#because some parts of fandom love to scrub away parts of characters

[watermelonsloth]

Tags from: ciboriaadastra

I can’t say I’m a Batman expert or anything, but he’s one of the DC characters I’m most familiar with and one of the DC characters I see butchered most often. People love to turn him into some grimdark codeless vigilante (even though his code is one of the most important parts of his character) or a symbol of hypermasculinity (usually toxic masculinity as well) and it misses the entire point of his character. Yeah his brooding and wealth and ability to kick ass and use of intimidation and tragic backstory and all of that is relevant to his character, but his care for the city he grew up in, his willpower and stubbornness in making it a genuinely better place, and his optimism that it will be better one day are so much more important.

I've spent most of Ghost-Maker's time in Gotham laughing my ass off, because these two are extremely hilarious and shippable, I'm always here for a good time that annoys the hell out of Bruce and the person I'm shipping him with, I want everyone to have a horrible time except me, me, I'm having a great time, but I actually legitimately loved this moment. Minhkhoa thinks that Bruce is failing Gotham because he stopped like five different crimes before he even got off the plane, a serial murder being a big example--and Bruce destroys his argument by saying he already had someone on it, they were waiting to see where he stashed the trophies so that the families could have peace, now they have to live with hearsay, that Minhkhoa destroyed a RICO case he was helping to build because the judges in Gotham are corrupt, that Bruce had already replaced the weapons shipment that he left in place, etc. And then there's Clown-Hunter, who killed a lot of people, and would do too well in Blackgate. But that's the absolute core of Bruce Wayne as Batman, exactly the problem he faces and his solution--one that isn't perfect, but he fundamentally believes in second chances. He believes in empathy for what brought a seventeen-year-old kid to the choices he made. Not to let him off without consequences, but that Batman fundamentally is an optimist who believes that people should be given help and care to be rehabilitated. It isn't just that Clown-Hunter watched his parents die in front of him, sure, that makes this more intense, but fundamentally Batman sends these villains back to Arkham because, however imperfect that help is, he believes there's always a chance for someone to get better. That is a CORE element of Batman's character and I love love love that it's so central to his fight with Ghost-Maker here. Like, if your Batman isn't coming from a place of optimism, however traumatized and grimdark and fucked up it can get at times, then that's not Batman.

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023​) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, ���The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.”  On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his  heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[fetching-sketching]

Seeing your posts about BMC is always so interesting becauseI haven't revisted BMC in so long lol. Your rbs abt Michael are specificallly interesting because I definitely remember liking him a lot. I think, it's kind of "?" that people can't see that him and jeremy's conflict stems a lot from Michael not understanding what Jeremy's real problem is and Jeremy's, uh, less than stellar handling of the whole thing agsjalalqlqqkhsj from what I remember of course.

oh man i'm about to ramble a lot.

i think the interpersonal relationships of bmc are very interesting, both the explored and unexplored, so it's always such a pity when people reduce them so they can keep certain characters absolved of all wrongdoing. everyone in that show did something bad at some point or another and i like that! i like that no one is free of responsibility for what happened, it makes everything a lot more interesting.

tbh there's a lot of fanon interpretations of michael i just can't stand. a lot of people boiled him down to being sad and hopelessly in love with jeremy and that removes the best parts of his character. he's sassy and petty and over all pretty jubilant! mitb is a great song but had disastrous consequences for how people view michael as a character because it's supposed to be "out of character" for him. he's never affected by how people think of him so it's very serious when suddenly he is. he suddenly cares about how he's perceived. i think a lot of people took it the wrong way to mean 'oh, he's always been like this, he just hid it' rather than the opposite. not even in a way where he was always anxious about how people thought of him but where he's anxious of how just jeremy thinks of him because up until that point he clearly wasn't. what makes jeremy's betrayal so bad wasn't that michael always feared it, but because he never saw it coming. jeremy just wasn't on his radar of someone who he had to appeal to to be liked.

i don't care much for boyfs but it's always so wild to see these people scrub away what's objectively the most interesting part of the ship; these two people who thought they knew eachother inside and out having to come to terms that they weren't as in sync as they thought they were. it's a really good dynamic that could flesh out into a lot of other tropes if people really wanted to, but i haven't seen it explored a lot (although tbf i'm not exactly consuming a lot of boyfs content, most that i do see is virtue of it being the biggest ship in the fandom). fanon michael is kind of a tragedy because he really is an interesting character but if you want to make him an uwu soft sad gay boi you have to sacrifice those parts of him.

(also i personally think if michael was actually in love with jeremy he would just straight up tell him with zero fanfare, at least pre-squip lol)

thank you for this ask i have so much to say about michael actually

[anticidic]

What are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media ever (can be anime/manga, tv series, books, movies, etc)? Why love them? Thanks ⭐

P.s

I've seen that ask a few times, and compare to other people, I think you have read the most books from the authors of BSD (that is so cool). As someone who grew up reading classic books and then got into anime/manga, I don't find many people in animanga fandom who also love reading books, so glad to find your blog. When you said, you've read from all Guild members, I got excited on my own (sorry).

I really love reading. 😅 I had to do a lot of analyses back in school on books like Of Mice and Men, Great Expectations, The Great Gatsby, and some of Shakespeare's works and it kinda just opened the floodgates to me enjoying all kinds of classics. Poe and Lovecraft were some of my favorite authors because I was really drawn to gothic horror and the cosmic elements of Lovecraft's works. I was also obsessed with horror for a hot minute and Stephen King still holds a place in my heart.

I legitimately got into bsd because of my love for books. Characters as real life authors with abilities named after their works? Sounds cool, I'm in! And I've been here ever since. It pushed me to read works beyond American/European authors. I just think some of the parallels are super neat, like the Nathaniel vs Akutagawa "Diablo" bit, and Dazai's frequent mentions of Dostoevsky in his works.

1. Bungo Stray Dogs

Self-explanatory, I think, after what I said above. I like the literary parallels and the foundation of the world is really neat to get into and think about.

2. Good Omens (show)

Angel/demon motifs? Hell yeah. I love religious themes in works, and I like the balance Good Omens strikes with that and its comedic aspects.

3. Scrubs

This is mostly from a comfort angle. Some of it is like black comedy? with the bleak jokes that are made in relation to medicine.

4. Haikyuu!!

I didn't think sports anime could get a grip on me, but here we are. I just kinda fell out of my hyperfixation with it a few years ago, but I still come back to it every once in a while. Really good character development, some legitimately tense moments in some of the matches like all the Karasuno vs Aoba Johsai, and I liked the Karasuno vs Inarizaki arcs the most.

5. Tokyo Ghoul

I actually completely forgot about how much I loved this series, which is both weird and concerning, but ANYWAY. It had really neat world-building and set a good precedence for an interesting narrative in Kaneki, but I think the ending is what eventually turned me away. Leading up to the first part of :re was a treat. Just a shame what happened to it.

6. Seraph of the End

Another old hyperfixation but still holds a place in my heart. I haven't read it in a HOT minute, I think I stopped catching up with what was going on a few years ago. But this also had a really interesting premise and the idea that kids were immune to the thing that wiped out most of the population was pretty cool. I liked the relationship between Mikaela and Yuichirou especially when they were on opposite sides of the war and Mikaela having to grapple with being a vampire and not wanting to feed on people.

7. Supernatural

Came for the story, stayed for the memes. Another old favorite of mine that I sometimes go back to now and then just because it's neat. The supernatural elements and, again, religious themes drew me in. A lot of the ideas I've gotten for plots I used in writing came from watching this. 👀 Paranormal themes is something I like exploring a lot and I still haven't gotten tired of it.

I was asked about favorite books before, so I decided not to include any of them. Thanks for the ask, anon!! ✨

[fabdante]

If you want: Tell me about the Verat psychic link AU? 👀 It sounds interesting! (I also wonder what it'd be like if the twins had something like that, but I don't really have any ideas on what to DO with that AU, so. *listens to you*)

Oh yes I would love to share!

This is going to be really long, bare with me asdfghjk I have to explain the AU first

I'm going to put this all under the cut because it's just a lot of random info asdfghj. But the short of it is: Kat, super powerful psychic, has linked her and Vergil's brains, ramping up their codependency and rendering them Very Scary to be on the bad side of.

The long of it below.

The AU is very weird. I love crossovers like, a lot, and so does my girlfriend so we had a while were we just kept making these massive multi thing crossovers. This AU was one of those which involved basically everything we liked but in Bioshock. Except the idea was like, Rapture from Bioshock if due to different leadership and regulations it lasted until the 80s where it's slow crumbling due to it's like, leadership crumbling and falling away to various gangs and organizations within the city (somewhat similar to the original Bioshock but more emphasis on the crime underground and less emphasis on Ayn Rand). This is where most of our characters were, the various crime organizations and gangs coming up and trying to gain the power that's up for grabs in the shifting environment of 80s Rapture.

Which is....genuinely such an alternative universe it...barely even feels connected to fandom anymore? Like genuinely, it'd be really easy to scrub the serial numbers off and just make this about some other underwater city isolated and secret from the rest of the world but, currently it's not that, and naturally the reboot kids are in it.

But it kind of existed in part to, yeah, explore the fun dynamics you can get out of your favorite characters and franchises all shoved into one very specific setting. But also what would happen in the setting of Rapture if it was allowed to last longer then the like 11 years it got in game and what the ramifications of that might be. Also because Rapture in the 80s would look very coo.

One concept we were really interested in is like, what would happen with plasmids in particular. For anyone unfamiliar with Bioshock, one of the main things is they've discovered a technology they can use to rewrite people's genetic code basically. This can be used for all sorts of things from cosmetic procedures to one of the main gameplay elements of Bioshock, various powers. Given the city of Rapture in game only lasted like, 11 years though and Adam (the substances used to create plasmids) wasn't discovered until a few years even into that we don't really see the results of it generations down the line.

Plasmids and what they do to the body and mind in game tend to be very...unstable. Adam and Eve, both which fuel plasmids, are addictive and most people kind of just lose their minds to it as the Adam eats at their bodies and minds.

But the effects of plasmids are in the DNA code of the pecxople who used them, right? Like, people in theory could pass these abilities down genetically, now that they're in their DNA code. So the idea was like, if you cracked down on Adam to avoid at least part of what led Rapture to fall in game, what would happen with the fact that you now have people who can essentially have super powered babies with abilities that may or may not be more stable then the original plasmids? Stronger to?

This kind of lays the ground work for the Verat part of the AU. Because the twins in this setting couldn't be Nephilim and Kat couldn't be psychic, but we wanted them to have abilities. So they became what we called 'genetic plasmids', a group of people born to parents who used plasmids which have since been highly regulated and banned but still retain abilities of the original plasmids used in Rapture before the ban because they were born with the genetic code for them.

Genetic plasmids kind of pose a problem for 80s Rapture so a lot of them, upon being found, are locked up in this separate area of the city with labs and what not to both study what makes the plasmids more stable in them and keep them away from everyone else.

The idea with Vergil is he had abilities based in those of the Winter Blast plasmid (Dante was Incinerate) so he has ice powers essentially. Probably largely immune to the cold as well. But his powers are less important here.

Kat, though, was based on Telekinesis and this is the important one. We wanted to play with the idea that more stable plasmids that are born with a person could mean infinitely more powerful plasmids. So Kat's powers aren't just telekinetic abilities, she is just an all around incredibly powerful psychic. This is also aided by the fact that Adam, as we know it in game, has a side effect of kind of connecting minds to begin with? Like, I'm explaining things very briefly here but we know it can do that so Kat can tap into that. So she's telekinetic, she can read minds, I think we toyed with tapping into the unused teleportation plasmid from the game, all that good stuff. (I have a soft spot for AUs where Kat is stronger then the boys).

We had a few versions of this AU so I don't have like one backstory for how and why Kat met but the important part of this for the question is that at some point, for whatever reason, Kat decides to psychically link her and Vergil rather permanently after just kind of visiting him a lot in his own mind. Thus making it so she is like, always in his head and always communicating with him in his head. He of course talks back and stuff and he's allowed back into her mind but the important thing is he can't shut her out, she can shut him out. If she wanted to, at least.

I've probably mentioned before but I tend to write Verat pretty codependent so this dynamic just ramps that up to an insane level. A lot of this is informed by that codependency.

So they kind of share two brains at all times and are always in communication with each other and they rarely talk outloud to one another anymore since they don't need to and they are almost always around each other. If they're not, they are still in active communication. They can share body sensations through Kat, and Kat can allow them to share dreams. She rarely, if ever, shuts off the link intentionally and they are just always, always in each others brains. Dante refers to them often as a two headed snake.

If the link is severed abruptly, I think I decided it hurts Vergil. Likely due to the fact somethings happened to Kat which has hurt her but, also just severing it so harshly is painful. They're also just so used to one another in their brains like, it's not a comfortable feeling when that's not there.

The AU was never really plotted, we liked throwing things at the wall and coming up with concepts for what this very large group of characters could be doing in this setting we made up based off another setting. So we had a few backstory idea's for what led to this and neither is really like...firm anymore. Particularly with how much time has passed since either of us has worked on the finer details of this AU. I just always really loved this dynamic for them, I thought it was interesting to explore both in how Vergil and Kat were together but also how other characters perceived them.

I also at some point made a like 7 hour playlist? I should go back in and clean it up sometime but here's that and I also have a tag for the general Vibes tm of the au here

Anyway, so that's the AU where Verat have a psychic link and it's everyone elses problem!

[wellhalesbells]

Hi! This is inspired by your reblog of the talk shop tuesday post -- do you have any secret-until-now fanworks you're working on that you want to talk about? any ideas that have been percolating and you want to share?

I think - because I've started doing WiP Wednesday with ... some (not a lot, haha) of regularity that there's very few things that I'm actively working on right now that I haven't talked about to some extent but I have no problem gathering them all here. I have five fics that I'm noodling on at the moment.

How to Breathe 101. I've probably talked about this one the most because it is absolutely the closest to finished. I have random snippets all over the place on my tumblr that I've collected here: 1 2 3 4. And it comes from my love of the dynamic of Character A falls first, Character B falls harder as well as giving Derek the time and space to work out his trauma and form relationships beyond romantic ones.

Heartbeat Hustle. This was such a nothing idea that I kind of just farted around on because I wasn't feeling adding a hundred words (my daily word count goal) to any of the things that I was already working on and I came up with this: here. And it's another one I just keep randomly chipping away at. The basic premise is Derek finally hears Stiles' heartbeat at rest around him and it becomes the background noise of his entire universe without realizing it because it's just such a comforting sound for him.

PvW, Chapter 3. Yes, I'm working on it. Slowly, but I am. Chapter 3 of Prostitute vs Werewolf. (1 and 2 here). I'm still hoping it'll end at Chapter 6. I... sort of have a plan here, lol.

Steter Hanahaki. I accidented myself into this fic, which I posted about: here. Sometimes I like to just search tags on AO3 rather than fandoms and all the most popular Teen Wolf ones for Peter and Stiles that I came across were, well.... not the fun way and I have unfortunately kept chipping away at this even though writing Peter (and it is from his PoV, ugh) is such a hard thing for me to do!

Sciles, Slow Burn, Codependency Fic. I don't really know where this one came from but I think, pretty unsurprisingly, being ace, I like when friendships are the be all and end all for people and I also like when they sort of just slide into.... oops, somehow you're my whole world. And since I haven't posted anything about this one yet and it is my second longest fic on here at the moment, here's a snippet:

It’s an almost-casual college girlfriend who alerts Stiles to exactly the level of codependence he’s now sporting with Scott.  She laughs and clarifies to an acquaintance that the ‘casual’ is at her insistence and the ‘almost’ is at Scott’s.  The follow-up, the ‘why’ is nothing more than a pointed look in Stiles’ direction. Stiles feigns offense, lazily twirls a less-than-dextrous pointer finger back towards his own chest.  Perks an eyebrow.  “Moi?” She grins widely and Stiles senses a sharpness to it that’s likely fueled more by the fewer inhibitions everyone at this party is collectively experiencing, rather than true ill will.  He hopes anyway and, not to brag, but he has gotten pretty good at knowing when things want him dead. Scott chooses that moment to saunter over and instead of perching on the arm of her chair or sliding onto the large cushion of the recliner with her, he bumbles into Stiles, an arm falling around his shoulder as he pushes his drink into his hand so he can set down a plate of steaming nachos on the table in front of them. He’s a warm, familiar weight and only after he’s leaned the whole of himself into Stiles’ side does Stiles realize, if he’d planned this in advance, no part of him would’ve expected Scott to sit anywhere but exactly where he did. Stiles holds Scott’s beer and Scott scrubs a hand over Stiles’ buzzcut, frowns as he peers at Stiles’ expression.  He’s not sure what his face is doing but it prompts Scott to say, “All good?” Stiles blinks.  Swallows.  “Yeah, all’s peachy keen over in this here neck of the woods.” Scott smiles and, as though ‘neck’ was some cue word, he leans over and buries his nose in the crease between neck and shoulder, breathing deeply, and yeah, okay, they’re basically dating.  Stiles can see that but.  You know.  They’ve nearly died how many times between the years of sixteen and nineteen?  They’re entitled to be grotesquely into each other as far as he’s concerned. Maybe they’ve gotten a little worse after the nogitsune.  And the siren that nearly drowned Scott.  And the Lamia that ripped open Stiles’ torso last year.  It’s not unusual for them to fall asleep in the same bed or press lingering kisses to each other’s foreheads, cheeks, necks, but Stiles is pretty sure Scott’s one hundred percent into vagina and, while Stiles’ appetites are more varied, he’s not super interested in Scott’s dick. He’s just interested in Scott, really.  All of Scott, however much of Scott that Scott would like him to be interested in basically.  And since that doesn’t include his dick… that doesn’t include his dick.

Thank you so much for the ask and the interest! <3

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

A Plane Ticket: Despair & Desire

Status: Complete

Series: the Hob Adherent series (this is the last story in the series. No, really, I mean it.)

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Johanna Constantine, Despair of the Endless, Orpheus, the Kindly Ones

Summary:

Morph and Hob travel to Naxos for their honeymoon, but once there, Hob is tasked with a quest as Vassal of the Endless that will force Morph to confront and amend one of his greatest past cruelties.

Picks up directly after the epilogue of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 or below:

Part Two: Despair & Desire

Hob is sitting on one of the lounge chairs on the private patio of their isolated villa. He’s facing the sea when Morph shuffles out of the bedroom, dehydrated and rumpled. He’d obviously found the tea Hob had laid out for him, as he’s got a fresh mug of it cradled between his hands.

“Husband,” Morph crackles, bussing a kiss off of Hob’s crown, then dropping into the lounge chair next to Hob. He takes a sip of his tea, then does a double take at the expression on Hob’s face. “Why have you been crying?”

Hob scrubs the heel of his hand against his eye, and offers Morph a lopsided, tight smile. “I’m fine, duckie.”

Morph makes a disgruntled noise, like a displeased cat. “That is not what I asked. What has made you upset?”

Hob debates lying, but decides that isn’t the precedent he wants to set on the first full day of their honeymoon. “I had a dream about blood and flowers.”

Morph perks up, intrigued. “A nightmare?”

“No,” Hob says. “It felt peaceful. But terribly, terribly sad. And terribly lonely.”

“Do you think it some omen?” Morph asks. “That the Dreaming is trying to communicate something to you?”

“No,” Hob says. “And I’m sure anything the Dreaming has to say to me, it’ll get Merv to say directly to my face.”

Morph nods. “This is true. Mervyn has never shied away from offering blunt truths.”

Hob chuckles a little, heartened by the light banter. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of the man he’s married, this gorgeous, fey prince he gets to call his own for the rest of eternity. 

Morph has bluish bags under his eyes, clearly not having slept enough in the last few days to be well-rested. It’s a worthwhile price to pay for all the frankly amazing sex they’ve been having to celebrate their marriage instead of sleeping. Morph’s lips are chapped from the alcohol, the plane travel, and the sun. They’re irritated and pink from kissing and dehydration. His floofy, sleep-mussed hair is sticking straight up in the sea breeze. His neck is a ruin of bruises.

(Hob is so glad Matthew decided to stay in the Dreaming and train Miko for the next month.)

Morph’s wearing just a pair of teeny, tiny black swim trunks, and a smear of white sun-block on his shoulders and nose where he hasn’t worked it into his skin properly. Morph is utterly devoid of body hair, save for what’s on his head, and Hob thinks he created his final mortal corporation that way on purpose. No need to ever shave. 

(Hob wonders what Morpheus will do if mustaches ever come back into fashion.)

The no-shaving is likely because Morph already despises all the little chores that keeping a human body in good health requires. It makes sense. Hob has never met an adult so resistant to brushing his teeth. He’s like a toddler. It took Hob threatening to never kiss him again to get Morph to understand that it was necessary for good oral health.

Morph is just so… so pretty . And all Hob’s. Forever.

Hob’s heart flips over in his chest, beating like a jackrabbit behind his ribs, and Hob is so in love, just arse-over-tits, disgustingly, inescapably in love . He is fucked with it, and he couldn’t be happier.

Morph takes another sip before asking: “What has you so disturbed, then?”

“Despair visited me, in the dream,” Hob confesses.

“Busybody!” Morph harrumphs. “Could the twins not give us a day before teasing – ”

“No, duck, it wasn’t that, it was…” Hob trails off and licks his lips. He tastes his own finished tea, and the salt of the sea, and the lingering tang of mimosas. “She tasked me with a quest. As vassal.”

Morph’s expression grows thunderous. “And so seeks to separate us during our honeymoon ? How dare she ask this of you now .”

“No, not that either,” Hob rushes to reassure him. He lays a comforting hand on Morph’s bare thigh, sliding his fingers up until they tease the edge of Morph’s slutty trunks. Morph’s pupils dilate, but they can both sense that now is not the time. “This is something that I have to do with you, I think.”

Morph takes Hob’s wandering hand, and presses a series of soft kisses on each knuckle. “Speak then of your quest, O Vassal,” he says with amused warmth. “So that we may undertake it and return to more pleasurable activities.”

Godswounds, Hob feels like a shithead for what he’s about to say. For what he’s about to do . 

But he does it anyway. 

“Morph, beloved…” he says softly. “Where is your son?”

Morph leaps to his feet like Hob’s flesh is a burning brand.

The tea mug drops and shatters on the terracotta tiles at their feet. Morph steps back over the lounge chair, horror crawling across his face, along every line of his body. Hob’s wearing sandshoes, so he ignores the ceramic shards on the ground for the moment. Careful to keep his body language non-confrontational, his arms open and loose, Hob also rises.

“He’s here on Naxos, baby, I know that already,” Hob says softly, squinting in the high sun. “But where?”

“Orpheus is dead ,” Morph says, and it’s half snarl, half sob. He fists his hands in his hair, shoulders curving inward under the weight of his sudden, unexpected reminder of his grief.

“But that’s not true,” Hob says gently. “Not completely. Is it?”

“He was… he was killed, he’s dead , he–he–” Morph’s breathing hitches hard, and he gags on a retch.

“I’m so sorry to bring it up. I’m sorry I have to make you think about it. But Despair asked me, and I…” Hob reaches out to Morph, palm up and welcoming, but not demanding. “He must need us. You.”

“He does not–he wants for nothing…”

“I know. The priests.”

“I… I tried–I don’t– Hob , why would you… why would Despair…”

“I know what Lady Johanna did for you,” Hob says gently. “And I know why.”

Morph peers up at Hob through tear-clumped lashes, the rims of his eyes red and raw. “I couldn’t let him rot .”

“Of course not.”

“But I cannot help him.”

“I know,” Hob assures him. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m not even mad at you about it, duckie. I just don’t get why you never told me. Why you haven’t gone back to see him.”

“He forbade me from attending him,” Morph says, misery in every line of his body. “He would not see me. He refused to even dream so that I might hold him again in the Dreaming.”

“Children have tantrums,” Hob says. He doesn’t mean it in a derogatory or condescending way. “Robyn yelled at me well into his twentieth year. He professed he hated me and then came to apologize within a few days. It’s hard, being a young man, when your passions are so large and your power is so limited. Surely he misses you–”

Morph drops his arms, and they hang limp at his side as he confesses to the sea: “It is my fault his wife died.”

Hob doesn’t buy that for a second, and makes it clear in his expression. “You were the snake that bit her?”

“ No ,” Morph gasps, horrified, whipping his wide gaze back to Hob.

“You sent it?”

“No.”

“Oh, so you were the satyr that tried to assault her?”

“Hob!” Morph wails, growing more and more distraught the more Hob presses him.

“Well I don’t see how you killed her, then,” Hob says, letting a little of his exasperation leak into his tone. He gets that this is probably the single hardest topic for Morph to discuss in the history of his entire existence, but jesu maria , is Hob’s husband ever a Drama Queen. “Unless the stories are vastly different from what really happened?”

“ I did not help Orpheus travel to the underworld to retrieve her! ” shouts, all at once, like he’s vomiting up glass. The confession rings across the water, echoing sharply, clapping back unpleasantly against Hob’s ears.

And then Morph crumples.

Hob knows this crumple, because this is the same crumple he experienced when Despair comforted him in El’s solar. Morph folds inward like rough origami, knees and elbows jutting, hands clawed over his face as he slams into the decking.

Oof, that’s going to bruise.

Hob is over the lounger and at his husband’s side in an instant, pulling Morph in and letting him cinch his arms around Hob’s waist, and press his face into Hob’s tummy, and sob. Does he feel regret for pushing his husband to this? Yes, of course he does. 

Does she also think it was necessary?

Yes to that, too.

Could he have been a bit softer in his approach?

Yeah, he’s realizing with a sinking stomach that perhaps he was a bit prickish about getting them here. Just because he’s Vassal to the Endless doesn’t mean his name has to be Dickhead.

“What… wh-what is this–?” Morph chokes, wet and snotty and awful. “I–I can’t breathe, I–”

“It’s just a panic attack, love,” Hob croons gently, rocking Morph gently, petting down the nape of his neck and back. “Perfectly normal for a human. I’m sorry what I said brought this on, I should have… I’m here, I’ll help. Deep breaths now, you’re going to be fine, just relax, shhhhh… breathe…”

“The… the feeling , it is here , and I cannot dislodge… Hob,” Morph gasps, hands fisted against his own heart.

“That’s grief, my beloved, that’s normal, too. Breathe. Just breathe.”

Morph breathes. 

When the panic finally subsides, he lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and flops onto his side on the sun-warmed terracotta. Hob cradles his head in his lap, lovingly cleans his face with the tail of his own shirt, and kisses his eyelids softly.

“I’m sorry,” Hob says again. “I should have eased into that a bit better.”

Morph’s mouth twists, but he rocks his head back and forth in denial. “I suspect no matter how you phrased it, I would have… panicked all the same.” He flattens his palm against his heart, and Hob twines his fingers between Morph’s, taking comfort in the feel of Morph’s heart slowing. “My son has been dead for thousands of years, and yet I have not grieved him like this in all that time.”

“Welcome to humanity,” Hob scoffs gently.

“I do not like it.”

“Neither do I,” Hob says. “I hate seeing you suffering.”

Morph closes his eyes, slowly, as if the very thought of Hob’s pain causes the same in him. “And yet, do I not deserve to?”

Morph’s eyes are closed, so Hob indulges in a single eye roll. “Babe, being unable to help Eurydice after her death is not the same as killing her, either accidentally or on purpose.”

Morph squeezes Hob’s hand hard, expression screwing up in shame. “I did not want him to marry her. I did not think it a wise match, and he never forgave me. I would not… I would not dance at their wedding. Calliope called it selfish, and feared it would be taken as an ill omen, and then…”

Ah-ha, that explains it, Hob thinks. “And then she died.”

Morph nods, sniffling as more tears leak out of the side of his eyes. He presses the heel of his free hand into one, scrubbing. “Orpheus begged my help, both as his father and as Dream of Endless, and I would not give it.”

“ Could not.”

“ Would not,” Morph insists. “My sister Death found a loophole to the rules. As did my brother Destruction. And yet, in giving them his aid, his failure to complete his quest and rescue Eurydice meant that death and destruction became his fate.” Now he finally looks up at Hob, glacier-blue eyes swimming with regret. “Had I acquiesced, perhaps he would have succeeded. And had he failed, perhaps the worst that would have befallen him was an eternal sleep.”

“Or eternal nightmares,” Hob says gently, cradling Morph’s cheek. “You can’t know. And you can’t beat yourself up about it now, not literal centuries after the fact. But it’s… it’s not too late to have a relationship with him.”

“No, it is far beyond too late,” Morph says glumly. “That Despair is the one who tasked you with seeking him out, it makes this truth enough.”

“I don’t agree. Sure, he despairs, Morph. It was his blood I dreamed of. His darkness. His loneliness. But we’re here now. We can go see him. We can go get him and… and, I don’t know, bring him home.”

Morph looks up at him quizzically. “What life do you suppose a disembodied head may live in London?” 

He means the question sincerely, so Hob answers him sincerely.

“Well, he won’t have much of a social life, I guess. But there’s London Below, people will hardly blink an eye at him there. And maybe someone there would be able to fashion a body for him. Perhaps there’s a rabbi who knows how to make a golem. Maybe we can track down more angels and get one of those ‘stacks’ of corporations Lucifer talked about.”

Morpheus muses on this, but seems unconvinced.

“We don’t have to decide now,” Hob says. “It’s Orpheus’ to make, anyway.”

“That it is,” Morph says gravely. 

Hob takes that as a sign that the panic attack has well and truly passed, and maneuvers them over to the lounge chair, to perch wound together at the foot, facing out at the water.

“I do have one question I want to ask,” Hob says, squeezing Morph’s fingers reassuringly. “And I don’t mean this confrontationally, okay?”

Morph takes a shaking breath, letting it out on a shakier sigh. “Okay.”

“If you’re so resistant to seeing him, if you didn’t even want me to know about him, why did you suggest Naxos for our honeymoon?” Hob asks gently. “ You’re the reason we’re here. Were you really not going to tell me?”

“I–” Morph prevaricates. 

“Why would you–”

“I don’t know!” he gasps, suddenly distraught again. Hob rubs his back soothingly. “I thought… no, I didn’t think, I wasn’t… you asked me, so I… I don’t know why I said Naxos. You asked, and I answered without thought.”

Instead of answering right away, Hob stops and replays the conversation that brought them here in his mind. 

“Hey, duck,” Hob asks, looking up from the world map he’s got spread out on the kitchen island. Matthew is standing beside it, having asked Hob about all the places he’s visited. “Since I’ve got the map out, where’s the one place in the world you want to go more than any other?”

“Naxos,” Morph says, immediately and with no hesitation. He’s on the sofa, face and hands buried in his sketchbook, thumbnailing the next chapter of his graphic novel. He doesn’t even look up. Hob’s not even entirely sure Morph’s realized he’s answered.

“Okay,” Hob says, “Sounds good. I’ll book the tickets.”

Morph just grunts, focused on his work. Matthew and Hob spend the rest of the night researching vacation villas and ticket prices without his input. Hob’s paid a ludicrous amount of money for one of his shady underground contacts to provide him with identity papers for Morph; it’s only fair that they actually use the passport. Besides, it’ll be a nice surprise for after the wedding.

“You answered Naxos because this is where Orpheus is,” Hob says. “But you didn’t even realize it was your greatest wish, to be near him.”

“I… I suppose I must not have, I–” Morph sits up so fast he nearly headbutts Hob, and grabs Hob’s shoulders in a merciless grip. “I want to see him. I want to! Hob, I want... I want to see my son. ”

“Okay, duck,” Hob says gently. “Okay. You get cleaned up, and I’ll see if this place comes equipped with a map.”

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

[soullessjack]

listen I love those old gay farts as much as the rest of this website but I will always always be annoyed with how much they overshadow literally anything about jack and how much the fandom just never lets him be the main focus even when the episode/arc is clearly trying to. I mean jacks own arc with dying and getting closure with his mom (whose loss has been a major part of his character since his first fucking episode but everybody only cared about widower dean) and you guys just go aww look the husbands are drinking and mourning their son together hashtag love wins

I’m so sorry that Dean and Cas are going through a divorce because they’re suffering from the consequences of their own miscommunication but Jack just killed his surrogate mother (who is a parallel to his bio-mother whom he also feels he murdered by existing) and is horribly traumatized to the point of psychosis! And now that he’s made the most horribly painful and unfixable mistake against his only chosen family that he has always been afraid of making, he’s gonna kill himself! But please do tell me about Dean and Cas’ fifth breakup like some grocery store checkout tabloid please I’m so invested

I could go on I really truly could but I’m too tired and in pain and frankly I’m already just exhausted from how much the fandom almost intentionally waters down Jack’s character and experiences and has an amoeba-sized brain when it comes to his story or trauma being the focus. Like it’s like you guys are fucking allergic to seeing him as a person who’s actually going through an arc and developing and not a baby shaped football for TFW to toss around moment and its so so so fucking annoying. Not even as an autistic person having to aee my representation be scrubbed away with the abrasive side of the sponge every time I open his tag but just as a fan who is genuinely interested in his character and is so very tired of the almost purposeful mischaracterization embedding itself into every way he’s seen. I don’t even know why I bother expressing this anymore bc it’s so obvious y’all don’t care but holy fucking shit just Please let him be an actual person let him be the focus for fucking once. Pleaseeee

[its-monster-mash]

This has been sitting in my drafts for 1000 years oops Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Thank you so much for tagging me @venus-haze!! I am also excited to participate in the self-callout lol

I don’t actually have a “WIP Folder”, I just have. A lot of WIPs. About to expose myself on a lot of different fandoms lol(I have a million different sideblogs that I organize a lot of the things I like by)

• Didn’t Your Momma Ever Tell You Not to Talk to Strangers? — Bo Sinclair x Reader (House of Wax) *I am also converting this one to an "Original" piece so I can publish it as a serial, so if you see the other version on Amazon under the pen name "M.E. Roselli" that's me. I'm still going to keep writing it as this fanfic, but there IS an alternate version. The other version is about a cult instead of Wax; instead of Vincent, Bo("Buck" in the alternate version) has a twin sister who was raised to be the cult's messiah. The cult is dead and gone along with their parents, but she's still living it. I just know that a lot of people's fanfics are being stolen, so I wanted to clear up that that is NOT the case with mine.

• Holmes and Dracula VS. Jack the Ripper — Original Work (Sherlock Holmes and Dracula team up to stop Jack the Ripper from bringing about the Apocalypse)

• Tides of Lust — Original Work (Meliora, a traveling bard with demonic blood, goes on a pirate adventure with a feared disciple of Davy Jones and also meets a Vampiric Warlord)

• What The Dead Men Say — Original Work (Ivar Ragnarsson ends up in Victorian England, where he has little choice but to team up with an archeologist; was technically an ACV fic originally, but I hate the ISU stuff and refuse to include it so really it’s just a history fic tbh)

• Playing House with Private X — Original Work (A cryogenically frozen super soldier navigates the modern world with the help of a would-be super soldier who slipped through the cracks. Very slice of life; it started as a Soldier Boy fic—American Pie, but I scrubbed it of IP so I can continue it as an original work and publish it as erotic shorts)

• ‘Til Death Do Us Part — Original Work (Would-be Murder victim Judith “Jude” Carpenter tries to start a new life in a small town…where her would have been killer has taken up residence as the priest. The two must work together to survive the town’s dark secret.)

• Careful What you Wish For — Original Work (Janie, a serial killer hitchhiking to avoid capture, ends up being held prisoner by Levi, a recluse out in the middle of nowhere, and she pretends to be a helpless victim in exchange for food and a warm place to sleep. The story focuses on her disturbing inner monologue through her act.)

• Lord of Roses, Master of Thorns — Original Work (Ancient Vampiric King Alistair Val Mirron must fall in love to end his curse of immortality; Myrinthe, an odd Peasant introduced to him by and old flame, seeks to remain in the castle at all costs to avoid being forced to marry the annoying rich boy in town.)

• Taken From the Ren Faire — Original Work (This was meant to be a cheesy erotica short but I accidentally gave it a plot. Oops. Fantasy Author Vera Fox is spirited away into a fantasy world after drinking some strange mead from an interesting new vendor. She ends up in a fake relationship with a former bandit while he tries to help get her home; when they get separated, she questions if she even wants to go back to her old life, and this is only compounded when she finds her Ren Faire lover is trapped there too. This one is full of tropes because I'll be honest, I'm "Writing to Market" here, but I love the characters anyway. Owen-her Ren Faire lover- has a huge Clydesdale named Stormbreaker that he rescued from a roadside medieval themed attraction, and I love him.)

• A Marriage of Inconvenience — Homelander x Reader (The Boys; Amazon Show)

• Woven Sagas — Eivor Wolfkissed x Ivar Ragnarsson (Assassin’s Creed Valhalla)

• Mother — Skyrim Fic about my Dragonborn raising Aventus

• Critical Darling — Homelander x OC(Darcy Hayes, Dreamweaver) (The Boys; Amazon Show)

• In All My Dreams I Drown — Reaver x Sparrow (Fable 2)

Tags: I am abysmal at remembering URLs off the top of my head, but I will try. @sketchy-rosewitch @visceravalentines @rottent33th @ventiswampwater

[tragcdysewn]

was that danielle campbell? oh no no, that was just davina claire, a canon character from the originals. they are twenty six years old, use she/her, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here:

she's been here over six years now! i'm lazy and don't update but her actual age is closer to like thirty one at this point

what is your character’s job:

davina runs an art studio, showcasing work from young artists that catch her interest

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom:

she doesn't ever appear in legacies, so she has no knowledge of the happenings at the school, but i’m pulling her from about that point in her life. klaus and elijah have been gone for a few years, hope is a teenager, and she’s been living her dream life in california up until being pulled here

has any magic affected your character:

she was unaware for a time, but she's remembered now and is all good!

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know:

baby girl baby girl baby

she was a loyal little witch and then! her coven lied to her!! and sacrificed her friends!!! and went full shocked pikachu when she sided with the vampire who saved her life!!

she has like... a tiny bit of a napoleon complex because she is genuinely incredibly powerful magic wise and has pulled off the impossible more than once?? multiple resurrections, surviving her soul being shattered, breaking an originals sireline, getting kol mikaelson to chill the fuck out (that last one is the most impressive tbh)

honestly though in spite of all that she is absolutely a refusal of the call girlie. every time an arc finishes she tries to be done with this shit, and every time someone drags her back in. she's twenty six and she's fucking exhausted thank you very much

the first chance she got, this girl turned tail and bolted out of new orleans without ever looking back and got hitched with her thousand year old vampire boyfriend, and honestly! i do not blame her! new orleans never did shit for her! and guess what? she still ended up having to go back and handle shit!!

she spent most of the first season hoping that avoiding the harvest for long enough would drain away her magic and she could just be a normal human girl, and almost died holding out that hope

now though, she has embraced her status as a witch, if only because she knows it pisses off the ancestors that she continues to exist and use their magic against their will. but also because she has definitely learned to see the beauty in her magic and what she can do with it

she honestly mostly uses it for frivolous stuff now, like keeping her flowers alive in the middle of winter and cleaning off her paint brushes rather than scrubbing out the bristles herself

if davina had things her way, she would be a cute little cottage core witch who sells paintings and occasionally does some magic for side jobs, but she keeps having to clean up mikaelson messes

she can not complain anymore though she saw the mikaelson nonsense and went 'okay but what if i married the most insane one what happens then?'

what happens then is you keep getting dragged into things sweetie because you're legally part of this shit show now

honestly, she's over her beef with most of them now, finn and freya, you two are on thin ice. rebekah, you're great, we love you, and she genuinely kind of likes klaus and elijah at this point, but there is a very low chance of her admitting that to elijah, and zero chance of her admitting it to klaus

davina is 100% a mom friend but like... a reluctant one. a mom friend who needs a mom friend, especially considering her actual mom let her get sacrificed for the cause

honestly, with everything she's had to deal with, she could have been a villain, and i would have supported her! she does lean strongly into morally grey/anti-hero territory, because she is absolutely willing to kill or torture to get her way, but she (almost) always has really good intentions, and does genuinely want to do good in the world

she is definitely a little bitter and angry though, because there's a lot of suffering and pain that she had to go through to get to a happy and somewhat peaceful life, but she does try her best to keep up optimism throughout it all. some of that is ego, but some of it is just genuine hope

since arriving in dc, she's honestly been struggling. the entire city is trying to kill her, which isn't new, but kol and josh and marcel were gone, her entire support system completely wiped out.

but she still honestly manages to thrive, she's opened an art studio like she always wanted to, and got close with her in laws while stuck here together, doing great until the three mentioned above actually showed up

[twiceasfrustrating]

To Have and Hold 5

Chapter: 1/2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Death

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Relationships: Diavolo/GN!MC

Characters: Diavolo, Main Character

Tags for these chapters: Not Beta Read, Yandere, Kidnapping, No Happy Ending, Character Death, Violence, Blood

Summary: Love drives some people crazy and some can't stand to go without. You thought you'd found the perfect boyfriend in Diavolo, one who loved you more than anything else in the world. And, well, you weren't exactly wrong, but it turns out that he's one of the ones that can't go without...

Word Count: 3036

He came back the next day -- his eyes beaming for a moment when he saw you in the outfit he adored so much -- with more food, only for you to reject him once again. No matter how hungry you were, the thought of accepting anything from him made you feel even worse than the hunger did. This defiance was the only kind of power you had in the entire situation and you were going to use it as much as you could. You would be damned if you

"But you look unwell." It didn't take a genius to notice how little energy you had or how you held your stomach constantly.

"I'm fine." That answer had begun to fall from your lips so easily when he asked you to eat something, no matter how obvious it was that you weren't fine.

"Won't you at least try it. Barbatos made sure it tastes as great as always." He was actually getting worried by your lack of eating. Humans weren't supposed to go for long periods of time without food, especially those who were used to eating everyday. It wasn't to the point yet that you were dying, but it didn't have to be for him to show concern. Concern that you couldn't help but scoff at.

"I'm fine." You would say nothing more than that, to him. You refused to give him the satisfaction of having a real conversation with him.

His large eyes turned to sadness as he looked at you, "But you haven't eaten once since you got here."

"Because I'm not hungry." Which was the biggest lie you told both him and yourself.

You were starving and so weak you could barely find the energy to get out of bed. That wasn’t the only reason you were exhausted though. As much as throwing yourself against the door and window didn’t seem to work, you hadn’t given up. Everything, no matter how strong, had a breaking point, after all.

The bruise on your shoulder was starting to turn a disgusting color that you could hardly stand to look at, but it was a small price to pay for what you were accomplishing. Slowly but surely, you could feel the window starting to give way at its frame. If you just put in a little more effort you were sure you could make it give way. Although, even that was getting hard. You need someone with more strength than you…

But you need Diavolo to leave first.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He looked between you and the food, snapping his fingers once again to send it away, “Alright.”

As soon as the food was gone, he reached out his arms wide toward you with a smile on his face, “I did my work again today so I could come see you. Aren’t you proud?”

How were you supposed to answer that? ‘Yes, Diavolo, I’m so proud that you finished doing your job so you could come watch your little bird flitter in its cage.’

But he was looking at you expectantly for the answer he was used to hearing. So you lied, “Yes. I’m proud of you.”

His smile only grew wider, his arms wrapping around you as if that had been an invitation to touch you, “I knew you would be.” He worked even harder when he knew you would praise him.

His touch was gross. Every part of your skin he made contact with made you want to scrub yourself clean with bleach so hard that even the flesh didn’t remain.

“My Love,” he whispered longingly against your temple, “are you happy?”

‘Yes, Diavolo. I’m so happy to be kept in a single room all day in a realm that isn’t my own. I’m so glad you kidnapped me and keep violating my personal space.’

“Yes.” Liar.

There was a moment of silence, his thumb running across the back of your exposed neck in a way you once would have found comforting but now was just another threat that reminded you of how much bigger than you he was and how easily he could snap it if the mood struck him, “I can make you happier. Won’t you let me?”

Not unless he was planning to let you go, he couldn’t, “Of course.”

He kissed the top of your head, “I love you.”

“Mhm,” acknowledge but don’t return the words.

“I want you,” he muttered. Not a question of if you wanted to be with him, but a statement of his desires. You had no say in this transaction.

“I can’t.” You didn’t want to.

Another beat of silence, “I understand.” His grip tightened around you.

“You know, Lucifer said the funniest thing today…” He began to speak, but you weren’t listening. You were too focused on mentally preparing yourself for tonight.

Once Diavolo was done pretending like you were still a normal couple and he left the room, you would have to wait just a little longer until night had truly fallen. After that, you would finally be free. And everything was going according to plan. Diavolo let you be for the night and went who knows where. The door was closed and you were left to your own devices.

You checked the frame of the window, seeing how there was a small gap where it was starting to come loose from all your efforts. You just needed someone who could give it the last little push it needed.

You tried to think about who would be the best brother to reach out to. Lucifer was probably the most on par with Diavolo in terms of power, but you weren't sure how he would react to the news. Mammon would likely cause a scene and make escaping harder because he'd come bursting in without a plan as soon as he heard you were in danger (the dork). No. You needed someone who could make a plan and hated Diavolo enough to have no qualms with going against him…

Belphie.

The youngest brother was your best bet, since he distinctly detested the prince. You were sure that if you could reach him he would tell the others and they could find a way to help get you out. Your hand reached up to touch the spot just behind your ear, brushing against the tiny mark that signalled your pact with the avatar of sloth.

You needed a catalyst to reach him, which was simple enough given that Diavolo couldn't rip the very stars from the sky. The window in your room wouldn’t open, but it didn’t need to in order to look into the vast night where Belphie's star looked down on you.

"Hear me, denizens of darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it." You began to whisper the incantation, "Hear me and do as I command. I call upon you to send forth one of your number." You could feel the magic surging through you, building up and ready to explode, "I summon the avatar of Sloth, Belphegor."

The familiar crackle of magic whirled in the air around you, pulling forward the demon you had called for until he was in front of you. Violent eyes stared through dark hair, blinking at you as if trying to assure that what he saw was real. However, there couldn’t be a single doubt in his mind after you threw yourself at him and practically knocked him over. He was the only person aside from Diavolo that you’d seen in days and he was here with you.

“It can’t be…” His hand brushed against your cheek as he lifted your face to look into your eyes.

“Belphie! Belphie! Thank goodness!” You bury your face into his shirt, tugging at him so you know he won’t leave, “You’re really here.”

“Where have you been? No one’s heard from you in days. Everyone’s been worried.” His voice breaks almost as much as yours as he wraps his arms around to hold you close, “What are you wearing?”

“I’ll explain later.” You wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, “I need your help to break the window out of its frame so I can get out.”

He didn’t look like he understood what you were going on about but he nodded anyway.

You pointed at the window, right where the frame was starting to loosen from each time you’d rammed into it, “Right here. That should knock it loose completely.”

Belphie’s magic was oppressive and ephemeral as it coursed around him, dancing like sugar plum fairies in a blizzard through the air. Even though it was concentrated in a single ball in his hand, it felt as if it would crush you being near. That was Belphie’s magic.

When that ball launched from his hand and hit the window, you expected for the entire wall to shatter… but nothing. It was as if he had thrown a paper ball rather than pure concentrated magic.

“W-why?” You muttered, getting closer to the wall where not even a scorch mark remained, “That should have worked.”

Belphie tipped his head in confusion, also confused by the strangeness of it. He summoned up another ball of magic, this time walking closer to the wall and pressing his hand directly against it before wincing as the ball broke apart in his hand, “The wall is negating magic.”

“But I summoned you and you did the magic thing.” This couldn’t be happening!

“It’s only on the walls.” He stared out the window, his eyes going wide as soon as he noticed what was out there, “This is the Devildom.”

“Yeah,” you said as you stood next to him, “The palace to be exact.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Belphie’s demon form flicker into being, “Is this where you’ve been the whole time?”

You could only nod.

“That lying sack of shi-” His voice cut off abruptly as his head was slammed against the wall. You think you screamed in surprise, but you couldn’t be sure. You had definitely backed away and fallen onto the ground. All you knew for sure was that when your eyes followed to see what had happened you saw a clawed hand gripping Belphie’s hair and pushing him forward.

“It’s not nice to say that about someone in their own house.” Diavolo’s wings stretched out behind him and his eyes burned like the hottest flames, “It’s also not nice to try and steal someone else’s things. You know that’s wrong, right?”

You hadn’t heard Diavolo come in, so when-

Belphie’s hands reached behind him and grabbed Diavolo by the wrist, “You said you hadn’t heard from them either.”

“Technically, I said I hadn’t gotten a call from them, which is true.” He pulled up, yanking Belphegor by the roots of his hair and watching as the weaker demon began to let his magic surge again, only beating him against the wall to force it to go out just as quickly.

With a look of contempt, he turned his gaze toward you, “My Love, how did he get in?”

The right words wouldn’t come. Even as you opened your mouth all you could do was gape like a fish until your throat was dry. That look in his eyes, you had never seen it before. There was pure hatred there, but you couldn’t tell what exactly he hated.

“Please,” you finally managed to get out, “please don’t.” You had never seen Belphegor struggle so much. His magic was going wild and being snuffed out just as quickly. There was blood running from where Diavolo kept slamming him into the wall. His teeth were gritted and he was struggling to even hold himself up so his hair wasn’t completely torn from the scalp. You couldn’t keep watching this.

As the darkness in his eyes grew, you could tell you had chosen the wrong words, “I’m sorry, but I promised to make you happy. I can’t do that if someone comes here to ruin it all.”

“Don’t hurt him,” you practically screamed, “Please. Please please please.” You scrambled up to Diavolo’s feet with little grace, looking up at him with your heart beating rapidly in your ears. Your lips quivered and eyes burned as you grabbed for the fur he wore around his waist, “Diavolo, please.”

For the tiniest sliver of a moment, his expression softened toward you, “Okay. I’ll make sure this doesn’t hurt.” Then his nails were deep in Belphie’s neck, tearing through the muscles and veins like paper.

There was a sickening gurgling sound as Belphie choked out a desperate breath, blood gushing out of the wound in waterfalls. Everything suddenly felt cold and numb as you watched Diavolo drop his body in front of you.

You dropped your hands from holding onto Diavolo’s furs and crawled over to where Belphie was now laying, reaching out a hand to try and scoop him up. Your hands turned red as you pressed against his neck, trying to put pressure on the wound that seemed like it had almost completely disconnected his head. That’s what you were supposed to do with wounds, right? Apply pressure to stop the bleeding? It was kind of a blur behind the static quickly filling your mind.

Deep down though you knew you were too late.

“See? It was so quick he didn’t have time to hurt.” Diavolo said almost too happily, before switching into a more worried tone, “Lucifer is going to be upset that his brother is missing though.”

“...why?” That’s all you can ask as you cradle Belphie against you, hoping that somehow he’ll get back up.

“Well, you asked me not to hurt him, but I couldn’t just let him come in here without some kind of consequence.” You could hear the smile on his face as he spoke the next sentence, “He’s lucky you advocated for him or it would have been a lot worse.”

“You killed him.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He shifted back into his human form as if trying to be less imposing now that it was just the two of you, “After all, I’m not the one who summoned him.”

Something snapped.

“Come on now. You can’t sit there forever.” He reached down to try and help you up, which was quickly met with slapping him away.

You glared up at him, hiccuping through the tears that were finally spilling forth. You held Belphie’s body close, warmth spreading over your skin from a wound you couldn’t heal, “Don’t.”

Diavolo pulled his hand away, flexing it into a fist before uncurling it again, "Was I not kind enough?" His eyes glowed in the darkness, drawing your attention up toward him. As much as you tried, you couldn't bring yourself to even glance away.

Your lips quivered, trying to find the words to tell him off but being too struck in awe and terror. This wasn't the Diavolo you knew. There was no smile, no laughter, no kindness on his face anymore. All you saw was the commanding presence that earned him his title as Prince of the Devildom.

He saw the way your eyes remained on him and him alone, finally pleased with being the center of your attention. The smile that dawned his face at that realization made yogurt light on fire. The air around you felt suffocating, like breathing underwater through a straw, "I thought that if I gave you time you would understand. I was trying to be gentle with you, but you went behind my back.”

Then his face changed back to its usual softness, "I just wanted to be there for you while you adjusted, but that isn't what you want is it?" He already knew. He wasn't blind. Everything you did was an act of defiance, a play at remaining out of his grasp. Every lie he let you get away with, every meal you refused, each time he tried to touch you and you remained cold...

He reached out toward you, laying a hand against your cheek and feeling a small flame of anger flicker inside of him as you flinched. He contained the rage building inside of him, however, "Would you like me to leave you alone again? I’ll let you be for a few more days if that’s what you want. I’ll even leave everything as it is this time so you can get rid of me faster."

You still couldn't find the words to answer him, even though you knew what you wanted to say. You didn’t want to be around him anymore -- not after what he did -- but you also couldn’t stand the thought of being left alone here with this sight.

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, coaxing you to open your mouth slightly, "Yes or no?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat before a single word escaped, "No..." You couldn’t be left alone like this. With blood on your hands and Belphie’s body growing cold in your arms. Even if it was him, even if you hated him, he couldn’t leave you alone right now.

The rage in his eyes settled down, replaced by something more sympathetic as if he’d seen how close you finally were to falling apart. He kneeled down, grabbing you by the shoulders and shushing you softly, “It’s okay. You know better now. You won’t make the same mistake again.” Slowly, he coaxed you to stand up, leaving the body on the ground, and led you to the bed.

He repositioned himself to stand behind you before sitting on the bed and pulling you down into his lap. His hand rested against the side of your face, pulling you against his chest and being the only thing keeping you from seeing the death left in front of you. You were too tired to fight against it, “I won’t leave you alone. Don’t worry, My Love. Just rest and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll make sure the two of us can be happy.”

Sure… Maybe that’s what you needed. If you went to sleep, maybe when you woke up this nightmare would be over.

[luminnara]

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it. 

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else. 

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job. 

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price. 

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it. 

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it. 

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him. 

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse. 

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to. 

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much. 

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord. 

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked. 

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it. 

Not yet. 

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to. 

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait. 

[dimigex]

Whumptober Day 3

Prompt: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones (insults, who did this to you?) Fandom: Naruto Pairing/Character: Shikamaru/Sakura Words: 918 Rating: T Notes: Requested by Anonymous, I hope you see this and like it!

Sakura scrubbed away the tears on her cheeks and glared toward her apartment door. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially not after the way her night had gone. It had all started out so promising: Sasuke was back in the village, a group of them were going to catch up over drinks. She’d spent hours agonizing over clothes and makeup, debating which looked the best. She’d finally decided on an understated v-neck that Ino had given her. Content that she looked her best, Sakura had gone out to meet her friends but the night had gone rapidly downhill.

“Would you just give it up already? We are never going to be together.” The bar had fallen silent with Sasuke’s sharp, frustrated words. Sakura’s mouth had dropped open in mortification as her cheeks reddened. The details after that statement were sketchy, but the raised voices and thrown drinks had caused a small scene. Sakura knew that at least part of it was her fault, but she lashed out in hurt and anger. When it was over, whispers and laughter had followed her from the bar.

There were always snarky comments about Sasuke's future in the village. He was outcast despite his help in the final battle and his goodwill since. The rumors about the Uchiha massacre were always mentioned, especially now that it was common knowledge that it had been carried out by Itachi. It didn’t take much to connect the two brothers. Sakura advocated for Sasuke time and time again, only to be mocked as a love sick girl who couldn’t see the truth in front of her face. At least, that’s what the strangers said. The pitying looks from her friends only made the insults worse.

When the knocking came a second time, Sakura pushed to her feet in frustration. She ran a hand over her face to dry the last of her tears before jerking the door open. “Look, I really don’t want to talk—”

Sakura’s words died on her lip as she took in the man on her doorstep. Shikamaru’s left hand held onto the frame, supporting at least some of his weight. His normally perfectly slicked back hair had come loose in two places and been tucked behind one ear. A spray of dried blood speckled the front of his shirt from a busted lip, and his right eye was rapidly swelling shut. Sakura frowned. “Shikamaru? What happened?”

Waving off Sakura’s concern, Shikamaru let himself be guided into Sakura’s apartment. She half carried him to the couch, and he slumped onto it with a wince. Breath hissed between his clenched teeth, then he regulated it. Sakura settled beside him. “Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine,” Shikamaru answered despite being anything but. Now that she was closer, Sakura could see a bruise peeking out on his dark cheek. “Are you okay?”

Sakura laughed, unable to help herself. Why would he be worried about her when he clearly needed medical attention. Even so, she smiled and quoted the familiar catchphrase. “Stick and stones may break my bones—”

“That’s bullshit. It’s the words that hurt the most.” Vehemence crept into Shikamaru’s word which came out a bit raspy from the effort of not breathing deeply. Then, the man’s lips twitched into a half smile. “In theory, anyway.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sakura raised a hand toward Shikamaru’s cheek. He nodded slightly, tipping toward her hand. Soft light filled the space between them, and the puffiness around his eye reduced until the deep brown was visible again. Shikamaru exhaled as his busted lip knit itself together. “Thanks.”

“Now, are you going to tell me what happened?” Sakura let her hands fall back to her lap as if unsure what to do with them now that the healing was over.

Shikamaru snorted and reached up to pull the thick band that normally secured his hair. “Some people started talking about things that they don’t understand, so I set them straight.”

Something warm opened in Sakura’s chest, but she didn’t acknowledge it. There wasn’t room for anything but the hurt. “What if the things they said were true?”

“Well, that would make me a bully, so it’s a good thing they weren’t.” Shikamaru’s eyes darkened. “You can’t honestly believe the things they’re saying; they have no idea who you really are, especially if they lump you together with Sasuke’s crimes.”

Sakura opened her mouth, but Shikamaru shook his head. “Don’t defend him, not to me.”

For several moments, they sat in silence. Sakura couldn’t think of an answer, and Shikamaru didn’t continue. Finally, she sighed. “I can fight my own battles, you know.”

“That’s not going to stop me from defending you. You’ve put up with enough already.” A faint brush of color entered Shikamaru’s cheeks. Then, he stood. “Anyway, I should go. Thank you for this.”

Sakura followed the man toward the door, trying to organize the chaos in her mind. He toyed the mesh armor beneath his long sleeved black shirt, tugging and smoothing the fabric over his wrist. Sakura glanced up at him. “Why bother defending me at all?”

Shikamaru’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug that signified nothing. “Because no one else did.”

“That sounds troublesome,” Sakura answered, tilting her head to watch the amusement on Shikamaru’s features when she used his favorite saying. She wasn’t disappointed. “You don’t usually get involved in things like that.”

Shikamaru inclined his head with a half-smile. “Some things are worth the trouble.”

[pandajaye]

Todoroki Family Ties (Part 9)

Characters: Enji Todoroki, Stepmom!OC!Ivy (Ivy is black btw), Child!Shoto Todoroki, Teen!Touya Todoroki, Preteen!Fuyumi, Child!Natsuo

Fandom: My Hero Academia/Boku No Hero Academia

Warnings: pregnancy, hospital, hysteria, child abuse, Aquaphobia, upset child, abusive family, neglect

“Enji, it’s okay. Please try to calm down. Everything is going to be fine.” Ivy comforted her husband, putting a hand on his leg in an attempt to keep it from bouncing so much. “I know, I know. Just a little nervous, that’s all.” He sighed, looking down at his hands while he rubbed his palms. They were the only ones in the room right now. It was cold and white everywhere apart from the delightful little flower clusters. The atmosphere was mostly quiet except for the tapping of keyboards and damp sounds of phones ringing in some of the offices.

“I mean…. what if it’s true? How could I be so careless? I should’ve been thinking clearly. I should’ve thought more about you. Things were just finally going so right and I was so distracted by excitement. So many good things were falling in to place. It’s…. It’s all my fault that we’re here today.” He brought her hand up from his thigh and kissed her knuckles. “Please, forgive me.” All she could do was smile at how nervous he was. “Forgive you for what, baby? Nothing bad has happened. Being here is a big part of the journey. It’s where our path is decided for us. I’m excited. You should be, too.”

Enji wrapped his arms around her with a tight squeeze. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” She always did know how to make the best of a situation that seemed frightening. Maybe it was the way of words. Maybe it was the sweet and calm voice that did it for him. Whatever it was, he was happy to be able to access it. Having her next to him was going to make this move a lot smoother, and he couldn’t ask for anything better right now.

Their moment of peace was interrupted by a nurse dressed in lovely pink scrubs. “Todoroki?” Her voice was gentle and nice as well as her smile while she patiently waited for the two to stand and follow her. On the way to their room, Ivy glanced into the rooms they passed. In one, a couple was finding out some good news. They looked excited. In another, a woman seemed to be having a good check up. And the last one was different than the other two. A woman leaned against her sad husband as she cried. The doctor also had a sad and sympathetic look on her face. Those sure were some interesting situations to witness. Which one would represent her and Enji’s?

“This room right here. Doctor Akari will be right with you.” The two parties bowed to each other before she left and they entered the room. Enji looked around the room and sighed. It was so weird to be here again. The rooms had changed a bit since the last time he was on this same floor seven years ago. ‘Wow. Seven. I’m getting old.’ He was quickly brought back to reality by Ivy. “I’m really glad we’re here today. This is good.” Her smile brought so much ease to him. How lucky is he to have someone like her.

A quiet knock on the door gathered their attention. In walked an older woman. Her hair was still a dark brown so she couldn’t have been that much older but you could see some of the age in her kind face. There was a bit of height difference between them, her being taller than Ivy, shorter than Enji of course. She carefully closed the door behind her before setting her chart on the table and introducing herself. “I’m Dr. Akari, nice to meet you today, Mr. and Mrs. Todoroki.” She shook their hands and continued. “Amazing, I never thought I’d be meeting, let alone working for the number two hero. I guess dreams do come true.” Enji blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh. Always nice to meet a fan.”

“So. We’re here for a verification today, correct? How are you feeling? Mrs. Todoroki, is this your first?” Ivy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I-I’ve really never been in any type of situation like this before. I’m excited and kinda nervous. Sorry.” Dr. Akari held Ivy’s hands in her own. “Sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize. Being nervous is apart of this. A big part. That’s not to say that it’ll be a bad experience. It is what you make it. And I have so much faith that this is going to be an amazing and beautiful new part of your life. You’re going to be great at this.” Her smile was warm and reassuring. Maybe everything really will be okay. “Should we get this thing started?” Ivy looked at Enji and back at Dr. Akari with a grin. “Let’s do it.”

The test and results took no time at all to come back to them. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Todoroki. You’re having a baby.” Excitement quickly grew on Ivy’s face, brown eyes big and full of tears when she looked at Enji who hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head. “Wonderful news! Wonderful! Wonderful!” He was so energetic and happy like a child himself. The fifth child and he’s still taken aback as if it’s his first. Ivy stayed a little calmer herself. “I’m so happy. This is everything I’ve ever wanted…. A dream come true.” The doctor hugged Ivy when Enji finally pulled away. “I’m so happy for you two. You have my full adoration. I know you’re going to be an amazing mother. Before you know it, you’ll have a quirky and spontaneous bundle of joy in your arms.” Ivy froze.

‘….Quirky?’

Enji thanked the doctor a few more times before leaving and while they walked to the car, he noticed something was off about Ivy. She kept her gaze towards the ground and hadn’t said a word since leaving the doctor’s office. After a short walk they arrived at the car, Ivy got in the passenger seat and patiently waited for Enji to get in and close his door. As soon as the car door shut, Ivy broke down hysterically… “FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING! FUCK!” Honestly, it scared him a bit. She was fine a few minutes ago and now she’s upset? “IVY? WHAT’S WRONG?” She started hyperventilating, forcing him to pull Ivy into his lap and hold her. “Breathe! Breathe. Slow down. In….. Out….” It took a minute before she could match his breathing. Eventually, they were in sync and she began to calm down and got back into the passenger seat.

“Alright. What in the hell was that?” He didn’t mean to sound irritated, he was just genuinely confused about what just manifested. “I-I’m sorry but…. I-I can’t do this. I-I-I can’t be a mom.” Tears were still falling but she tried to wipe them away as fast as they came. “Wha…. What do you mean?” His brows were furrowed and his face contorted. “Enji…. I-I was so excited at first. And, I still am in some ways…. But…. what happens when…. w-when we have this child…. and they don’t have a quirk because of me? I wasn’t even thinking about it until Dr. Akari said the word quirky and all of a sudden it hit me. My child is going to be weak because of me…. They’re going to hate me. I know you want a strong child with a strong quirk but I-…. I-I can’t give you that.”

To be honest, he hadn’t thought of it either. But that was the old him anyways. He’s grown since then. Quirks aren’t everything to him anymore. Just her. Just his family. No matter what skills they had or didn’t have. He loves them in every aspect. “Ivy…. I don’t need you to give me that. I want you to be happy and healthy. I want to have this child with you no matter what happens. As long as you’re both okay, that’s what’s important. I know how I used to be. And I’m still sorry and trying to atone for it. I’m learning and growing every day because of you. I appreciate and love you so much.” His large hand held her cheek as he searched her eyes for a sign that she understood him.

A wave of safety washed over her as she leaned into his hand. So much calm after one random storm. “You’re right. You are learning. You have grown. And I am beyond proud of you. I’m sorry for my outburst. It wasn’t all about you. Being quirkless has always been a problem for me. Way before me and you. You’ve improved in ways that…. he never did.” Her gaze shifted to her feet when thoughts and feelings she had long ago returned. “Who?” When her gaze came back her eyes were brimming with tears of numb pain.“My dad….”

From a very young age, Ivy was victim to some of the most impactful abuse that young girls have suffered for centuries. Familial. Being the outcast, the one child that didn’t make the cut. Worked hard and reprimanded for occurrences out of her power. Her power. The center of everything and the reason for her suffering. More commonly known as a quirk, her ability should have been water manipulation. It ran in her family. They’ve always been connected to it all. Oceans, lakes, rain, dew, snow. A gene for telekinesis brought in from one of her great great grandparents but no one remembers which one.

“LET’S GO, LET’S GO, LET’S GO!” Nami James Emaraki, Ivy’s father, blew hard into his whistle. It’s not that common for a ten-year old to have to do burpees and laps on a Saturday morning. Especially since she’s not training for anything. “YOU SLACK AND I SWEAR ITS ANOTHER TEN LAPS!! YOU ALREADY MISSED BREAKFAST SINCE YOU WANNA SLEEP IN, I’M PERFECTLY FINE WITH YOU MISSING LUNCH CAUSE I’LL STILL EAT BUT YOU WON’T!!!!” He wasn’t kidding either. That threat wasn’t the least bit empty.

“I-” Her foot slipped and caused her to face plant. She lifted her head and a stream of blood ran from her nose. “OW! UGH! H-Help, please!” Rolling his eyes, he stomped over to her, grabbing a fist full of her hair. “Sure, I’ll help you. Usually salt water helps with things like that. Let’s get you a lot of salt water.” He looked at the pool and smiled. “How about 10 ft?” Panic flooded her entire body so quickly it almost made her dizzy. Or maybe that was from the quick face plant and loss of blood.

“N-No! Please!” Ignoring her, he began dragging her to the deep end of their pool. “I’m so sorry, I can keep going! I can keep going! Daddy I can keep going!” She couldn’t help but cry and scream for forgiveness because he always had such a terrible punishment for her. The closer they got the more she struggled. “DADDY PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE NO! NO-” He tossed her in with a grunt and picked up his stopwatch. “Hurry up. You don’t wanna drown, use your quirk to get out!”

But that was the issue. Ivy was quirkless. It never showed up when it was supposed to. They hoped she was a late bloomer but it wasn’t looking very hopeful. Her father and uncle did everything they can to bring it out of her. They were so close they moved into two joint houses for each of their families, between the two homes, a facility with a large indoor pool that they used to coach swimming and have opened for water sports and activities. Every child in their family has used this pool to get better at their quirks. But Ivy was the only one forced into fearing it, unlike her siblings and cousins.

The eldest children were Ivy’s older twin brother and sister who were six years older than her, as well as a male cousin four years older than her. They were taught everything with care and detail. How to swim, how to make waves, etc. Next, her cousin that was but a few months older than her. He also experienced the life of being the middle child like her. Ivy was born next. Treated like all the other kids until she reached the age where quirks usually had already appeared in their family.

Four. When the family pediatrician attempted to explain that her quirk would never come in due to an extra joint in her foot, that of which the absence of would determine if the power would ever come in. Her father was so upset when they got home, he grabbed her by the ankles and dunked her in the water a few times before dropping her in the 5 feet. Her mother stood and watched as paramedics revived Ivy, pretending very well to be concerned.

Yet, here he is now. Watching her sink as she loses oxygen. Destined to be a corpse at the bottom of the pool. But just before tragedy could wrap her up in its claws, her father washed her back onto the side of the pool with a wave. There she laid in a puddle, lungs full of water. “So damn dramatic.” Unrightfully annoyed, he preformed mouth to mouth and saved her, smacking her when she accidentally spit up water in his face. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a daughter. But just you wait, you’ll be a hero soon enough. And you’re gonna be supporting your family after we’ve been so supportive of you. Get your ass up and come inside when you’re through acting like something wrong with you.”

Nami didn’t even look back after he started walking way. He didn’t care if she ever got up. To him, she has two options in life. Become a top pro-hero. Or die. And some days, she wished he wouldn’t save her. Some days she wanted to stay at the bottom of that pool knowing she wouldn’t be able to breathe. Ivy couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the point of living if your entire family is already disappointed in you?

During lunch, her mother Eimi asked her about today’s training. “How did it go today, Ivy?” She smiled, looking between her and her father. Ivy didn’t want to answer so she kept her mouth shut. “Ivy, your mama is talking to you. Answer her.” His fist slammed down on the table. The back of her throat burned from swallowing her need to cry. “Ivy? Answer her, girl, can you not hear?!” She flinched at him raising his voice. With a quiet sigh, Ivy spoke, carefully trying not to let her voice crack. “It w-was fine, mommy. But….” She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to speak up.

“B-BUT DADDY TRIED TO KILL MEEEEE!!” Cries broke out of her throat. “CONTROL YOUR DAMN VOLUME RIGHT NOW!” He tried to grab her arm but she ducked out of the way. “MAMA I FELL AND HURT MY FACE AND MY NOSE WAS BLEEDING AND HE THREW ME IN THE POOL AND ALMOST LET ME DROOOOOOWN!!!!” Tears dripped from her chin as she trembled and sobbed. Eimi just looked at Nami and shrugged. “Well, Ivy. Maybe if you stopped pretending your quirk isn’t there, you could have saved yourself. So I don’t want to hear it.” Ivy was horrified and offended by every word out of her mother’s mouth. “WHAT? BUT MOMMY-” “THAT’S ENOUGH! YOU’RE GOING TO YOUR ROOM!” Before she could run, he grabbed her and carried her to her room as she struggled. “I HATE IT HERE! I HATE IT, HATE IT, HATE IT!!” Once the door slammed close, she hugged one of her stuffed animals tight and cried. And cried. And cried. Until she cried herself to sleep.

Ivy had ever only known Hell on Earth. Her siblings before her were treated with respect. Even her baby brother and even younger baby sister got to see the best from their parents. Ivy was the one that they wanted to depend on. Their goals for her were to make her one of the most famous Pro-Heroes ever. Then use her paycheck to further their lives. She would put them on the map and be their little bank. But the older she got, the more she fought back. Until finally they realized she’d never be able to help them anyways.

Ivy was shunned and kicked out of her home. Forced to learn the way of the world. She made her way through three nice jobs and even college. Out of all the smoke and fire, she emerged through her trials and tribulations and began working at Endeavor’s agency. Her hardships didn’t end there but shortly after, everything started to work out for her.

Her past was filled with evil but it never influenced her to become a bad person even after never getting her quirk. She realized that quirks never really mattered. It was the love that she never received. Love that she’ll be giving to this baby. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if her child ever had to go through what she went through.

The world outside was so beautiful as they drove home. She looked at Enji and smiled. He sparkled in the sunlight. Those beautiful blue eyes focusing on the road while he held her hand up and kissed it. “You’re gonna be okay, Ivy. I love you so much. You’re going to be a great mom. And, I hope i can be a great father. On the fifth try.” The reassurance made her grin. “Thank you, Enji. Thank you.”

[dostthouhavenochill]

Performance

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Word Count: 2.6k

Characters: Alucard, Greta of Danesti, Sypha Belnades, minor OCs (mentioned)

Relationships: pre-Gretacard, Trephacard (mentioned)

Warnings: none

Summary: Alucard muses on how life has changed since the head woman of Danesti, now Belmont, and her people have settled about his home.

The clearing was relatively quiet that afternoon, with the odd settler or two roaming around, enjoying a moment’s rest after doing their part in the rebuilding effort for the day. The setting sun warmed Alucard’s skin as he sat against a large oak tree. Strong winds shook the branches above his head, sending bursts of orange and red drifting about him. He brushed errant leaves out of his basket and plucked out a dark spool to finish his mending.

Aaliya and Rahim, bless their hearts, were the most rambunctious out of all of Alucard's children. So it came as no surprise when a few hours ago, Rahim came to him with pieces of what used to be a stuffed horse, “His name is Sumac, Father!”, wailing his dark eyes out. Alucard promised to make time to mend him by the end of the day. The toy was a well-loved thing, with stains and misaligned stuffing, all evidence of a boy who took his friend everywhere he went. The horse’s reddish-brown fur was now a muddled sepia and its once cream mane and markings now gray. Alucard just about had his fill of bloody horses, but he could make an exception just this once.

He wasn’t resting alone though. After depositing lumber and stone for Solomon and his building team, Greta settled beside him. She only dozed off a short while ago, but not before giving a knowing chuckle at his project and a snark about how he was finally as used to people as people were used to him. Absolutely maniacal. He couldn’t find room to complain.

So much had changed in just these last four months. Alucard would be lying to himself if he said that it wasn’t jarring to go from months of solitude to human interaction and back again, a hellish cycle that always seemed to end with him alone. But with the settlement of the people of Danesti, now Belmont, that cycle had been broken. Funny, considering how he had been hesitant towards the idea.

Except hesitant wasn’t an accurate description. Initially, Alucard had to wrestle with his desires for both solitude and companionship. As much as he longed for the latter, Alucard wasn’t prepared for its magnitude. Saint Germain, for all his scheming, offered a reasonable solution to a suffering people. Only that reasonable solution left Alucard feeling bare and scrubbed raw, as if the entirety of the world made itself at home in his ribcage before even giving him the courtesy of undoing the frog of his cape first.

Those first nights after the battle was when the enormity of his hospitality truly began to set in. He lamented the loss of his solitude. Protection, knowledge, and safety-he would never hesitate to offer, but with so many rooms holding so many personal memories, he’d unintentionally left his soul bare to all. He remembers all but dashing ahead of Greta while showing her the food supply to hide his makeshift companions from her teasing, scrutinous gaze.

But...it was nice.

It had been so long since the halls were alive, filled with laughter and with people milling about the halls. It hardly ever seemed like he was alone now. His role as champion along with Greta’s say-so granted him a founding role in Belmont and as such was bombarded with questions daily; someone asking for aid, someone asking for instruction, someone...just asking how he’s faring that day.

From beside him, Greta, with her arms crossed, snored softly. Alucard let out an undignified chuckle. For someone who had such hasty and scathing observations about settling at Castlevania, she seems quite content.

Greta wasn’t wrong when she called the Castle cold. Alucard remembers plenty of nights alone, abandoned, shivering and craving nothing but someone, anyone, to ease his loneliness. His mother. His father. Belmont. Sypha. Anyone. But after Sumi and Taka’s betrayal, Alucard began to appreciate the aura Castlevania emanated. It’s dark, cavernous windows and ominous silhouette, looming and judging those who came across it, a warning sign to all. It stood imposingly with cautionary tales skewered at its lip. Greta was simply experiencing the emotions Castlevania intended to elicit from oncomers; the cold, fear, and danger.

Even so, after everything that’s happened, Alucard couldn’t help but feel a sense of welcome and warmth in those dark, cavernous windows.

The windows that led to the study where Adrian spent years on years learning a multitude of languages, preferring the ones with lots of “s’s” because of the way it slithered off his tongue.

The windows that led to the southwestern dining room, where an infantile Adrian nearly chomped off his mother’s finger whilst she tried to stop him from swallowing a frozen carrot he’d been teething on.

The windows that led to the science hall, where he, Sypha, and Trevor spent the last few blissful days of their union getting drunk and blasting off various spells into the ceiling to see what would happen.

Yes, there had been plenty of warmth in the Castle, even before it had been graced with the people of Danesti. Almost every room he can recall with a smile and a fond tale. He’d had to convince Greta, he thinks. He can already imagine it; the disbelief on her face when he tells her he learned to shapeshift into a dire pup in a conservatory, a room filled with foliage and beakers and sunlight and all sorts of breakable things. And he can imagine telling her that Lord Dracula himself had to call for aid from his wife when their son burst through a window and pranced about nude in the outdoor sun. He can imagine that curious wrinkle in her brows before she thinks of something, immediately says it, and rarely regrets it.

He can imagine telling her so much about his childhood. About Vlad and Lisa Țepeș. About growing up the only dhampir, to his knowledge. He can imagine telling her so much about his past and about, ahem, possibly their present; what’s changed since he met her and what’s stayed the same. The tangled but firm bundle of feelings she’s elicited from him. He’ll have to ask for her time one day, one day when she isn’t exhausted from doing the work of half a dozen persons in a few hours time and taking a well-earned break.

Alucard was broken from his musings when he saw Sypha striding up to him in the distance. In the midst of Sypha’s pregnancy, her passion and spitfire were amplified. As such, she had enough of all the side looks and loaded barbs between them all.

They had talked, Trevor and Sypha and Alucard. They talked about feelings, about abandonment and betrayal and neglect, about Trevor and Sypha’s child also calling Alucard father. About how it was almost too soon to make such a leap, feelings too raw. About sentiments that could have, perhaps should have, been properly expressed before fucking off across Europe. About regrets and pain, about trust and building it back up. It wasn’t ruined, but it was worse for wear. Nothing that some regular maintenance wouldn’t help.

Alucard almost stands to offer Sypha a hand, but she politely declines, saying that if she gets down, she won’t get back up as easily. Besides, she was only here for a quick thing. Then, she took note of the sleeping Greta, and lowered her voice, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so still before.” Alucard was inclined to agree. With her coat draped over her lap, and her head lopped to the side, Greta looked at peace. The tasks of a head woman were never-ending, it seems.

“What brings you out here, then?” Alucard asked, once he was able to drag his gaze away from Greta’s sleeping form.

“Rahim was looking for you,” she cocked her head, giving him a puzzled look. “He said that you would help him find some sumac?.” Chuckling into his chest, Alucard ties off the thread on the poor thing's left haunch and passes it up to Sypha.

“I believe I stitched together all the bits of his Sumac as best I could.” Alucard wonders if Sypha even heard him over all her soft albeit consistent cooing.

“Alucaaaard. I never knew you were so good with a needle,” she spoke as she ran her fingers lovingly through its sullied mane. “With the state of Trevor’s socks, he could learn a thing or two from you.”

And then the most terrifying thing happened; Sypha got The Look. To the casual observer, looking at the duo of Belnades and Belmont, one would think that the former was the sensible one. And they wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. However, what the casual observer typically fails to notice is that Sypha, for all her grace and intellect, was at least half as crazy and twice as impulsive as Belmont himself. Arguably, she was at her worst when she got mischievous, and the only tell for that was a distinct Look; one where her impossibly large eyes sparkled and her lips twitched like a kitten holding onto a canary for a little too long.

“You knoooooow,” she began, sounding like a child all too eager to tell an adult about some fact they recently learned, a fact that they had no business knowing. “It's never too early to start preparing things for the baby-books, clothes, toys and things. Perhaps little Trefor would appreciate something personal from his Alucard. Mayhaps if you had any miniature dolls of his parents lying about,” her bright eyes squinting in mischief, “Or something like that.”

Alucard would’ve liked the earth to swallow him whole or for a wayward night creature to snatch him away into the woods. He would’ve liked a multitude of things, but he was stopped by a soft snort coming from behind him. He turned to see Greta trying and failing to suppress a smirk.

With her eyes still closed, she gave up her storybook act and said, “I’m sure sunshine here could pull something off. Yours and Trevor’s resemblance is quite striking.” Sypha howls with laughter, calming herself only after Alucard throws her a glare, all the while blush painting his...well, everything. He sighs, turning back to Greta.

“I hadn’t known you were such a fan of my needlework.”

“Well, I hadn’t intended on saying anything.” Greta barely got her last word out before Alucard rounded back, still mortified.

“Quite unlike you. I ought to be worried.” Greta cracks open an eye at that, playfully raising an eyebrow at the dhampir.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said indignantly.

“I don’t know what gave you that impression,” Greta closed her eye again, crossing her arms behind her head, “ I was merely resting my eyes.”

“And your heart rate?” Alucard bent an arm against his leg, resting his chin in his palm and gazing at her through lidded lashes. “If I had poorer hearing, I would have almost certainly mistaken you for a sleeping person.”

Greta raised a single finger. “Almost. Key word: almost.”

Rolling his eyes under closed lids, Alucard said, “You would make an excellent performer, you know.”

“I am a woman of many skills.”

“Indeed. One day, I imagine you might even be able to successfully imitate a rock.”

Greta effortlessly lands a hit against Alucard’s thigh. There’s no real force behind it. It’s the same friendly banter they’ve always shared, the same heat that fills his chest, the same stir it causes in his gut, and the same burn to the spot she touched.

“Smartass.” As she draws her hand back, the smirk on her face never drops.

Alucard, chuckling and chest warming, cocks his head back to Sypha to ask if she needs anything else from him and is surprised to see an intensity in her widened eyes. Wide as they were when they first entered the Belmont hold, large and curious and flickering as she combed through every book she could find, devouring any new information at her grasp with a thrilling quickness. Before the embarrassment at being perceived settled in his bones, Greta spoke up, this time to Sypha, making her eyes softer than usual.

“How are you and the little one today, Sypha?”

“We’re well, thank you,” Sypha takes her hand and rubs it across her slowly increasing bump, giving the head woman a pleased grin. “I see you’re taking a well-earned break.”

“Nothing wrong with a little rest,” Greta shrugs, relaxing further back against the bark. Her brows get that curious wrinkle, however, and she says, “Especially for those of us with child who’ve been running about since dawn.”

Alucard takes solace in the fact that the air around Sypha tingles ever so slightly and he is, for once, not subject to embarrassment. If Greta sensed Sypha’s chagrin, as she almost certainly did, she didn’t make it known, aside perhaps from the cute crinkle around her eyes and nose.

But Sypha recovers much faster than Alucard ever has, giving Greta a self-satisfied smile. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t up and about until after the sun broke.” She then releases a long sigh. “But between Trevor, Khadijah and the other healers’ constant fretting, you’d think I was on my last legs instead of giving life.”

Mischief incarnate would do well to take note of Greta of Danesti, with a hand propped under chin, a single digit tapping her cheek, and a dangerous glint in her burnished eyes. “Foolish of them, then, to disregard the woman who battles night creatures regularly and moved an entire fucking castle as incapable of anything.”

“Foolish indeed!”

Alucard cast a sly gaze towards Greta, naughty of you to rile her up like this-Belmont is sure to get an earful later. Coy is never a word he would’ve ascribed to the head woman, but the curve of her lips and flutter of her lashes had him reconsidering.

Sypha says her goodbyes and goes to return the horse to its rightful owner. Stopping short, she looks back to Greta and says, “I don’t think you have much room to talk, however, Head Woman Greta of Danesti-now-Belmont-who-wakes-with-the-sun-and-slays-night-creatures-and-carries-lumber-and-.”

Greta ducks her head, sending the Speaker off with a wave, “Enough of that, Belnades.” She lowers her hand, her brows creasing as she says, “Thank you and be well.”

As Sypha departs, Greta settles back against the tree. With nothing to keep his hands busy, Alucard joins her in relaxing in the setting sun, hands folded in his lap. Being immortal, the dhampir never needed excessive amounts of sleep to function, per se. Perhaps he would just rest his eyes and enjoy the company. 

Alucard sighs as the cool breeze passes through his hair and picks up fallen leaves, carrying them across the clearing. Then he sputters as one flies straight into his mouth. The dhampir gets no warning as Greta’s soft hands pull his hair aside, causing him to jump slightly. Her slender fingers pick out the foliage from his hair and shoulders before tossing them to the ground beneath them.

She can’t stop herself from letting out one last chuckle at Alucard’s expense. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do that loaf about with me, sunshine?” Her tawny eyes held still against his. Alucard arched his head back against the tree to appreciate her gaze.

“Nothing in particular springs to mind,” he doesn’t bother smothering the smirk growing on his face, “Besides, as I understand it, Khadijah has ordered you to loaf about after your mishap two nights ago.”

That earns him quite the eyeroll. “Khadijah, the worrywart, would order me to loaf about if I tripped over a stick.”

“Tripping over a mere stick?,” he lilted, “ I’d think he’d need to examine your head if that ever happened.”

Another thwack. Another burst of heat. Only this time, Alucard held fast, catching her hand before it could completely fall away. Greta startled at his reflexes, her head teasingly cocked aside as her eyes flicked from his to their joined hands. Before he lost his nerve, Alucard placed his other hand atop hers, giving it a soft squeeze and resting it in his lap. “I’m sure. I’d much rather be here than anywhere else.”

[merryfortune]

Pink Beat

Written for Into The Rainbow: Vrains Shipping Week

Turn 1 #VSWPink

Ship: Zinniashipping | Aoi/Miyu

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Title: Pink Beat

Word Count: 1,483

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Skip Beat, Developing Relationship, Pre-Slash, Handholding, Swearing, Past/Referenced Ryoken/Miyu

   It was pink. It was a bright and garish pink, no less, Miyu observed in absolute misery. Pink was so not her colour but this jumpsuit had to be atrocious even by the most girly of girly-girl standards.

   This was what she got for how the auditions went though, Miyu sighed externally upon that realisation.

   She thought she had done great but in retrospective, it was bit of a disaster. Nothing like the performances that the other girls had done. They had all been sat down in a plastic chair and one by one, they had to react to a scripted message they had never heard before recorded on a flip phone. The other girls had done lovely, twee performances, nothing what like Miyu had done since she was fresh off her break up with Ryoken.

   She had supported him for ten, long years. She had cooked and cleaned for him, she had been a dutiful childhood friend to him. She paid more rent than he did in their shared apartment whilst he chased dreams of getting famous, she was scrubbing toilets. His parents had been so disappointed in them both when they ran away together to chase the coattails of the rich and famous rather than take over the family business of innkeeping in the boonies and now look at them. They didn’t even have a scrap of friendship left to show for it because at the end of the day, Ryoken was just using Miyu as free labour.

   “I know how things ended the other day,” that husky, male voice said in the phone as Miyu listened, “but I still love you. Don’t leave me, I’m coming soon to get you from the train station.

   Oh. Hell. Fucking. No.

   Miyu couldn’t describe it but she just felt rage burn inside her. Her heart rate went up immediately and she couldn’t control her words or actions. She heard Ryoken’s voice in that phone recording rather than some generic male actor that belonged to this studio she was trying to get picked up from at. 

   She flung the phone on the ground and she broke the goddamn prop, stomping on it, she railed and cussed and it was an entire ordeal. Nothing like the graceful, serene forgiveness this shitty ex-boyfriend character got from the other girls, especially that Zaizen Aoi girl. Miyu wasn’t even acting, she was just venting. She wasn’t even trying to be like other girls as she whinged and wailed in her misplaced furor, she just wanted to get all the feelings in her head out.

   What a waste that would all turn out to be. Miyu had gone to class after class, she had thrown herself at her part-time job right up until she quit. She made the most beautiful cabbage rose on stage as her unique skill for that portion of the talent section and then, when she finally made it all but to curtain call, the acting exercise had turned into that. She had tried so hard to get that far and she had blown it on that. Kind of worth it though. Save for that disgustingly pink jumpsuit that she was expected to wear as part of her induction to the Skip Beat programme. 

   See, whilst Miyu may have blown her shot at becoming a normal actress, she did have a saving grace. The director saw something in her. Some kind of shine in her eyes, she was different, he had to give her that and so, just for her - and one other girl in the same boat as her, though she didn’t know who yet - he created two casual positions as part of the Skip Beat programme. Basically, she was their odd-jobber, everything from cleaning to actual minor parts on variety shows, everything she would need to rebuild her career from scratch and maybe learn to behave along the way, too.

   God she wishes she could have been like that Zaizen Aoi girl. 

   Miyu doesn’t even remember seeing Zaizen at the prior rounds. Maybe there were other rooms or days they were hosting from or maybe she had called ahead to say she couldn’t make it because the first time they saw each other was at the final acting round of the talent scouting and she had been a show stopper. Everything about her took Miyu’s breath away. Her performance had been that stunning, she had been the first to go in the acting round and she left a very high standard.

   She heard that very same phone call as Miyu and whilst she did break the performance, it was hearts she broke, not the prop itself. At just that word, a magnificent tear was shed and streaked down her cheek as she graciously was saved by the ex-boyfriend character from herself. Her performance was nothing less than divine and convincing, like an angel of performing arts had stepped down from heaven just to appear on that woody-coloured stage and sit in those plastic chairs.

   “Yes, of course,” she cried, majestic and demure, not overly dramatic yet her drama was delectable, “I understand. The engagement is back on. I love you, too.”

   Everything about her was beautiful. Her tone of voice and her makeup, her coiffed, brunette hair and her brown eyes. Yet even so, she had a humble serenity about her. It was obvious that out of everyone here today, she was the likeliest to become the next big thing, a mega-star of fame and fortune with her acting and her beauty and yet. She didn’t have an air of arrogance about her, she graciously thanked her competitors for being her competitors and the judging panel all the same, and also the crew who were doing the lights and sounds, the prop master. She had the most immaculate etiquette.

   Miyu couldn’t help but be a little bit envious as there was no way in hell that the Zaizen Aoi would ever-

   There was a knock on the change room door and someone came in. Someone with brown hair and brown eyes, wearing that very same ghastly pink jumpsuit as Miyu and Miyu couldn’t believe it. Her jaw dropped with the utmost, awestruck confusion as this person came in through the staff only door.

   “Aoi?!” she exclaimed.

   Aoi’s eyes went wide and she blushed, averting her eyes. Miyu got the feeling from it that she was remembered from the audition, but not for any good reason but. This didn’t make any sense. Aoi was an undiscovered gem of actress, why on Earth would she be the other half of the Skip Beat programme?

   Aoi came closer and she sat down on the bench that Miyu had been miserating sitting upon. They sat somewhat close and Aoi kept her knees primly together, placing her hand atop of them and speaking more to her cuticles than to Miyu, she explained exactly what she was doing here.

   “You seem surprised to see me.” Aoi awkwardly said. “I can’t say I’m shocked to see you here.” She giggled. “Your acting audition left quite the impression.”

   “Yay, woo…” Miyu sarcastically mumbled to herself.

   “But it was all your own hard work. You clawed your way through the trials but… but I bought my way in.” Aoi said. She frowned. “I didn’t want to, but my ever doting older brother paid for me to skip to the final round. I begged and pleaded but the money had already gone through. It was obvious but I still informed the adjudicators of this and was disqualified but… But the director gave me a second chance in the form of being part of the Skip Beat programme, with you.”

   “With me.” Miyu echoed.

   “So we will be seeing a lot of each other now, as co-workers.” Aoi stiffly said.

   “Yup, so we better get along, eh?” Miyu laughed. She reached out for Aoi’s hand and she moved it to between them, Miyu placed hers atop of Aoi’s. “It’ll be us against the world, ‘cause look at us? We’re a joke! I’m Little Miss Anger Issues and your Little Miss Trust Fund Baby, lol, what a pair we make. And in these horrible outfits the director wants us to wear? Ew! But we’ll make it to the top, we have to.”

   “Yeah, we do, I want to prove my older brother wrong, that I can make it in the world without his micromanaging.” Aoi huffed.

   “And I want to out-famous my B-List ex!” Miyu raised her voice and she held Miyu’s hand tightly before thrusting them up in the air. “To the sisters of the Skip Beat Program, cheer for us!” she yelled.

   “To us!” Aoi cheered, feeling weirdly befriended by Miyu in a matter of minutes. Their words resounded through the empty changeroom, echoey and with bad acoustics, and naturally, that was when the director walked in: the working day was ready to begin.