever a gift, no matter what we may get out of it through our own power to come back from it...but I believe you see it this way, do you not?” There was no accusation in her tone, no disapproval. There seldom was. She was only asking, only observing. At least, Sebastian thought, that was what she wanted to seem like. He always suspected her motives were more, and that she was simply trying to disguise the fact she was trying to needle him, rather than making it pointedly obvious as, say, Emma, might. Coward---but then, he knew that of her. “Perhaps in less poetic terms, yes. I’m a practical man, Ms. Dastoor. I used to work in a steel mill. I saw how heat and pressure forged the worthless in the valuable, how the smelting process pulled the precious iron from the rest of the ore and shaped it through force into something useful. The same can be said of people---and I do indeed say it. You have heard me. Is that the darkness of which you speak?” ”The steel you speak of and the shapes it was forced into were valuable and useful...by the definitions of what the humans shaping it needed and wanted. But ore and iron and metal and stone, all these have no intrinsic value, or lack there of. There is no objective difference in the value between steel and granite, glass or diamond, gold or plastic. Thus, too, I believe that when it comes to people, you are deciding what is valuable according only to your standards. But is there objective worth to your perception of strength over your perception of weakness, beyond what is merely your perception?” And yet again, her voice was calm, not accusing, merely observing and asking. Sebastian returned, just as calm, if slightly smug, “Is there objective value in your perception of kindness and morality, Ms. Dastoor, beyond that it is merely your perception?” “I believe it has practical applications, but I have also never claimed an objective standpoint in our discussions, have I? Whereas you have, if I am recalling corrective,” Again, there was nothing aggressive in her tone. She was polite as could be. “I have and I do, but if I am to have it be put to a test of authenticity, I must require you to subject your own beliefs to the same scrutiny. It is not fair for the burden of proof to only fall on my shoulders.” Still also calm, still slightly smirking in his turning around on her. “That is quite true. I apologize,” she relented, ”But, to my original point---while I may disagree with Ms. Oliver’s sentiment, is it not one that appeals to you, one that you share?” Sebastian, too, relented with his smirk becoming a smile, “Yes.” The smile widened, knowing and amused,

“And despite your claim of not sharing the poem’s sentiments, I believe you see me as your box of darkness---and you are excavating me in search of some gift.” He put one hand in his suit pocket and began to depart, though he turned once, the smirk returned, and said, “Do let me know if you find it.” *** CANVAS “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Alice, interrupting Madelyne’s angry rant, “I’m not real.” Madelyne Pryor had just explosively dragged the girl away from Claudine, insisting that the child shouldn’t have to see that...that...MONSTER...at any point on the voyage home. And if Haven hadn’t stopped her, she’d have ensured that Alice wouldn’t have a chance to, by KILLING the other woman, whom Madelyne now realized was aptly named “Miss Sinister” for fare more than her looks. She might still do it... But first--- “Don’t give me that!” Madelyne suddenly rounded on the girl she had just been comforting, been supporting, been swearing she’d never have to see her abuser---that was what it was to breed and clone someone just for the sake of their violation, abuse, beyond abuse!---again. But Alice had hit a nerve. And for the same reason Madelyne Pryor had so much empathy for her, she now had ire too. Madelyne’s snapping did, at least, stop Alice from crying. She’d been about to start, but the shock of Madelyne’s sudden change halted her in mid-tear. “You’re made of real flesh and blood, right?” Madelyne demanded rhetorically, “And you have thoughts and feelings right? Well you're real! The flesh being shared doesn't make it less real, just not unique. So you’re no less real than someone’s identical twin. And even they’re not really copies, because they have different personalities. So the only way you could be a copy---which you’re not---is if you had the first Alice’s same genes AND same thoughts and personality and everything! And you don’t, right” “Um,” Alice sniffled, a little afraid to correct the woman, who was so fierce whether she was defending Alice or berating her (or at least, it seemed like that was what she was doing...Alice wasn’t sure), “Actually...actually...I get all the memories of the previous Alices, so...so....I am a copy, actually...” “Oh,” Madelyne felt her argument just get ripped out from under like a trick rug someone had pulled. Her empathy came flooding back from the girl...and shame for shouting at her. Especially since she knew who she had REALLY been shouting at. “Well...” Shit, what did she do now? She’d just as good as told the girl she WAS a copy! How did she salvage this now? Come on Maddie, she told herself, What did you need somebody to say to you when you found out? “Listen, Alice,” she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, firmly but gently. Her tone matched. “Yeah, you’re a copy. So am I. But we’re still real people, for all the reasons I said. No one gets to treat use like Claudine---or Colcord---treated you. No one should, anyway. It DOES matter. Being a clone, a copy, it doesn’t make you less alive. And so what if you’re a copy? You’re still YOU. You become more and more your own person with every moment you’re alive. Think of it like...like...” A Xerox. It was what she had compared herself to when she’d told Jean what she was. A Xerox that lost a lot in translation. What memories she’d had were either lies manufactured by Sinister...or worse, remnants from Jean that had bled into her mind when the Phoenix brought her to life. “Think of it like a Xerox machine, okay?” she said, more gentle than ever now, voice soft, and little tears of her own welling up, “When it first comes off the copy machine, yeah, it’s a duplicate...but then you can draw on it. You can write on it. You can crumple it up or throw it in the bin, or you can paint over it until it’s something new entirely on the paper. It’s up to you. It won’t stay a duplicate for long though. Either you can change it...or someone else will. But it’ll happen either way. And you know what?” Madelyne put a hand on Alice’s face, looking into her eyes, “I bet you can paint a real masterpiece.” *** SCIENTISTS “Are you alright, Claudine?” Madelyne had whisked Alice off. Haven had been going to do that originally, but since Madelyne had stepped in, Haven would leave it to her. She didn’t need to be the hero every time, and Madelyne...Madelyne had much in common with Alice. She might be better for Alice. And Alice might be good for her. But Haven’s next concern after Alice and Madelyne was Claudine. Claudine was the victimizer, yes. She had done awful things to Alice, to the Alices before her, to the other children. She had also been a victim too, and no one else here had pity for her now that they knew what she’d been besides that. No one else but Haven. “No moral outrage, Radha?” Claudine smirked slightly. She’d retreated to her lab, and it was hard to tell if she’d been expecting Haven to follow or not. “Of course,” said Haven calmly, “It horrifies and revolts me that those girls were bred only to be used as their hosts, their entire personalities, their souls, displaced for yours. Horrifies and disgusts me. Just as it horrifies and disgusts me, on just as deep a level, that the same was going to happen you if you did not escape in such a way.” “So because I was in danger of something terrible happening, you can excuse what I did?” Claudine sounded curious, mocking somehow, tapping one red-pink nail against a porcelain cheek. “Not excuses,” said Haven still calmly, “But I understand. And I still care if you were hurt just now.” “It’s more than that, isn’t it though?” said Claudine, still sounding amused, “You want to see if I’m wracked with guilt or not, if I hate myself. You want to see if I’m remorseful or tortured like you, like you want me to be maybe. Like you hope I am because it proves I must have some good in me, and you can comfort me and feel good about that. And if I’m not remorseful at all, you want to see why that is, if it’s because of Sinister or if it’s just me. And then if it’s just me...you want to figure me out too. Like you do with dear Sebastian.” Haven blinked, her sole sign of surprise, “That’s quite a lot of conjecture, Claudine. But...you are not incorrect, no. We do like to divide things neatly into victims who could do nothing, who had no power, and the victimizers who are wholly monsters...but that’s not wholly true, is it? Sometimes, the victims can do something. And sometimes, the only thing they can do is a monstrous thing. They’re caught in a Catch 22---either they don’t do the one thing they can, and thus will feel they are to blame for what happened. Or they do it, and they must live with the guilt. I can’t tell you if you were right or wrong Claudine, because---” “---sometimes there is no right or wrong, because the entire situation was wrong, and that’s not your fault.” Claudine finished, “I’ve heard how you talk with the kiddies, Haven. Like those little ones we pulled out of the fight pit. Or the one who pushed his friend forward at the flesh market so he’d get taken instead. You’re just oh so understanding, aren’t you? Seeing things from all sides.” “I would hope so. I certainly try to be. But, I admit, I’m not seeing something right now...why do you say that with what sounds, to me, as a mocking tone? Am I misinterpreting you, Claudine?” “A bit. I’m not mocking you, really I’m not---but I am teasing a little. It’s just so funny, you know?” Claudine’s index finger was next to her smiling mouth, “How you’re always thinking, always watching, and how I’m the only one who notices. What do you think the others would think, if they knew?” “I’m afraid I’m still not understanding you, Claudine. Would you mind helping me by putting it a bit plainer?” “Ever so polite. Come on now, Haven---as well as you know people, you must know they don’t like being put under a microscope. Everyone likes the IDEA of someone who “gets” them, who knows just what they’re feeling and what they need without them ever needing to open up all their vulnerable little insides like clams willfully tearing themselves out of their shells...but when it actually comes along, they don’t like it. Especially if it doesn’t feel earned, or specific to them. Because when they say they want that, they’re thinking of a partner, a lover, one single person who knows them that well because they’ve been with them that long, and love them, just them, that much. But telepaths like me, we get all that without having to see them as special at all. We don’t have to love them or spend time with them to KNOW them. We don’t have to open ourselves up in exchange. That’s why people don’t like us. And that’s---” She stepped close to Haven and bobbed her fingertip just above the other woman’s nose, “---why they wouldn’t like you. Oh yeah, you’re great when you’re sensitive and empathetic and all that, when you just know when someone needs a cup of tea or a shoulder to cry on...but it’s only to a point. Underneath all that soft silk and sweet words, you’re a lot like me---a scientist. We see the data. We gather it. We examine it. We analyze, we classify, we theorize. People call Xavier creepy these days but I think he’s just finally being honest.” She picked up Haven’s right hand, and raised it up, Haven allowing her. “So,” Claudine met her eyes, still smiling, “When are you going to be honest too?” Haven smiled back, with kind sincerity as always, “May I be honest now, Claudine?” “Of course.” Haven put her other hand on top of Claudine’s, sandwiching the unnaturally pale paw between her two soft brown ones, “Everything you say is accurate. But it’s also a deflection. You could have told me that you just did not wish to talk about Alice, you know. I would not have pried or pushed you. You know I never do.” Claudine laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who had just been proven completely correct. *** LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE “We’re going to need you to go undercover for this mission,” Xavier explained to the team, “It’s been decided that Sebastian and Haven will do best in this environment. Naturally, you will be outfitted with image inducers, and provided with all the false documentation required.” He slid a folder across the table to them, explaining, “You will be posing as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. King.” “King. I’m sure you thought that was very clever, Charles,” said Sebastian, picking the folder up and perusing it, “And I see our first names are...Abraham and Lakshmi. Is that a reference to something?” “Lakshmi is the goddess of which Radha is an aspect,” Xavier explained, “And Abraham...well, that just sounds slightly like Hiram, your middle name, or so I thought. I thought it might help the pair of you remember your identities, without being obvious to others.” “Well, thank you Charles. It’s good to know you put a man on the Quiet Council of whom your opinion is so low you think I can’t remember two names for a single night,” said Shaw, getting up and taking the folder with him, without excusing himself. The rest of the team follow suite, save Haven, who of course said the politest of goodbyes and thanked him for arranging the false identities. clever, and our first names “We’re leaving in the next five hours, so there’s hardly any time to prepare,” Sebastian said, plainly speaking to Haven even though he was looking ahead, not at her, “Ms. Dastoor, come with me so that we may discuss the details of our ruse.” Pyro watched the pair like a hawk as they went in a different direction from the rest of the crew. “Jealous, Pyro?” Claudine quipped, “I confess, I didn’t think Sebastian was your type...then again, he does have a certain resemblance to Dom I suppose...” Pyro was in no mood to play, however. “If he touches her I’m a-toast him from the inside out, see if his stinking GUTS are fireproof!” he proclaimed, a small jet of flame emanating from his wrist-shooter for emphasis. “Husband and wife...what’s Xavier thinking?! And she’ll be all alone with him and have to keep up the act if he does anything!” “Don’t sweat it,” Shinobi assured, “ I know my dad. She’s like ten years too old for him to be interested.” Pyro looked confused, “Isn’t she YOUNGER than him?” “Yeah,” said Shinobi. A look of disgust came over Pyro’s face. “Don’t look shocked,” Madelyne told him, “Don’t forget, he dated someone under ten once.” And that garnered...about the expressions you’d expect. Even from Claudine. “Me, you idiots! I was making a joke!” Madelyne clarified, seeing their shock and horror on their faces, “I’m technically like twelve years old max! God, you people...”  

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Haven’s conversation in the former’s ship office was not far off. “With all that covered...” Sebastian finished as the last of their act was hashed out, “I have to bring us to what will likely be the most difficult part of this for you. Ms. Dastoor, I am not sure what the norms are for married couples in public in your country, but at some point in the evening...I will most likely put my arm around your shoulders.” “I understand,” said Haven, with the solemn gravity required for such a thing. “There will hopefully be no need for anything else, but if dancing occurs, there is a chance that a hand on your waist will be required as well. Can you allow and “act natural” this without displaying any discomfort?” "This will be tolerable if need be, Mr. Shaw, though not preferable. Will your hand be on mine, outside of potential dancing?” Sebastian cracked a smile, amused, “Husbands and wives don’t hold hands, Ms. Dastoor. I’m shocked you’ve never noticed that. It’s far too intimate for a married couple.” “I’m afraid you lost me, Mr. Shaw. Too intimate for a married couple? Is this a Western peculiarity?” “Men don’t slap their wives bottoms, Ms. Dastoor, “Sebastian explained, “They slap the bottoms of waitresses and flight attendants when their wives aren’t there. Does that help illustrate it better? “Yes, I think I see, Mr. Shaw.” “We probably haven’t had sex in the last 25, 35 years. At least not with each other.” “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” “ Our marriage bed is as dry as the Sah—” “Thank you, Mr Shaw.”           It was the first time that Sebastian had ever heard Haven cut him, or anyone, off. He would have taken offense from someone else, but he actually liked this, and smiled. He found it amusing he’d managed to get under her skin enough to prompt such a, for her, dramatic reaction. He’d have to make a note of this. *** PARTIES, PLEAS, AND PROMISES These Krakoa portals were truly a godsend. For many mutants, that was because the X-Men and other agents of Krakoa could now come to them easily and bring them to a safe place. For others it was because it enabled them to keep contact with their family and friends while also not having to leave what they felt was at last a place they could belong. But for Pyro and Shinobi...it meant bar-hopping from Manhattan to Moscow to Mexico! to Bulgaria to Bangkok to Taiwan to Timbuktu! In Manhattan, a cute guy with a nose piercing bought them beers and guided them through the city with his friends, boyfriends, and cousins til 5 AM when the guy’s cousin decided she really wanted spahgetti, so they all went to her house in the Harlem projects where she made them some and then they watched 90s hip hop music videos together. They stayed til 10 AM, then hopped a portal to Mexico, and went to a resort strip, where they got piss drunk again by doing shots with a guy covered in tattoos who might have also been involved with the cartels---Shinobi said he knew him from his dad’s black market business---and then Pyro got in a fight with the bouncer while Shinobi snorted molly in the bathroom stall. Got drunk again in Shanghai, fell off the bouncy dance floor, made friends with some Ukrainian tourists and went back to their hotel, walked in on an orgy, and when in Rome... Next thing they knew, they were in downtown Tokyko, drunk again, running on foot from the Japanese police, each of them holding a marijuana plant in a pot, laughing uncontrollably. Shinobi grabbed Pyro’s hand and they phased through a wall, only to fall down through thin air into an underground parking garage. Their potted pot plants shattered as they hit the concrete, and this just made them laugh more despite their own bruised tailbones as they lay there between a couple of cars. Eventually, when the giggles ran out, Shinobi slurred, “Man, I’m so glad...so glad our last night is awesome.” “Wha?” Pyro said, not sure he’d gotten that right. He was pretty boozy right now, after all, “What’d you mean, last night?

"Well, I, uh,” Shin said, obviously uncomfortable, “I decided...if I can’t hang out w’you anymore...gonna make the last time a good time.”

”Wh--” Pyro started, then his expression soured, “It’s yer dad, isn’t it?”

No answer.

”I knew it! He told you...tol’ you you couldn’t...be mates with me no more...that it?”

Shinobi mumbled.

”Listen Shin...forget him! You a grow...grown man! Y’don’t have to do what that old douchebag says! He’s just a...just a cunt, a right cunt, y’know? Fucking cunt...” Pyro wobbled back and forth, so vehement was he in his support.

”Well, we’re workin together now...” Shinobi said weakly.

”Yer workin WITH him though not for him! And why’re you even doing that? C’mon, he he wasn’t any good to you why should you do anything for him?”

Shinobi looked shocked, then angry, demanding, “How d’you know that?!” "Pfft, I’m not as thick as your old man thinks, you know! I can pick up a hint or two! Especially when it’s you telling me.” Shinobi looked shocked again, and Pyro, still swaying in place, clapped him on the back and explained, “Ah, I don’t expect you to remember but you’ve said a few things when you were as full as the back of a plumber's ute.Don’t worry, weren’t nothing too personal, no specifics, so don’t look so scared alright?” Pyro knew how it was to want to keep some things private, things that hurt, and even drunk he was trying to be sensitive to that, sensitive as someone like him could be. He continued, “And anyway, would have still guessed. He’s such a right bastard to everyone, can’t imagine him being some warm old papa bear behind closed doors. “He’s---” Shinobi started, about to tell Pyro about just how horrible his father was, and then remembered how ‘sympathetic’ Warren had been, and instead went back on the defensive, “Well it’s none of your business!” Pyro shrugged, not deterred, “Sure it’s not but I’m a journalist, so what do I care? It’s been my job to go where I’m not wanted. And you can do what you want, Shinobi me mate, but you can’t expect ol’ St. John to just keep his trap shut on anything, you know that. Calls it likes I see it, me. Thought you liked that.” There was a sobering silence between the pair for a moment, sitting on their butts in the silent garage while the noise of the Tokyo nightlife sang beyond the concrete walls of what they were missing. “Don’t...don’t tell him I said anything,” Shinobi said at last. Pyro promised him he would not. For he heard the plea in his new pal’s voice. *** SEA AND SKY (Context: Happens just after THIS) “Haven?” Madelyne arrived to the rescue, praying she wasn’t too late. She’d thought she was when she saw the wreckage, but she also saw Haven within it. And she wasn’t lying there like a body, she was sitting up, kneeling over...something. “Haven, thank god! Are you injured? Stay right there, I’ll come over and help---oh dear lord.” As Madelyne had begun to move forward, she’d seen what Haven was kneeling over, its half-charred head in her lap. “Is he---” “Yes,” said Haven, calmly, sadly, distantly. Madelyne didn’t ask how; it was obvious, the explosion killed him. She’d thought his powers would protect him from that kind of thing; it must have been specialized to combat that. Freaking Pierce. She didn’t bother to question how Haven was alive, but if she had, she’d assume maybe it was something also designed only to kill humans and Haven had been in a safe place during the explosion and then found Sebastian’s remains after. Something like that. “Alright, come on,” she said gently but firmly, taking Haven by the arm, trying to pull her up, “There’s nothing you can do for him now. He’ll be reborn on Krakoa by the time we go back to pick him up anyway. Wait, what are you doing? Haven, put that down, that’s disgusting!” Haven was carrying the...torso. She was tenderly cradling the great hunk of lifeless meat, needlessly supporting the neck and head as one would for an infant. The sight out Madelyne in mind of a bizarre Pieta scene. Madonna of the Charnel House.             “Haven, he’s dead!” “I know, Madelyne, I know. But isn’t it...wrong to just leave a body here? I know he will have a new one on Krakoa, but it still feels obscene to leave the old one unburied, unconsecrated, uncared for.” “Haven...” Madelyne started, not sure what to say. And she thought of something she never had before. What had happened to her body? Her first one? The original? The one that died at the end of Inferno? She’d come back first as a being of pure psychic energy disguised in a human form, a very solid ghost, essentially. That was all she was for a long time, walking and talking and fucking, all while TECHNICALLY still being dead. It was only recently that she had really become flesh and blood again, Jean Grey’s DNA spliced by Arkea into the body of a woman named Ana Cortes, altering the physical appearance of the young Columbian into that of the redhead and allowing Madelyne Pryor’s consciousness to take up residence in it...meaning Madelyne was still, as ever, occupying a body that wasn’t really her own. And her first hadn’t been her own either, just a copy of Jean’s, but she wondered now, what had been done with it? Knowing the X-men, they gave her a perfectly proper funeral. Maybe they even cried. But she wished, perverse as it seemed, that they had thrown her out with the garbage, had the HONESTY to treat her in death as they ultimately had in life, than PRETEND that they really saw her as a loss. She knew they didn’t. Even the ones who knew her FIRST, Rogue and Psylocke and Longshot, who had met her BEFORE they met Jean, even they had wanted that witch instead of her at the end.... “Yeah, okay, just...just put it somewhere it won’t...rot,” she said uneasily, “And we’ll call Sebastian when he...when he wakes up. See what he wants to do with it.” It should be, Madelyne felt, his choice, and Haven agreed. When he did get the call, his reply was firstly being rather disgusted they had kept it, and then, without any emotion, said they should just thrown the “damn thing” overboard. “Funeral at sea then,” said Madelyne as she turned off the phone, “You want to do the honors, Haven? Since it was your idea.” Not like anyone else wanted to be a part of it. Well, except Shinobi, who had suggested launching it like a cannonball and then having Pyro set it aflame in the sky.  They thought they were funny. “Would you mind helping me terribly, Madelyne?” Have asked, “I’d rather lower it down gently, and if your telekinesis could that, I would appreciate it...but I also understand if you don’t wish to touch something so gruesome, even psychically.” “I’m not squeamish,” Madelyne smirked. As she performed the task, she noticed Haven was silent. “You’re not gonna...say a few words, or anything?” “Mr. Shaw has told he isn’t religious, so I don’t think he would want it. And he isn’t...well, he isn’t dead. So what does one say, really?” “Hell if I know,” said Madelyne, “It’s funny---I’ve been dead a lot, you’d think I would be an expert on it.” As she began levitating the chunk of meat that once house Sebastian Shaw’s mind and soul, if he had the latter, she continued, “I never even thought about what should be done with my body...which isn’t really even mine now actually, don’t ask...I guess cremation is most appropriate. Fire, you know. It’s kind of my thing, whether I like it or not.” “I’ve always wanted a sky burial, myself,” said Haven. “I’ve never heard of that,” Madelyne sounded very interested. The word ‘sky’ had piqued her interest as a former pilot. “It’s a practice among my mother’s people, the Zoroastrians, as well as many other people, such as Tibetans. The body is placed on a mountaintop to be decomposed naturally by the elements and the animals. In Ancient Zoroastrianism specifically, it was placed on the Dakhma, the Tower of Silence, to be desiccated by the sun and consumed by birds of prey. I realize this sounds ghastly to a Western point of view, but--” “No, no, I get it. You’re just...going back to nature, becoming a part of everything else again, right? That sounds like your kind of thing.” Haven smiled at her, “It is.” Below, the body gently broke the surface of the waves, and Madelyne released her hold, allowing it to sink. “I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing here. Just with fishes instead of birds. Me though...that’s not for me. I don’t want to be a part of everything. Not when I’ve fought so hard...to just be ME.” *** AWKWARD “Hey! You got a problem with me, fuck knuckle?!” Calmly, Sebastian turned his head in the direction of the insult just hollered at him from the the far end of the deck, “Why, several, Mr. Allerdyce. Though most of them stem from the back you quite clearly have a problem with ME.” The Australian was drunk, but Sebastian knew from experience that the scrawny little bastard didn’t need THAT to be rude and belligerent, in particuliar rude and belligerent to Sebastian. Sebastian could ALMOST appreciate the balls on him, if only he could back them up. But without his fire to intimidate---and it could not intimate Sebastian---he really was just like one of those irritating little rat dogs peeking from ladies’ purses to bark challenges at true canines. “You’re damn right I do!” Pyro returned, “For starters, you’re---” And then continued with a really rather impressive listing of all his opinions on just what made Sebastian Hiram Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club---er, Trading Company---just such unbearable company. Sebastian listened in a detached, blaise manner, quite unruffled by the display of uncouth unruliness, and ready to simply throw the fool overboard should he come close enough to grab. “And on top o’ all that, yer a homophobe to boot!” What. Sebastian blinked. Nothing else had surprised him in the entire rambling rant, but this? This he had not seen coming. “Come again, young man?” “You heard me! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always tryin’ t’get between me and your son! You don’t want him catchin’ the gay any worse than he’s got, eh?” Sebastian stared at him for another moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned away, and put his fist up to his lips, as though stifling a cough, “Excuse me.” Did that fucker just laugh?! Pyro wondered. “Excuse my boot up yer arse, you old dicknob! Listen, it’s 2020, and you can’t get away with---” He is laughing! He was indeed. Pyro had not been prepared for this. “Hey...hey what’s so damn funny, huh?!” “Nothing, nothing,” Sebastian waved a hand, but it was clear from his voice he was still trying VERY hard not to laugh again, “Please, do go on about my bigotry. After all, I’m very conservative when it comes to sexual practices, as I’m sure you know.” Something begin to click in Pyro’s intoxicated mind. Something that suggested...he might have made a mistake here. And an admittedly pretty hilarious one. “Oh god yer in the fucking Hellfire Club, “ he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course you don’t care about that...” “Well, it was funny though,” Sebastian said, and the bastard was actually SMILING, “Thank you, Mr. Allerdyce, I haven’t been that tickled all week. But, no, I know about my son’s egalitarian predilections with regards to sex and gender----he inherited them from me, after all.” Oh. Oh god. Of all the things Pyro HAD NEVER WANTED TO KNOW OR IMAGINE. A moment ago, Sebastian had been planning to throw Pyro overboard. But now? Now Pyro was considering just doing it to HIMSELF. *** STORIES       “And then I got to Cambodia and let me tell you---food is great. People say don’t ask what’s in it but me, I got to ask---it’s my job, see---and yeah, they eat things ‘Mericans never would, or most Aussies, but I say, why’re we judging? We eat pigs and those’re way more intelligent than spiders or half-hatched duck eggs, seems we’re the savages for that, y’know? Not that I’m givin’ up pork any time soon but you know what I’m saying?” Pyro and Madelyne were sitting on the ship’s edge, watching the sun go down over the water, sharing a few beers, talking about what they’d done before all this. “You don’t look like you ever ate pork in your life, string bean,” replied Madelyne, “ But yeah. You say Cambodia? What part?” “ Senmonorom, capital of Mondulkiri Province.” “No kidding! I dropped cargo off there once!” Madelyne exclaimed, “When I was a pilot! Spent the whole rest of the day there since I had the time. Couldn’t understand a word but I loved the---oh no, hahaha, I loved the food!” “Ha! I’m sure it was just noodles you got, love.” “Mmm...pretty crunchy noodles, then...” She paused, and looked pensieve, more serious, “It’s crazy. I can really remember the texture. Not the taste though. He must not have known what it tasted like.” “He?” Pyro asked. Madelyne was suddenly sober in more ways than one, as she explained, looking away, “I never went to Cambodia. I never flew that plane. That cargo never existed, and neither did whatever I ate.” “Well, y’don’t need to lie to me get me to like you, Madelyne.” “No, you don’t understand---they’re not lies. I mean, they are, but---they’re not to me, I---but they are---I hate them, but I forget that they’re not---” She was clutching her hair now, and  looked distressed. “Whoa, whoa, hey there mate, what’s the matter?” Pyro placed a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down, something he wasn’t great at even for himself, “Listen, Maddie...I been through some crazy shit. And I heard crazier on Krakoa from people. We mutants...or, people who are, I dunno, mutant-adjacent like you...we live weird lives. You don’t GOTTA tell me but I’ll believe you.” Madelyne took a  deep inhale, “It’s not that. I know you’ll believe me. It’s just...I never really talked to anyone about it, you know?” Pyro was uncomfortable now. He braced himself. He didn’t like going deep, he wanted everything to just be fun and casual. But he wasn’t going to run away or brush it off either. He owed his friends better than that; when he’d been on his last legs with the Legacy Virus, his friend Avalanche had been everything. He knew their value. Madelyne, too, needed to amp herself up for this. “So you know I’m a clone, right? Of Jean Grey?” “It’s come up, yeah.” “I was grown to full adulthood in a...in a vat, basically. But Sinister---the man who did it---didn’t want me to KNOW what I was. Would spoil the plans he had for me and...for me and Scott. So he gave me some false memories. Mostly I had “amnesia” but I could remember being a pilot. To explain the memories of flight and fire that I got from Jean----what memories don’t come from him, are from her. Well, the Phoenix actually...it’s complicated.” “Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s rough, buddy,” oh god he sounded like an idiot, “ But in my book, you still went to Cambodia.” He was answered with an eyebrow quirk from his friend, and so he elaborated, “Look, I’m a journalist, and I’m a writer, and I...I write stories. Even when it was something true, I’m still making a story about it. And when I make it up entirely, it’s as real a story as when I wrote the one about the real event. Ah fuck, I can’t talk, can write a damn novel but I fuck up all the words when I try to SAY it...look, Maddie, what I’m saying is,” He put a hand on her shoulder, “When I met you, it wasn’t who you are now, or who you were when you came out of that vat. It was some human bird running with the X-Men in Dallas. Yeah, I noticed you looked a hell of a lot like Jean and I thought that was who you were the whole time. Then I saw the broadcast they made, where you talked to your husband---shit, wait, he married you and Jean, what the fuck---telling him to find your baby---oh fuck I’m just realizing why you’re so mad at him, holy hell--before you gave up your life to save the world. That’s who I remember. And your memories, real or fake, well they’re a part of you, they’re your stories. Stories...they make us who we are. And even if they were made up, who you are, what you did, isn’t. You’re a story, yeah. So are we all. Fuck I’m really mangling this but you know what I--- oh.” Madelyne was hugging him. Holy shit. Well, he must have done something right, then. Damned if he knew what, though, he thought he’d fucked it up royally with that Trump-level rambling. And when she released him, she looked up at his shocked face, and said, “St. John?” “Y-yeah?” “Eat some damn pork. You really ARE a string bean.” *** OUT OF THE FRYING PAN Sebastian Shaw was indeed generally immune to explosions. And also to fire. He simply absorbed the thermal energy, rendering it harmless to him, if annoying. Afact that a certain Australian had exploited mercilessly. But Pyro was not here now, and so he could not stop the blaze that Shinobi was trapped in, that Sebastian had escaped but Shinobi had not yet. He’s not out yet, Sebastian thought nervously as he watched the blaze, waiting, Must be unconscious, must have hit his head, the fool, idiot boy, told him to stay in super dense form, stupid stupid stupid child He’d burn to death, if smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. He would die, and be reborn on Krakoa. It would be fine. And the suffering, the death, would serve him right, for being so foolish as not to listen to his father, to do the sensible thing and stay dense, why had he let himself get caught there? If you were weak enough to die, you deserved it, deserved it for KEEPS. Sebastian could say that, and admit it applied to him too. He would not DENY the second chance given to him by Krakoa, but nor would he pretend that Emma didn’t earn his death by virtue of being ABLE to do it. If you could do it, if you did do it, then it was within your rights to do it, was how Shaw saw things. Right of power was the only right that mattered, and you did no favors by RESCUING someone, you only prolonged their weakness. Any moment now, he thought, Any moment...if he’s going to make it out, it will have to be soon. There was a horrible cracking as a wood beam crashed down into the flames. The building was coming down. And Sebastian Shaw’s feet were suddenly moving. But was it by his deliberate decision? Or his own accord? He didn’t know. He sprinted into the structure, careful not to let his body bash through what supports remained---it might not hurt him but it would crush Shinobi if the boy was still alive---heedless of the fire, though the smoke stung his eyes, and he knew he was not immune to the effects of breathing it. If he was going to do this foolish, stupid, NEEDLESS thing, he had best do it fast. He scanned the room through the gray haze, and caught a glimpse of purple obscured by some rubble. He tossed it aside, digging through it like a terrier on the scent of a rabbit, until he found his boy, unmoving but still breathing, and hauled him from the wreckage. His body hair sizzling against his heat-proof skin, the sweat turning to steam the moment it left his brow, he gathered the limp form of his son into his arms, and ran from the flames, this time not caring about the beams he knocked aside, ran right through as though they were as intangible as Shinobi could be. When they were out, and a safe distance away from the blaze, Sebastian laid his son down, and waited for him to wake up. As soon as Shinobi did, as soon as his eyes opened, and he began to speak, and to realize what had happened, to start to express his shock at the fact his father had just saved his life at risk to his own... Sebastian’s fist landed against the boy’s ashy face. And again. And again. Until Shinobi was dead. He left the battered corpse where it was, and begin making his way to find the other Marauders, and tell them they needed to head back to Krakoa when most convinient, that Shinobi had died and would be waiting there. And when they arrived and picked him up, Sebastian knew he would have the good sense to say nothing to anyone. And he’d have a talk with him about the importance of handling oneself in such future situations. He really did try with the boy, dammit, but there was just no teacher like experience, he supposed. And painful experience worked best. *** NIGHTMARE DRESSED AS A DAYDREAM

"Look it’s the Marauder!” everyone cried out in awe and admiration as Pyro entered the party. His grim, stoic expression, his majestic stride, were in contrast to the lascivious frivolity around him of the swimsuit-clad crowd, but this difference only made the girls come swarming to him faster. He accepted their fawning adulation, but only cooly, as it was just his due. He was, after all, the handsomest, most power, Supreme Mutant, and this was all normal and natural. It was only when he began passionately lip-locking with Jean Grey on the hood with Jean Grey that-- Wait, what? This was wrong. This was so wrong. It had to be a dream, but even then it was WRONG. He’d never had a dream of this kind about a woman in his life, let alone Jean Grey. And if he was going to, why would it be JEAN? That felt extra wrong, given that he was pals with Madelyne now, was this some kind of weird-- “GET OFF ME!” cried a man’s voice, and Pyro broke away from the embrace, looking up. Some several dozen feet away, Fabian Cortez struggling with an amorous Avalanche, who seemed to have been engaged with the same activity with the redheaded ‘Supreme Mutant’ as Pyro just had with Marvel Girl...and Dom was wearing the same outfit Jean was. “Oy, what in the--” Pyro started to demand, when suddenly a huge head ---Mr. Sinister’s head, specifically-- erupted from the ground. It was bedecked by yet more scantily clad girls, with a throne on top it in which sat Claudine, being accosted by them, and she looked as confused as Pyro and Fabian were, confused and horrified. Then the rain began, endless rain, and Pyro was all alone, all alone in the mud as the rain came down, rain and pain, so much pain, coming from parts of his body he’d never had in his life, his womb, his-- “All right, that’s quite enough of that!” the voice of Emma Frost echoed throughout all of existence, and the lights came back on in the world again as Pyro woke up. “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered, as he realized what had happened. There was a baby telepath in the latest batch of rescues, and the little bugger had gotten their dreams all mish-mashed together. Happened more than once before. Grunting, he turned over, and went back to sleep...though a little uneasy this time. He wondered, who had that last part come from?

[ali-lie]

SuperPotterCorp

Summary & Warning : The SG x HP fic no one asked for yet I’m posting. It’s pretty bad not to mention NSFW with lots of triggers and potential triggers like violence abuse and mention of all forms of assault. also starts off between season 3 and four Lena knows about Kara (obviously) [also agent reign] with the Bloody Brandy challenge.

“Ugh.... That was a bad idea,” Lena groaned as she opened her eyes to be assaulted by a stab of pain as she looked into the light above her, giving it a thought trying to drink Alex under the table was also probably just that.

She slowly opened her eyes once again looking around she was in her apartment and to her left she saw her girlfriend Kara Danvers, sleeping peacefully with a dopey smile on her face, then she noted something else - someone else - who was buried under the duvet between them, trying to remember what exactly happened last night she ran her left hand through her hair and she felt something snag into it, she slowly brought her hand in front of her, and much to her horror there was a plain golden ring adorning the ring finger.

Kara - bless her Kryptonian heart and hearing - stir awoke and stared at Lena ready to shoot questions - and possibly heat ray - about what is causing her girlfriend to be distressed, just to notice the ring that is the source of the said distress, and articulates with all the prose prowess of a renowned journalist, “oh”.

Slowly she check her own hand only to find a silver - Platinum her mind supplies - band similar on her hand and she keeps staring at it till she is interrupted by her girlfriend(?).

“Kara, do you remember anything?” Lena questions in a quite whisper.

Shaking her head she replies in negative, they both look at their companion, a part of them wary to open the Schrödinger’s box, but they both know they need the answers and they might have them, so taking a deep breath Kara nudges the stranger softly once, waits for a minute and finding no activity she nudges again.

The stranger, a petite redheaded woman - with a part of their mind noted a truly impressive set of breasts - woke up shrugging off the duvet uncaring of her state of nudity, she rubs the sleep off her eyes, and looks at both of them, her head swiveling from one woman, both of hey eyebrows rise once and then she lets out a deep sigh.

Lena would always be thankful for the fact that Kara was well... Kara, as such she didn’t have to show any kind of weakness to someone who is for all purposes and intents a stranger, their possible shenanigans not taken into account.

“umm the thing is we can’t really remember much - if anything - of what happened last night and we were hoping you could shed some light on it,” the blonde began slowly.

“sorry to disappoint you ladies but I am very much in the same boat as you and as much as I’d like to... Bloody Buggering hell!” the woman had began answering Kara’s question as midway she spotted the ring on her hand, at which she turned towards Lena to check her hand and finding the other ring on her hand she used the one phrase her dearly departed god father had taught her.

The Blonde and the Raven haired women startled at the sudden out burst but before they could inquire any further the other woman brought forth her left hand in front of her, and it too adorned a band, it was a gold and silver band with the pattern waving over.

“Shit!” she ominously proclaimed and face palmed.

Both were alarmed by this so Lena began, “What happened? can you tell us what the problem is - that is aside from the obvious - so that we can do something about it.”

“Can we take a minute before we start talking? preferably if we could freshen up, Oh and the name’s Harry, Harry Potter.” she began.

“Forgive my manners, my name’s Lena Luthor, and this is Kara Danvers, and yes the idea of a shower does sound nice, especially along with a cup of coffee, there’s a bathroom left down to the hall I’ll  arrange for some clothes and then we can finally talk.” agreed Lena, a part of her relived at not having to begin any kind of conversation without having time to compose herself, it wasn’t like she couldn’t do it but extra time to gather her thoughts was always a positive.

~ half an hour later ~

The three women were now showered and dressed, Kara was dressed in a pink shirt and jeans likewise Lena was dressed in an apple cut white shirt and a dark blue jeans while Harry was dressed - drowning - in a blue track suit, all three of them had a cup of coffee in their hand as such Lena broke the ice.

“Last night we had gone out with our friends, just you know a few drinks and such, I do remember meeting you after a few drinks, Alex, a friend of ours invited you over to play pool, and then we had some more shots, after that it’s just a series of flashes like a big cake, a church, us having sex, and what I think was an Elvis impersonator.” she narrated the events from her memory and Kara nodded along the lines to indicate that she to remembered this.

“Okay, so I was at the bar, a friend had recommended it to me so that I can “Loosen up a bit” and then Alex came over to me and introduced herself, and the rest was as you said, though I don’t remember the cake, I do remember having sex and the Elvis impersonator, I also remember for some reason the three of us peeing over the building of Edge corporations.” Harry narrated and watched as both Lena and Kara choked on their coffee, then Lena promptly burst into laughs while Kara developed a heavy blush.

After a few minutes they calmed down then Lena began, “Okay as funny as that was, I think we pulled off a Vegas and got married after being drunk - that too with three of us - which is both random and I must say somewhat hilarious, a good story for the future, but our best course of action now would be to get an annulment and forget all about this adventure like a good dream we once had.” she concluded, with a slight narrow of her eyes towards Harry observing her reaction.

Taking a deep breath Harry began, “We cannot do that.”

Lena’s slightly narrowed eyes turned into slits as her brain started to run all the scenario’s as to what the red head was playing towards, all nefarious possibilities and ways to counter them were being calculated in her mind but before she could say anything Harry raised a hand to halt her.

slowly she got up from where she was seated and took a few steps away, then she began, “by “we can’t” I mean it is impossible, not that I do not want to, as lovely it is to be married to Lena Luthor and Super Girl, I have had no intention  to get married to anyone as my priority is raising my children, being the single mother that I am, and like i said we can’t as my name is Harry Potter I‘m sure you’ve read the bloody books,” she punctuated by conjuring a basic black chair to sit upon.

Kara gasped as Lena’s jaw fell, both staring at the woman, belatedly taking note of the green eyes and the Lightning Bolt shaped scar on her forehead.

Harry snapped them out of their trance by snapping her fingers and then began, “I believe an in depth conversation would be better if we have it with everyone, at least my children as far as I am concerned, you can get whoever you want, and meet me at my place today evening at dinner, how about that?” she proposed, encountering no objection she conjured a piece of paper on which her address was written and handed it to Lena, promptly making her exit.

As the door shut the girlfriends looked at each other wondering  if they took some kinds of drugs and were hallucinating - a quick pinch on their arm, along with the fact that both the chair and the piece of paper were still there and quite tangible eliminated that possibility - and then both of them groaned as they weren’t looking forward as they weren’t looking forward to having this conversation with superfriends, especially Sam and Alex.

A/n : I was going to write a continuation on my B!D series but a bout of hyper acidity killed all my motivation towards it, hence beginning this, feedback would be appreciated so as to should I continue writing or scrap it?